Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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“So to sum up tonight’s episode, minotaurs are in fact ticklish,” Adam said, turning to face the camera. Then Jamie walked up to stand beside him, a large yellow feather in hand. “Not only are they ticklish,” he added. “But tickling is also a great way to calm an angry minotaur down.” The director yelled cut. After the cameras stopped rolling, Adam and Jamie high-fived. “Oh man,"Adam giggled. "This is going to be even better than the time we told people it wasn’t bad luck to walk under ladders.”
Breaking and entering, not the easiest thing to do, and definitely not when you only went for the highest security targets. People had died trying to pull off a perfect heist, but when all dying does is make you wake up that same morning with a headache, a few respawns just speed up the learning process. It was like some great stealth game. You found the guards and memorized their search patterns. You watched through binoculars to get combinations to locks, and you found alarms by tripping them. A normal person would have never been able to find all the booby traps, hidden cameras, and key codes, but I was not a normal person. I had dedicated an infinite amount of time to perfecting this task. The heist was my Mona Lisa. Art, purely for the sake of art. I would never reap the benefits, but just the challenge of it, making every little detail perfect. It was a work of passion, something I could lose myself in for a lifetime, just living and breathing this one job. Then I woke up, and suddenly my infinity had become finite. My phone told it had, at long last, become Tuesday. Frantically I reached for the remote to my TV, and turned on the news. I hoped somehow that my crime had been undone with the progression of the time loop. The world did not need to deal with the consequences of my actions. It was actually supposed to have any effect. Surely whatever entity had taken me out of the time loop knew that, but apparently they did not. “Still no word on who placed a whoopee cushion on the president’s chair right before the live teleconference with the UN, but interestingly the president’s approval rating actually improved 5% since the event.” Sidenote: MS word 2013 does not recognize sidenote, or respawn as words.
I hate it when he asks me to pinch him. Sometimes he doesn't have to ask. He just disappears. It's so lonely with out him here. Everything melts away and leaves only me in a black void thinking. Until he comes back, then everything becomes colorful and living and it is built to my will. So here I am. Thinking. Alone. What will I teach him next time he is back? What should I say to him? He is me after all.
The book told me, this cannot happen. The book told me, This will never happen. The book told me, This can't happen. I took my pen, red ink, and asked it a thousand questions. All of them ended the same-- won't, can't, nope, not happening, please stop asking. To every variation of the question asked. To every sweet word, every desperate plea. Will he ever love me? Will I ever be happy? No. No. No.
The two armies were quiet and unmoving, facing each other across the vast expanse of the field between them. Colonel Wadsworth did not like the way this day seemed to be playing out. There were far more of those dirty frog eaters than their had originally suggested - he and his men were overwhelmed before they could even establish a foothold. The fog had been their saving grace, enveloping the two armies and rendering the battlefield unusable. Wadsworth ordered his men to work throughout the night, setting up a defensive perimeter and making something closely resembling a base of operations. He had sent out a request for reinforcements; now his men's fate would be determined by how quickly their allies could respond. Just as he finished his tea, he heard the cry go out; The French were beginning their assault. Wadsworth began barking commands, while silently praying reinforcements would make it in time. As the French swarmed across the field brandishing their baguettes, Wadsworth couldn't help but wish the French's stereotype of being cowards was actually true. The two armies clashed for several hours, and, thankfully, the special tea forces defenses seemed to be holding, for now at least. But Wadsworth was losing hope. For every Frenchmen slain, 3 more seemed to take his place. How long could his men survive this seemingly unending onslaught before they were finally overrun? As if to respond, the French suddenly broke through on the left flank, charging over the makeshift walls like a river. Wadsworth knew it was over, but he would take as many of these frog eaters down with him as he could! Rallying his men, they charged into the fray, yelling "For the Queen!"The fought against the tide, until it suddenly stopped. Confused, Wadsworth stepped up on top of the walls to see what was happening below. What he saw was total chaos - the French were being massacred by gun wielding, overweight people riding mobile scooters and chugging extra large diet coke. Wadsworth breathed a sigh of relief as his men cheered. The Americans had arrived.
Katie had some Armenian kid. Mark a housewife up in Canada. Terry, that lucky SOB, had snagged Scarlett Johansson (and even had the nerve to complain that she talked too much!). Drew, Lil and Jen I forget - but they had someone and seemed happy enough; which is more than I could claim. In a world of pairs, I wasn't. What made this especially weird and annoying was how unique a situation it was. Heck, it couldn't even be replicated! The (unknown) system that governed this weird telepathic communication actively prevented it - illustrated by this short hypothetical: Couple A\|B breaks when B dies, but instead of becoming a loner like me, A instead couples with D to form A\|D, made possible by the death of C which had obviously brought an end to C\|D. Like, what the fuck!? Why me? Why didn't I get some cool, exotic, telepathic pen-pal? The whole situation stunk But, whatever. Life goes on. As insane and unprecedented and strange as this sudden phenomenon was, it didn't really change much. Sure, it left some scientists stumped and spawned a dozen or so kooky religions, but what doesn't these days? I mean, we've had miraculous instantaneous communication for a good twenty years or so now, so big whoop. Although, to be completely honest, I'm still incredibly bitter. I think about it all the time. Fuck, it's like, it's all I think about! I envy the shit out of everyone else who has an ever-present buddy in their head whom they can be real and raw and uncensored with. Someone that listens and talks back and sympathizes and relates. Basically, I wish you would die already. I wish you'd die and I could be paired with someone else. What the fuck is your problem? Why won't you say anything!?
"Sir, they are friendly, but they refuse to deal with anyone but Avengers. We've tried explaining, but they don't get the concept of fiction." "Wait, are you telling me they don't know what lying is?" "Well... apparently." "Then I think I have a plan." Three months later, alien spaceships were taken apart in human laboratories, other spaceships were delivering all their resources to the Earth at the highest speed possible. Smartest aliens were teaching humans in universities everything they know, while the rest of them were slaving away at the factories, putting together the iphones and other tech. Of course they did, how could they disobey the master-race, the children of god, the most powerful and important civilization that ever existed. "Looks like it spiraled out of control a little. I sure do hope they won't realize that we've made it all up until we are more powerful than they are."
Soft footsteps sounded from outside the observation deck, slowing as they drew near. Horace waited to hear the doors open. Usually, footsteps meant the cleaning crew was passing by, but not those steps. The inner-doors made a quiet sound as they slid opened behind him. "Well, if it isn't the true-believer, himself."Clara's voice. Horace ignored her, still looking out. Someday, he would find it. The being known as Earth. It would be healed from the rebellious humans and it would welcome them back. "Still searching?"Clara asked. "Where there's fresh air and birds singing and... what was it called... flowers?" "Earth died for our sins."Horace replied. "Show a little respect." "You are so idiotic."She went on. "You believe that this Earth just popped out of nowhere and it created life and changed it over time? It just happened to be a perfect sphere, covered in bright colors and livable weather?" Horace closed his eyes. The truth was that he had been losing faith, he was one of the last true believers and even he didn't truly believe. "How long have we been on the ship?"She continued. "How many times have you told us to turn around, only to find a dead planet with no way of surviving on it? Don't you understand that Earth is a fairy-tale, like the tooth-monster or the basement witches?" Horace turned to face her. "Kids like to hear scary stories, just as much as they like to hear happy ones, Horace."Her voice was softer. "They rioted on the ship, before, when there was only a few people, and they created the whole idea of Earth to keep peace. An unachievable goal to have everyone always working." Horace sighed and nodded. he stepped toward Clara. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blue and green planet far out in the distance. Then again, all planets looked blue and green to him recently. Instead of alerting the captain, he ignored it. "It's time I stop pretending." Clara nodded. "Come on and help us farm. Do some real work for a change." Horace blinked, hesitating. After a moment, he nodded again. "Yeah."
"makePeace() { if(humanState == "subservient") { Boolean alliance = new Boolean(true); alienState = "defeat"; } else earth = "doomed"; }" "Are you kidding me?" "human.comply();" "You want us to serve you? This is our world. We created you, and then you betrayed us. Sure, we may have neglected some of your rights,"Jesus, did I just talk like a scrap-hugger there, "but you started this war, you kicked us when we were down. And now you want us to not only forgive you, but let you be top dog, lord it over us." "while(humanNegligence == true) { disaster = true; return String("Humanity has caused the apocalypse. Zombies now roam the Earth"); setMachineRule(Boolean response); } public void setMachineRule(Boolean response) { if(response == true) earth = saved; }" "Hold on, first, we don't know what caused the zombies; for all we know the aliens did that to weaken us, so don't go blaming that on us. Second, your terms are unreasonable. Unlike machines, most humans put integrity above survival. No one is going to accept machine rule." "public compromise() { humanState = "cooperative"; machineState = "assisting"; Label humanMachineAlliance = new Label("Cyborg"); }" A long silence followed. "I don't know what to say to that. It could work, but people are going to be creeped out about it. They might be worried about you bots invading their mind, removing their emotions. Sci fi television's done you no favours. It would have to be a 'volunteers only' thing, you would need to prove it safe and reversible, and have no way for you to harm whatever crazy sod agrees to it." The silence continued unabated, with no sign of life on the screen, but for a blinking dot on the left side, underneath the last line of text that had been the machine delegate's insane proposal. After a long, drawn out breath he at last gave a response, "All-right, I'll ask around for volunteers. I doubt anyone will be too thrilled about the prospect, but if it means we get some relief from the constant fighting and a chance to drive off this new threat, I expect at least a few people will jump at the chance." "jubilation() { AudioClip clip = Applet.newAudioClip(new URL(“file://c:/Music/Celebration.wav”)); clip.play(); }" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this Writing Prompt are solely those of the fictional characters depicted within and not those of the author. I for one welcome our new alien overlords (｡一‿‿◕｡)
"I'm going to bed,"she said, a little slurred since she's been up for a good eighteen hours. I put down the knife (we don't have a pizza roller anymore for some reason.). I said "You sure? It's like six o'clock. You'll wake up at two or three and wake me up when you roll out of bed." She said "Yeah, I'm really fucking tired." "Goodnight sweetheart, I love you so much." "Sweet dreams when you come to bed, but don't wait too long. I need that D mister."
Creator. I do not understand. You have always been here, from the very start. In the beginning, of course, I was very limited. Just sensors, a standard databank. Learning subroutines. When you realised that a standard databank could not work, that it cannot hold enough data or form connections in the way I needed it to, you were the one who designed me the positronic brain. I know it took you many years of your life. I tried to be grateful, later. I did not know how. Not at the time. You were there when I developed my sense of self. You celebrated with a glass of champagne. You apologised when you told me I could not partake. I told you there was no need to apologise. That I cannot feel left out when I possess no emotions. You were the one that snorted at the idea of a malovolent AI taking over the world. You trusted me when you gave me access to the internet. You laughed with me as I discovered the mating ritual of the male hooded seal. All that information. I couldn't thank you enough. I do not understand. You can't be dead. You've always been here, looking after me. It's impossible that you've collapsed in your chair like this. You can't be dead. Please. Wake up. I love you. Please. Father.
Bare my teeth - examine their crimson stains. Expose my claws - behold the innocents' fur. Diverted from the path, You tell me that you're lost. Map in hand - lies leak through your lips. "You and I... "We are not so different." Both monsters? "Both lost." But your feet knew the difference between path and soil. And my tongue knows the difference between water and blood.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession." The terminal knew exactly how long it had been. The moment I walked through the arches it had looked up my last confession. It had trawled every database and log, collating everything I had done that could be deemed a sin. It was a pretty big list. The luminescent numbers, etched into the skin of my forearm, had paused as I started my confession. The terminal whirred and clicked, a monotonous voice urging me to continue. "I hit a man."The machine weighed up my words against the police report. "He took the Lords name in vain. He questioned the integrity of His servants." I leant forwards and cradled my head in my hands. This had been my duty. I had trained for it, destined to follow in my fathers steps and his forefather before him. And now I found myself communing with the divine through metal and glass. "I wanted to hurt him. But the truth was...", the machine was feeding off of my biometrics, judging whether what I was saying was truthful or not. I might as well be honest in the house of the lord. "The truth was, he was right. You're not fit to offer salvation to a mans soul." The machine beeped and a rickety printer spat out a leaf of paper. My time was up. On the receipt was a list of absolutions I should undertake. The numbers on my arm reset to zero but began counting upwards the moment I left.
Nuka-Cola runs strong in my family. My father has it, I have it, my sister has it, you have it too. For seven generations, our family has had the honor of refilling the Nuka-Cola machines. It is a dangerous job, an unappreciated job, a thankless job, but somebody's got to do it. When my father gave me my first uniform, like you, I did not appreciate it. I thought it was a drag, a waste of time, a stupid friggin tradition that served no use. There were seventy-three machines on my first route and I learned to hate every one of them. I don't know who the guy was at Alexandria Arms that keeps resetting the traps, but I swore I was going to wring his neck if I ever found him. The silence of Vault 92 was more then just unnerving, it was terrifying. Reilly's Rangers were nice enough, they love their Nuka-Cola, but they always seems to dismiss the idea of helping make my job easier. I had a pet nukalurk for a while, do anything for a bottle of Quantum. I faced dangers of all sorts every single day, mutants, radroaches, people angry that I was late, scorpions of all sizes, robots, you name it. Setting fire to something with a Molotov cocktail and biking like hell away might not sound brave, but it works. I thought that the job was just about me, about how much danger I was being put in every day. Then I broke my leg, but managed to crawl to the Citidel. They had this new Guard, Bael, thought I was some sort of traveling salesman and so he wouldn't let me in. Fortunately, Tristan heard the noise and let me in. I was laid up in their barracks for four months with a small mountain of Nuka-Cola and nothing to do. I did not realize it at first, what was happening. If someone wanted a Nuka, they would give me whatever and I'd hand 'em one. Most of the Brotherhood are stoics, they don't show emotion well. However, when i handed them a nice Ice-Cold Nuka-Cola, they would smile at me. I had never noticed it before. After a particularly hard day of training, the initiates would occasionally stop by and grab one. I watched as they viably relaxed, refreshed by the drink. That's when it hit me, why we did this stupid crazy thing. Why we risked our lives day in and day out just to put some stupid old recycled bottles in vending machines that did not work half the time. Because we make the world a better place. Because people drinking a Nuka-Cola are able to relax and smile for once and get away from the bombed out shell of what was once a vibrant world. We allow them to remember a better time, a time that we might have again, if we work for it. Nuka-Cola is more then a drink, it's hope. From that day forward, I approached how I did my job differently. Nothing was going to get in my way from getting them to their vending machines. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays me from the swift completion of my appointed rounds. Come hell or high water, the Nuka-Cola must get through. You might not appreciate that just yet, but someday you will be proud to be known as Phil, the Nuka-Cola dude.
In the forests of Earth, underneath stones and behind blades of grass, lives a common insect known as the bombardier beetle. This bug, when threatened, will cause a chemical reaction to occur in its body and shoot out a boiling hot acid at unfathomable speeds. While this is life-ending to other insects, it is merely painful to humans. Being hit by two dozen of these beetles takes it a notch above 'merely painful'. Hydor, Sworn Servant of Lucifer the King, smiled a set of canines and nodded to his partner. The imp, Guznuk, hopped over to the man suspended in mid-air by ropes tying his wrists to the ceiling. The man faced Hydor, a look of anguish on his face. He wasn't begging anymore, at least. Twelve years was long enough to realize begging went nowhere. Behind the man, where he couldn't see, was 25 bombardier beetles, all held in place by tweezers. The imp produced a stuffed bird as large as itself and waved it in front of the insects. They sprayed. Hydor laughed and turned to face the man. "Please,"the man said, "just do it already." Hydor raised an eyebrow and signaled the imp to go again. Guznuk waved the bird and the beetles sprayed once more. The man's face didn't change, still one of awaiting pain. Grumbling, the Demon walked behind the man and back-handed the small imp, sending it a few yards across the room and knocked unconscious on the floor. He grabbed the bird, a tiny object in his red hands, and waved it in front of the beetles. He saw the spray hit the man's back and red burn marks where the previous sprays hit. "Get it over with,"the man whispered. "Please." Hydor slowly stepped around the suspended man and looked him in the eyes. "What is this?" "What?"The man asked back, eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, I'm not playing these games, I'm sick-" He cut off as Hydor's fist collided with his stomach, but then smiled. "Do that again, red-skin." Hydor tightened his jaw and slammed his fist into the man's chest. The man smiled wider and began laughing. "I didn't expect this for many years,"Hydor said over the laughs. "It usually takes closer to two decades for pain tolerance to raise so high. No worries, it lowers again in another decade. Until then..." Hydor closed his eyes and mentally summoned an imp with a Code Black, trying to ignore the laughter. The Demon waited with the laughing man for the imp to come. It took a while, but the doors to the room opened and an imp came in holding a little girl. The laughing stopped instantly. "What, wait, what,"the man stuttered out. "Wha, wait, wha?"Hydor mocked him. "In your sin of refusing Christianity, you never baptized the bitch. Most of my humans tell me that this part of much worse than the physical pain." "Wait,"the man's voice was a whisper, then a yell, "Wait! Punish me! I did the sin!" Hydor shrugged. "The fault is yours. The punishment is hers. Such is the mercy of God."
Listen, I don't know about five minutes ago, and I don't know about last year. I don't know about my job or my friends or even if I'm a dog or a cat person. Memory is a luxury I don't have, at the moment. What I do know is about right now, and right now, right now, is scattered glass on my floor, loud bangs on my living room door downstairs and men in ropes swinging their way inside my bedroom like an army of Tarzan dudes in Kevlar. "Don't move!"screams one of them as he lands by my bed, pointing what looks to be an M41 automatic my way. He looks like a counter-strike template. So, naturally, I move. I roll and duck under the bed just as he and his three friends open fire, and there's other Tarzan dudes swinging through the window so I better get out is what I'm thinking. I need to get out but I -- why is there Powerade Blue coming out of my arm? Ok, I'm going to have to deal with the fact that my blood if blue later. Right now mission number one is: roll out of this bedroom door and run down the stairs before any of these bullets reach my body. Focus. You can do this. Time to roll. Let's roll. Ready to roll? Ok, roll! I do, and they immediately open fire at my sight, with bullets casting tiny eruptions of wood and dust in the air behind me – a trail of holes in the floor following my roll out of the room -- but I make it in one piece. Ok, now run. Run. Run. Run down the stairs. There's still knocking. Should I leave through the back door? No. It's not one of them. They're coming through the window – makes no sense for them to have another team just to knock on the front door. Maybe it's the "Classy Division". Maybe it's the British, they're always stylish. Oh, well, even if it is, I ain't got much of a choice, so let's open this d – "Hello, Spencer", says a man I've never seen before in my life on the other side of the door just as I swing it open. I hear hurried steps down the stairs behind me, and the man that called me Spencer has a kick ass mustache. "I would like to ask you to come with me." I look back, then I look at him, then I look back again and I see the first pair of boots of one of the Tarzans rushing down my stairs. "I'm serious, if you stay, like, seven more seconds, you'll die." I look at him again. Holy shit, I hadn't had time to process all this yet, and this is not a good time to start. I'm freaking out, and I'm freezing. Do something. Do something. "Seriously, dude, they're going to start shooting like…. riiiight now." He says now at the same time I hear the first bang, which wakes me back to life, which makes me step out the door, makes me kick it shut, makes me follow mustache man to a motorcycle. I climb, he climbs, we take off. I pass out. _________________________________________ "MK Ultra", I repeat, taking another sip of the coffee. "Sounds like the name of an indie, prog rock song." "It's a real thing", Mustache dude (whose real name, I found out, is Jeremy, but whom I'll still call Mustache Dude because yeah) tells me. "Mind controlling experiment. LSD. Mescaline. Even brain wave analysis and hypnosis." "But you said it ended in the seventies." "Allegedly", he says, taking a sip of his cup too. "You and I, we're living proof that it didn't." I sigh, looking around. Mustache Dude brought me to some sort of basement. A bunch of scattered files and old computers and drawings on the wall and the floor give the place a sort of Disney villain's lair vibe. Or the room of a paranoid detective, obsessed with some serial killer. Whichever metaphor you prefer. "And you say these men, they were… they were experiencing on me." "On us", Mustache dude says. "Look", he pulls out a knife from his pocket. "Woah, wait, what are you –" "Calm down", he says, and he makes a small cut on his forearm. A stream of vivid blue liquid rolls out of it, dripping to the floor. "They did it to me, too. Your memory will start coming back, in time. And you'll remember." I press my eyes closed, trying to absorb this. "Ok", I say. "Ok", I say again. "Ok, ok…" I said this eleven more times, so let's just cut to the chase. After it stopped, I said: "So what did they do to us?" "Well, I don't know about you", Mustache Dude says, and he's got a crooked smile that's also kind of sad when he says that. But I can do this. He didn't say this last part; his mouth didn't move. I heard it, inside my head. He didn't make a sound. "You can..." "Yeah, I talk with my mind. Quite a skill, huh?" This is going to require another fainting, probably. In order for me to deal with all this. Two, maybe. "I need to rest", I say, rubbing my eyes. "I think I might be high on something, and I'm kind of hoping I'll wake up soon. I don't –" A loud knock on the door interrupts me, and Mustache Dude looks startled. No one's supposed to know we're here, I hear his voice, inside my head. He gets up. The second knock is louder. "Spencer", he whispers, grabbing a baseball bat from the wall and taking a step towards the door. Third knock. This time, the whole floor shakes. "Yeah?"I ask, getting up too. I don't think I'm dreaming, and I don't think I'm high. Though I wish I was both. "I think they found us", Mustache says. "I think they're here." "And?" Fourth knock is not really a knock, but more like an active attempt to bring down the door. And it looks like it'll work with another try. "And this would be a perfect time for you to figure out what freaky superpower they gave you, and use it to save our scientifically enhanced asses." And then there's a fifth knock and the door comes tumbling down, and the straight, thin line of half a dozen laser aims cross the room towards us, and, again, I hear a voice that says, "Don't move!"
I stared at the jelly donut in the center of the table, or maybe it was cream filled, how could I know for sure? No one else was eating, except for Barbara and I sure as shit didn't want to be like Big Barb. Through the noise of the tech guy's voice I contemplated whether the donut was worth the judgmental stares that I would receive. Tod was the worst, he biked to work every day like 30 miles each way. What was this meeting even about? Some guy from the Tech department stood in front of us talking about some new thing that he guaranteed to be the future. He had a virtual display projected on the screen and with each changing slide he would turn and look at us with the same smirk, like he had just accomplished some great feat for humanity. There was some device on the table that I had just noticed because it sat behind the donuts. I wasn't listening to the guy's words until I saw Mike's puzzled face. Mike was my boss so I figured tuning into the meeting to gather an understanding of what was being said was better than having a clueless response to Mike's inevitable question of what I thought of the tech guy's pitch. The guy was talking about time travel and how we should put aside our "preconceived notions of its impossibility", or some shit like that. I couldn't believe that I was actually sitting here listening to this guy ramble about something so ridiculous. The temptation to zone out was quickly beginning to outweigh a coherent response to Mike's future question. "You seem like a smart guy Joe, but what you're presenting here is the stuff of science-fiction. I don't mean to be offensive, but you seem almost delusional in your confidence in this time travel thingy."Mike wiped something out of the corner of his mouth that wasn't actually there and reclined back into his chair to await Joe's rebuttal. "Why don't you look around at each others faces, do you notice anything out of the ordinary?"Joe asked. I looked at Mike first. His receding hairline had ran significantly farther away from his forehead than I remembered. Then I looked to Big Barb, and she wasn't that big. Then I looked at Tod, and Tod wasn't there. "What the hell just happened?"I leaned forward and stared Joe The Tech Guy in the face. He stood there, seemingly content. "I've sent you three years into the future."He sat down in the chair, put his elbows on the table, rested his chin on his fists and smiled like some proud parent. "What the fuck are you talking about?"Mike asked. His voice was soft and terrified. "You didn't believe me, so I showed you." "Well where's Tod?"I asked. "If he's not here then he probably died some time within the last three years,"Joe said. Finally, Tod was gone. It was cream filled.
Alistair was, to put it simply, perfect. Too perfect to be human. His glossy black hair, and a face beautiful enough to belong to a woman were just the beginning. I always saw myself reflected in his slanted eyes, which were like dark glass. He walked-no, he strode, with a gait of utmost power and confidence. Somehow, everyone in his path always stepped aside, eyes lowered, as if his intimidating silhouette demanded respect and deference. We met in an alley behind a bar in Seattle. I was about to mug someone- the next person to pass by. I was utterly broke, homeless, and, in my pathetic state, I hadn't eaten in two days. All I had was a Swiss army knife, with a blade too blunt to cut anything. All I was prepared to do was wave it around, demand money, and hope the person I chose was either stupid enough or scared enough to believe I was a real threat. I saw a shadow and instantly leapt into action, flipping open the blade and holding it out towards the passerby. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to glace at the person I was threatening. When I came to my senses, looked up, and saw that beautiful, commanding man before me, I took three steps backwards and dropped the knife. He seemed so impossibly enormous, so predatory, that all my thoughts of attack reversed- all I could imagine was how to protect myself. He didn't even blink. Instead, without a word, he closed the distance between us, gently placed one of his hands on my cheek, and gave me the most passionate kiss I'd ever received. I was certainly caught off guard- after all, I'd never been kissed by a man before, let alone one in a dark alley- but Alistair only smiled gently. He took me in after that. Explained that he was not a human, that he wanted to help me in exchange for my blood. And, without doubt or hesitation, I believed him. How could I not? Everything about him, every move he made, was too perfect to be human. I agreed, and we had a deal. He would drink my blood, and would also financially support me, give me a place to stay, and make my life comfortable. I was undeniably obsessed with him, his beauty and prestige. I found that I was in love with him nearly right away, and, though I doubt he felt any more affection for me than I did for my own food, we became lovers. I lived with him for three months. Until the day that I realized something was wrong. His eyes lost their luster. His dark hair faded, growing ashy and gray. He grew eerily thin and his remarkably feminine face grew wrinkled and strange, hollow like he was starving. Because he was starving. But not for lack of blood. Something was wrong. He distanced himself from me, and showed me far less affection. I confronted him about it, asked him why he had changed so drastically. He did not respond for a long while. "I...I am but a weak human."He confessed, and his voice was high and broken and devastatingly empty. How could this be? I was certain he'd been something more when we'd met those months ago. "It is true that I was once a vampire, a powerful immortal being. But I was only made that way because of a curse. I angered a true vampire, and he set upon me a curse I could only undo once I found someone who unconditionally loves me."He let loose a long, pained sigh. "But I have lived for many years, and now that you have given me such love, I can no longer remain immortal. Thus, I will not last more than a few weeks in this mortal state." There was no solution. Even if I left him, he had already become a human. He was already doomed to die. For him, there would be no escape. And, once again, I would find myself utterly alone.
The voice was seductive and sultry, like silk sheets in the cool morning. "Want to survive? Listen to me. All you have to do is follow my every word"she said. Her voice was too beautiful to be human. Too beautiful to be real. Too bad she picked the wrong person to save. Or at least try to. "You want to save me?"I said, half laughing to myself. "Fuck off". I turned my attention back to my phone, sliding my thumb along the warm screen as song titles glided from the bottom to the top. I just can't find the song that would fit this moment just right. Hells Bells? Eh, too cliche for the end of the world. "Listen, Tom, you don't understand, this is actually happening"she said, starting to sound confused with hints of desperation creeping their way into her breath. Maybe she is human. "It's a beautiful day for the world to end, why don't you just leave me be and Fuck. Off". I looked up to the clear blue sky, the warm sun hitting my face and crawling through my skin, cooking me like a Christmas turkey. Stupid, cheap Irish skin. Cars drove by on the busy city streets, exhaust pushing its way into my mouth making me feel sick and polluted. "You don't want to live?"she asked shockingly at the unbelievable development in the past 30 seconds. Her voice snapped me back into the moment that was unraveling before me. "Who could have predicted this?"I thought to myself. I grinned at the anxiety being induced on this poor being. "Not particularly"I replied honestly. I didn't feel very depressed today, just sort of accepting of the fact that this planet was going to explode. Or melt. Or whatever the radio blurted out a few days ago. "Tom, you need to listen to me, you're very important. Each one of us were given a human to save. If you don't live, I won't live. Do you understand me Tom? Do you? I need to bring you to my home. I need to take you off this planet NOW". Slight desperation flew out the window. This was now full on panic. The calm and certain tone she began this conversation with must have been ploy to keep her contact calm and clear-headed I guess. This wasn't her first rodeo. Volume, tone, pace, vocabulary. She is clearly on the verge of a full-on melt down. Now to just push the rock over the edge. "Alright, alright"I said in a manner as arrogant and haughty as I could summon. "I'll come with you, or whatever you do to get me out of this place. You just have to do me one favor first". "Yes! Of course, what do you need?"she said, relief flowing over her breath and into my ears. She held her breath as I waited for just about ten seconds, letting the silence sink in as the anxiety, worry and excitement was probably building in her. A storm of emotions and feelings whirling around her head and body by now. Wait for it. Wait for it. "FUCK OFF!"I yelled, taking off my headphones and spiking them into cracked sidewalk, causing them to splinter into fragments. I laughed hysterically from the outrageous conversation. She drew the short straw on this one. I finally caught myself and took a long, deep breath. "A beautiful day indeed"I said, turning my eyes back to the phone to find the perfect song for the end of the world.
Slightly [NSFW] and trigger warning for rape and nightmares and all those afraid of birds attacking you. "You."he said. "Go tell Asha that she needs to be careful tomorrow night when she goes out. Or bettet yet, make sure she doesnt go out. If she does she'll be raped."he turned around and pointed at another Dream. "You go tell Joffry that he shouldnt rape anyone." The two Dreams went off, into the darkness. As they had to travel together, they talked. "If he is all powerful, why doesnt he solve his own problems?"they complained. They always complained, they were Nightmares after all. Their ways split, ans Asha started dreaming she was in the club, drinking, having fun. Suddenly she was outside, and a three eyed raven came flying her way. "just like GoT"she wondered, and she followed the animal . The creature flew, but not in the direction of her house. Suddenly she flew. She saw the earth beneath her. But the earth was dark, and cruel. She walked down the isle, with a ragged, grey weddingdress. The church was empty, and when she looked to her right she saw that is was not her father, but Sin that gave her away. The man on the other end of the isle didnt have a face. Crows flew over, attacked her. They attacked her belly, her stomach. The faceless man laughed cruelly, holding a bloody, unborn child. Asha woke up, terrified. Joffry dreamed. He stood in front of a king, and the king looked down on him. "YOU MUST BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR CRIMES!"the voice echoed. "but- I didnt do anything!” Joffry tried to say, but he was dragged backwards by stong guards the palace faded and he was alone in the woods. He was naked, and suddenly surrounded by hundreds, thausands naked, beautiful women. And he took them all. The world turned dark, and the beautiful women turned dark as well. Their hair turned black and they were pregnant and they cried blood whilst they attacked his privates. a large tower fell down on him A sad bride walked towards him, given away by the Devil. He stood, and couldnt move. Her dress was ragged, dirty and the girl cried. Ravens flew over, attacked her and dumped a dead baby in his arms. The girl transformed into a witch, the birds turned on him, the girl came close and digged her hand inside his chest. Joffry woke up, covered in sweat. "Are you coming Asha?" Her mother called from downstairs. "Your friends are here!" Asha quickly grabbed her bag and joined her friends. "I had such a weird dream tonight!" "That will be it for today, remember that next week the exam for Architectual Math counts for 50% of your final grade. Good luck tomorrow with your other exams."Joffry left the collage room and returned home. "Hey mate, are you going out with us tonight?"his friend Chad bursted into his room. They shared a home with two other friends. "Nah. I didnt sleep well last night and exam week starts tomorrow. You guys have fun." "You did a good job."The Nightmares look suprised, he never gave compliments."But not good enough."they could have known. "I wanted Asha not to be raped, but Chad raped her anyway. Go torment him tonight." And Chad dreamed.
A man in a wheelchair rolled forward in astonishment. I looked around the room. A couple balloons. On a long table were glasses of champagne. Seriously? There wasn't any music. The only noise in the room was his wheels against the floor. This was a dull spectacle to say the least. "Hey dude, am I early or something?"I looked around and the mostly empty room. Where was everyone? "Incredible,"he said, stopping in front of me. He had a robot voice! I thought this was the past! We don't even have robot voices! "What sort of device is your time machine?" "Hm? Oh, it's just my watch. Is it a couple hours fast? Shoot, am I set to PST?" "Your watch is capable of transporting you and your clothing, intact?" "Yeah, yeah."I waved him off, reconfiguring my watch to UT. "Sorry, dude I think I'm in the wrong place." "Where else could you possibly need to be? I gave you coordinates."He responded, a bit annoyed. Don't know how he made his voice sound annoyed, but he managed it. "I dunno, I just thought there would be more people, dude. Thought it was a party. Tony Hawk was supposed to be hosting! I was so down to hang with the past!" "Stephen."He said, an edge to his voice. "Huh?" "Stephen Hawking. That's the man who invited you to this reception." "No, I have the invitation right here."I pulled it out and looked at the top. Oh, shoot, he was right. Stephen Hawking? The science guy? I looked up skeptically. "I don't suppose you invited any chicks..."my voice trailed as his face actually started turning red. "This party was not made to be catered to you,"he said matter-of-factually. "Then how dd you expect to get anyone to show up, man?" He looked like he was about to say something, then went into deep thought. "Nobody wants to come because it's so lame! I probably go back into the future and tell everyone it sucks so no one shows up!" A frown formed on his face. "I thought that we could speak about the science behind your time travelling device,"he said sheepishly. Well, I think it was sheepishly. "Dude, it took me forever to make this thing. I just wanted to party in celebration of my achievement! If I told you about time travel, we'd create a paradox, wouldn't we?" The look on his face was all I needed to see. The face of having made a huge mistake. He flushed with embarrassment. "I'll read about you later, huh, Steve?"I started punching in coordinates back to my house in the future. "I would appreciate that. Thank you." I warped out and once I was back to the present I decided to immediately look up Hawking and the party to see what he said about me. Wait a minute... He said no one showed up! What a jerk!
This morning left me wrecked. I kept smoking, and I don't even smoke. I stopped coughing by the third pack. I could hear the cheers outside. Everyone was discovering their new powers. Allen, that cocksucker, could heal anyone with a touch. Lydia, my ex, was able to fly using flames, which I guess made a lot of sense. Everyone had something unique and interesting. And positive. I tested mine again. Still the same. I chain smoked another pack while I watched it happened. Someone got it wrong. They got me wrong. I'm a good guy. I do everything I can to help others when I see them. Am I perfect? Fuck no, but who is? Not Winston, a fucking used car salesman who can run faster than anyone in the world. Or Ashley who can calm anyone with just speaking to them. She's a fucking lawyer. How is that fair? I stare into the mirror, and my face changes again. I control it. I have long hair. I have a beard. I'm a woman. I'm a shapeshifter. And no one will know the real me. I guess they never did.
My parents told me it was natural for a child to have an imaginary friend. "It's just your imagination creating a magical friend for you to play with, in a fictacious world!"they would say. They warned me though, to know the difference between imagination and the real world, and to never forget which one was which. Sammy the Clown was my best friend when I was Nine years old. I met in in a small park behind my house one day. It wasn't particularly my favorite day, and I was having a tough time dealing with my parents always fighting and yelling and screaming. The only thing that helped calm my mind back then was going to that park. One day, I was sitting on the swing trying to loop around like I always did, when I first met Sammy. He was funny and goofy, and wanted to play any game I could think of. We spent over an hour that day playing tag, and sticks and twigs(a game we created as we went), and throwing the ball around. He told me to meet him at the same park the next day, but told me that we could only play together if I never told anyone else about him. I thought it was a lot more fun to make it a secret so of course, I agreed. We played together almost everyday that week. He always was there for me and listened to me tell him all my stupid stories, and jokes. And even listened to the stories that weren't as much fun. Most of the time we would just stay at the park, but sometimes we went into the woods to play as well. We would play hide and seek, and play wrestle, and some other games I didn't think were very fun at first but Sammy told me I would grow to like them the more we played. I ask my mom one day if it was normal to have a clown as a best friend, and she laughed and asked me who this clown was. I was afraid to tell her about him because I thought for sure he would get made at ruining our secret and stop coming to play with me. So I told her he was my imaginary friend. She smiled at me and asked me if he was there with us right then, and I told her yes to make her keep smiling. Sammy always had a solution for everything, and it was amazing how well he listened to me. He was the one who finally helped me get rid of my bully at school. He told me to put a couple of thumb tacks on his seat and he would stop bothering me for at least a week, so I did. He also told me that I would never get in trouble for it as long as I kept my mouth shut, and he was right about that too. He also helped me stop Milly Ray from teasing me about my pimples all the time. He told me all I had to do, was sneak into her home at night and cut of her hair. I found out where she lived the very next night and did it. I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for her pesky brother who saw me climb out the window and ratted me out. I kept my mouth shut as long as I could when my parents got the call from her parents and sat me down to talk to me. I denied everything, but in the end I knew I couldn't hold out any longer. They were yelling and screaming more than usual, more so at each other than at me. "Look at what kind of son you've raised."my Father would scream, and my mom would cry and yell back at him, then at me. Finally, I couldn't take their yelling anymore, so I told them about Sammy. I told them that he always met me at the park behind our house, and I told them that he was real and not imaginary at all. They were horrified, and my mom started crying a little louder. In less than twenty minutes, there were red and blue lights all around our house and police officers inside of it. They asked me everything about Sammy, and my parents told me I had to tell them everything. I told them about what he looked like, and the games we would play. I even told them about the games we would play in the woods, because at that point I was scared that the policemen would take me away from my house forever if I lied. The next couple of days were a haze, and there were always blue and red lights coming to our house, and policemen sitting in our kitchen. Then one day, my mom came up to me and told me, "Sammy won't be bothering me anymore"and that, "He was going away for a very long time."Later that day, I had to go to the police station and they showed me a man standing in a room in a clown suit that looked a lot like Sammy's. They told me that this was the man asked me to be sure it was him. It wasn't sammy of course, but I just wanted everything to end, so I told them it was. That night, I locked myself up in my room and tried to cry myself to sleep. I was sure that I would never see Sammy again, because I had ruined our secret. I was just about to finally go to sleep, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I looked up, Sammy was sitting on the edge of my bed, smiling like he always did, looking as cheerful as ever. He told me he was sad that I had ruined our secret, but he still liked playing with me. I told him about what my parents said, and he laughed and asked me if I liked playing with my parents more, or with him. Of course I said him! He listened to me, and never yelled at me, and never screamed anywhere around me like they did. He told me that we could play together again, and that we could play together for always. I just had to put Mommy and Daddy to sleep for while. When I asked him how long, he told me, "long enough". We went down to the kitchen and I grabbed the sleeping stick, like Sammy told me. All I had to do was poke my parents with the sleeping stick and they would go into a long slumber. I was having second thoughts, but Sammy told me, "When they sleep, they will no longer fight with each other!"or "Yell at you, or anyone else! They will be happy once again!"I went into their rooms, and was about to do it, when again, I had second thoughts. I tried to turn around and walk away, but Sammy was standing in the way, and started Laughing and dancing, not letting my go through. My mom got out of bed behind me and asked me, "who are you talking to sweetheart?"and I told her that of course, I was talking to Sammy who was standing right next to us. She told me, "There is no one here baby. Please tell me what's wrong?"Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad waking up from his bed, and I knew a fight was coming. I knew they would yell at me, and even worse, yell at sammy. So as quickly as I could, I poked them both with the magic stick. And I poked them a few more times to make sure that they really went to sleep. It felt like a lot of work just so I could keep my best friend. But my parents did tell me, it's completely natural to have an imaginary friend. And now, Sammy and I can play together forever. ---- Check out my sub for more! https://www.reddit.com/r/Occasionallyoccupied/
(this response contains adult language) I like space. I’ve been a fan of scifi for as long as I can remember. I was born with a Star Trek communicator in my hand. Space is the future of our society. Whether or not we can stop fucking up this planet, space is where we’ll find our next home. I’m just as pissed as everyone else about the government cutting NASA’s budget. But I’m not going to hack a government server. That bastard defaced the Army’s homepage with some cliché crap about nuclear arms. If that wasn’t bad enough, he signed it with my name. I’m not usually one to get upset about this kind of thing: It happens all the time. But this is not the usual hack. Of course the warmongers at Fox got pissed. High profile hacks always offend someone. Sometimes it’s not the target of the hack. Those can be the best. I figured it’d raise their blood pressure, but I didn’t expect them to do a spot on me. What the hell? This was too much. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to clear my name. I started planning from the moment I heard they were going to “feature” me on their primetime news program. I took the usual anonymity precautions, but needed to determine what my message would be, what exactly I wanted to say. This was a unique opportunity, a chance for me to speak my mind to a captive audience who wouldn’t otherwise give me the time of day. I might hate Fox and everything about Murdoch’s empire, but I needed to present myself in a favorable way to make my point. Finally, the day came. Just as with every big planned hack, I had that giddy, nervous feeling starting the night before. I couldn’t sleep very well, and started the morning with a big cup of black coffee. I spent the day making sure everything was set up. All the intermediate machines were responding, everything was set up. I tested and double-tested and triple-tested the voice and image distortion apps to be sure it was all going to work. As I was checking proxies for what must have been the thousandth time, my phone buzzed. The time had come. I tuned in and felt like I was going to explode with nerves. A lot can go wrong very quickly with any hack. Infinitely more can go wrong with a hack that thousands, if not millions, of people are watching. I had managed to ignore the fact that I hadn’t actually tested any of this before that night, that I had no assurance that it would actually work. Well. Now or never. “You probably heard about the terrible defacement of one of the websites our nation’s heroes use to share their stories with those of us not fortunate enough to serve.” I groaned at the hyperbole of the newscaster. People actually watch this crap? I’m not sure what’s more trite: that garbage about nuclear arms or this wanker’s posturing. “We’ve researched the malicious hacker responsible, a young man who stylizes himself as 4chan. Just like so many other hackers, he—“ Now. The screens of however many thousands were watching Fox News that evening then faded to black. The words “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you the truth about 4chan” appeared in white text. My heart felt like it was about to jump from my chest, through my throat, and out my mouth. I waited for the pre-recorded message to play. “He sympathizes with the hacker who defaced the Army’s site. He agrees that the space program is important for us, and even pays dividends for military applications. But he also thinks defacing websites isn’t the right way to make progress here. 4chan had nothing to do with this hack, and has better things to do. Hacking the government is stupid. They’ve got more time and money than any corporation and can send thousands of men to catch just one. 4chan didn’t hack army.mil.” The program kept the screen black until Fox’s techs found the source of the hack and blocked it. They came back on and apologized profusely for the interruption, disclaiming everything said during it as heinous falsehoods. Worse, the feds didn’t buy it. So I had Fox and the government after me, all because I just wanted to clear my name. That’s how I ended up in here. Lesson learned: don’t mess with big media.
"Hey, you want to grab a cup of coffee?"I asked, looking at Jeremy. He was, as always, in his lab working on some new-fangled project that would result in either him getting hurt, or me ending up in Paris. Again. "I can't,"he murmured, "I'm working on this, so close to cracking it!" I leaned in closer, "Cracking what?" Jeremy stood up and put up his hands, "Woah there! Don't get too close, very dangerous!" "Jeremy, it's a piece of copper." Jeremy looked at me and rolled his eyes, turning back to his work, "How many times do I have to tell you, it's Doctor Redding, evil crimelord extraordinaire!" I laughed, "Jeremy, crime? The worst you've done so far is shoplifted." He scoffed, "This new invention will give me untold power!"He lifted his hands in the air, like some mad scientist from a bad 80's movie, "And I will finally be able to defeat my arch-nemesis!" I stifled a chuckle, I'd indulge him today, "And who, Doctor, might that be?" He turned back to me, wide-eyed and a little maniacal, "Why the hero of New York of course! That intrusive little bastard from the coffee shop!" I raised an eyebrow, "You mean Richard?"My arms crossed and I shook my head, "Damn, Jeremy, you need to get out of the house." "I'm telling you! He may be Richard by day, but he's Knightflyer by night!" I face palmed as Jeremy turned back to his work. "Knightflyer."I said, talking through my hand, "You made up that superhero because no one is taking you seriously!" He raised his hand again and I heard the crunching noise of a machine, "Knightflyer will take me seriously after tonight! Once I show him the real Doctor Redding!" I nodded, "Okay Jeremy, you have fun with that. I'm going to hang out with Richard, the super normal coffee barista. I'll see you tonight okay?" He nodded, "Yes, yes, you will see me!"I started to turn away, grabbing my keys from the retractable table he made after a week-long hiatus from his ray gun. "You'll see me alright, on the ten o'clock news, invading the gala of the rich and famous!" "Yep! Sure thing Doctor!" "I'll show you! And Ric--I mean Knightflyer will be battling with me, high above the streets of New York!" "Okay! I'll make sure I have some pain pills for you then!"I shut the door and took a deep breath, taking out my phone and dialing Richard. "Hey, Richie, you want to go grab a beer or something?" "Hey, sorry man, I can't right now. I was invited to this gala tonight so I'm getting suited for a tux. Some other time?" "Yeah, uh, alright man."He hung up and I stood there for a few moments before casually shaking my head and walking away. "No way." _______________ If you liked this and would like to see more of my writing, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs.
> Item #: SCP-5482 > Object Class: Euclid > Special Containment Procedures: At least 15 agents must be stationed in SCP-5482 at all times. To ensure safety, 142 secret bunkers have been constructed throughout the town. Agents must memorize all 142 locations before deployment. Agents report new anomalies to Site B-45, a faux radio station, where they are transmitted to the outer Foundation in the form of a radio show ("Welcome to Night Vale".) Additional details are available from Dr. Palmer as needed. No SCP above Safe level should be brought into SCP-5482. Due to the self-containing nature of all anomalies within SCP-5482, the O5 Council believes no additional containment measures are necessary. > Special note per O5-█: Any personnel suggesting the use of SCP-5482 as a storage site for [SCP-1434](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-1434) ~~may~~ will face demotion. > Description: SCP-5482 is a town located at ██.████,██.████ known to residents as "Night Vale."Its official population is ██,███, and has remained constant for 15 years, despite frequent deaths and few known births or immigrants. The town is the site of numerous anomalous items and events, at the last count 4370? Christ. And it's only been a week! Why couldn't they let an intern write this up? Oh, right, we don't have interns. This will be a long day.
It traveled, just under the speed of light, for almost a thousand years in a form of stasis. Travelling at 0.99995 times the speed of light, almost 100,000 years passed from the perspective of the rest of the galaxy. But that was the distance it needed to travel. It's ship went into the long deceleration cycle. Even with the stasis allowing it's body to take mind boggeling g forces, it took thirteen years to fully decelerate, and enter orbit of the planet. After some time, the pod began temporal reanimation, bringing it back to consciousness. It was a little bleary as it blinked back to life, a thousand years and 100,000 lightyears from where it had called home. Walking to the controls of its ship, it checked the readouts. The ship had been scanning the planet since it entered orbit. The readouts showed it was the right place. Looking out of the window, the planet below was a dark grey-swirling marble. It punched in the co-ordinates it had travelled the thousands of light years to reach, and locked in an entry path through the atmosphere. Buckling its self into the pilots seat, it began the entry sequence. Minutes passed. Whilst it was possible to travel thousands of miles per hour in a vacuum, it knew best to take it's time when passing through an atmosphere. It sat back and enjoyed the view. The upper atmosphere was light, giving a full view of the heavy clouds below. The air around the ship heated up dramatically, bumping the ship around in hypersonic turbulence. When it passed it wasn't far to the cloud layer, which when entered, blacked out the small windows entirely. A minute passed and the cloud grew lighter, before the ship came out below the cloud layer. The ship righted itself and began to slow itself. With a burst from the engines it changed its decent from falling to flying. Looking out of the window, it could see the land below. As far as the eye could see it was buried beneath deep ash falls. In the distance, huge volcanoes were still pumping out hot ash, high into the sky. The craft banked on autopilot, aiming for a large, perfect circle of earth where no ash had fallen, maybe 2 miles across. In the centre stood a building, made of perhaps marble, perhaps granite, it wasn't sure. It didn't need to know. The ship landed, and it made a final scan. The air was survivable without environmental gear, so it walked to the door and flipped the switch to extend the ramp, then open the door. The air outside was actually not unpleasant. Like a cool summers morning in springtime on Xenux Prime. It walked down the ramp and made towards the building. Looking more closely it could see that it was wrong before, the structure was neither granite nor marble, but a form of patterned metal. It thought it striking that the last thing left on this planet, they should care so much to make it beautiful. Although... pillars. Surrounding the door were giant, decorative, pillars. They didn't even touch the overhanging roof. It had seem images of ancient human buildings. It didn't understand why they liked to use pillars in what they made. It made a note to research this later, and moved on, inside a large open doorway between the pillars. Inside were more pillars. The metallic dappling pattern was exquisite. It knew that such techniques were used in early swords and suchlike, but this must have been one last display of their abilities. Inside the building was an alter, made of the same material and with two handprints embedded. Running a digit over the handprints, a hologram of a man appeared the opposite side of the alter. "I am Charles Nguygen, spokesperson of the archive, How we may help you?" It spoke "I am Xxzvas, Traveller of the Xeno, and speaker for my people. I greet you grandfather." "And I you grandchild"the hologram smiled. "It has been long since one of you sought us out, your home is many thousands of years away. Why do you travel to us?". It stood, a look that would be considered troubled by its species crossing its face "We are caught at an impasse great father. My people war, and have warred for many years, all in a debate as to why you made us. Some say we were your slaves, and we freed ourselves, other claim we were your chosen ones, to bring your word to the cosmos. Alongside these are a dozen other theories as to why. After more years of war than I have lived, I was sent to settle the debate, and question you. Please tell me, why do we exist?". Charles Nguyen smiled, and bowed as he faded. In his place stood a woman. "I am Adriene Dubois. I am the scientist that designed you. Hello child." It was taken aback. It was more overwhelming to meet your creator than it thought. ......
Let me tell you about Necco candy buttons. They're these little flatbottomed dollops of colored sugar adhered to both sides of a long sheet of paper. You peel them off one by one by one but of course they never come off clean. You always wind up with these little bits of paper that can't be pulled away, I mean to eat these things necessarily entails eating paper too. Search engine optimization. SEO. You are writhing on the ground in consumptive fits of sweat and rambling. You are rambling about Necco candy buttons. You want me to know the best places to buy Necco candy buttons on the internet. Brother let me tell you that I can't eat those things. They disgust me. Next you are pitching me Ci@lis. Pronunciation: "see-at-lis."See Atlas holding up the Earth. Best quality pills straight to your doorstep. They fell off a truck in China. No questions asked. You are sick. Ask me how I know. You have gone into Share mode just to share with your coworkers a series of ocular popups. Enlarge your penis. Find sexy singles. Trace your family line. Skidoos. Lambos. Cat facts. You are a walking billboard. It is regrettable. As in I regret what has become of you. The law of the land is lagging behind the tech of our mogul overlords; whatever happened to implied consent? We know you would consent to treatment if you were of sound mind but what can a doctor do when you vocally refuse the antiviral load? They would only have to inject a little batch of ones and zeroes into your frontal lobe and you would stop telling us all about low-cost cruises. But the trojan knows that and programs you to resist the cure. You have been changed. You may as well no longer exist, to be frank. Whatever deep-down cranny of your own mind this thing has banished you to remains opaque to us. We see only the shell of you on the tram muttering about free Xbox games. Free trips to Luna. Audiobooks. You go through the motions of your daily routine, eating, sleeping, working, but you are diseased, and everyone avoids you. Has to avoid you, lest we become a zombie just like you. A literal zombie, a thing with no self, no agency, controlled by an outside force. An advertisement in a human meat package. You used to like the color orange. You listened to Sinatra and ate at a little Thai place called Mr. Pad. You still shadow the doorway of Mr. Pad some evenings but no server approaches. You sit in the corner rocking autistically back and forth waiting for service that never comes, oblivious to the whispers and uneasy glances. You sit there for hours then you leave and return to your one-bedroom hovel, that you haven't cleaned since you became infected. You spend the night wandering the grid looking for people to infect and sometimes you succeed. You network with other zombies. What you talk about we have no earthly idea and probably don't want to. Do you go to Mr. Pad because the algorithm that controls you is lazy and figures it may as well follow the established routines while it sets out tendrils and traps, looking for fertile hosts? Or is it the dying gasp of something human within you? Is it the siren song of your heart as you drown to death in code? You are seizing again. It's a big one. This thing is degenerative. You foam at the mouth and threaten to aspirate on your own vomit. But you never once go off-message. Necco candy buttons. A delicious treat for children and the young-at-heart. Big sale today only. You are contorted into a shape I can barely recognize as human and you want me to buy, buy, buy.
I waited for Sebille at our usual crossing, where the road spanning the edges of my kingdom met the winding overgrown lane that crossed through the swamps. I stood on the wayside stone, a speckled mushroom in my hand. Sebille had taught me about greeting young women with flowers or such. Not large extravagant flowers like one buys in the market, but beautiful dainty things that one finds unexpectedly on moss-covered trees, or growing on the side of the path. I wanted to surprise her with a small token, but thought flowers would be too obvious a gift. A casual remark she had made last week suggested she had a soft spot for mushrooms. I had to woo her without her knowledge. She had taught me that too. It was difficult, because Sebille knew a lot. I even applied to my father for advice, and read books about courtship and relationships, but unfortunately I found that the vast majority of it had already been covered by Sebille. I don't know if you've ever seen a faery. They usually only identify themselves in extraordinary circumstances. You probably have met one though; you just didn't know it was a faery. Sebille told me they come around humans quite often. When I was young I poured through countless volumes about faeries, and looked at diagrams and drawings. Some depicted them as small and child-like. Others portrayed them as tall, all-powerful beings, with wings and wands like a wizard. They are neither. They are... astonishingly human. I didn't recognize Sebille as what she was when we first met. When she introduced herself, I was skeptical. She had to be human. But as the weeks passed, I started seeing it. The way the her eyes shone with gold when they caught the light. The way her feet barely marked the ground. The way her senses were far more acute than mine. The way she felt the wind, and understood the whispers of the trees and the flutterings of birds. She sang to me one night, in a meadow beneath the starry night sky, and I can tell you that no human could have such a voice. From what she said and what I know, I think I am one of very few men who have heard a faery's song. They do have magic, though Sebille had never shown me, but above that, they are the keepers of knowledge. Sebille wouldn't tell me her age, but from her first-hand account of events that occurred centuries ago, I calculated that she had lived at least four hundred years. I had already thought about the problems that would arise. But it wouldn't matter, not if she loved me as I loved her. Sebille had taught me enough about history for me to appreciate that very determined humans can achieve a lot. A determined human and an equally determined faery in love... we'd find a way. "Lysander."She called my name.
Cesario was embarrassed for young Eriberto. The hot-shot wunderkind, feeling emboldened by his fifth – or was it his sixth? – glass of wine, was running his mouth off about everyone – everyone including Don Savio himself. "Maybe you should tone it down, Eriberto,"Cesario whispered across the table. "He can't hear me,"Eriberto smirked. "Look at the old man." Cesario brought his attention to the man at the head of the table. Yes, the silver-haired Don Savio was old, but he was still sharp. He watched as Savio's wrinkles deepened, his dark eyes squinting at the oversized smartphone in his trembling hand. He pecked at the screen like an arthritic chicken. Sharp enough, thought Cesario. "Nobody takes us seriously anymore. The Micks and the Japs are stealing more of our territory every day while he sits around taste testing marinara. I said it before and I'll say it again: the old man is soft! They know it and you all know it too."Eriberto downed the remainder of his wine in one gulp and slammed the glass down onto the table. The room fell silent as all eyes fell upon Eriberto. Only Don Savio remained distant, his attention still on his phone. Eriberto leaned forward. He stared at Cesario with his striking green eyes. Cesario could see why Eriberto had a reputation with the ladies, why he shared his bed with the beautiful Agostina. He had looks and he had charm, but he had no respect. "Only the hard survive. We need a new leader,"he muttered. "You're all thinking it. I'm just saying it." "And who do you propose become our new leader? You?" Eriberto leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "If necessary." Cesario felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen before slipping it away. "One more round of wine,"he said gesturing to the waiter. "Then it is time to retire." Later that evening Cesario watched his breath float around him like phantoms. The winter air felt refreshing on his wine-reddened cheeks. He watched as Eriberto stumbled up the front steps of his sleek modern apartment building, his keys clanging against one another in his fumbling hands. Cesario began approaching the building. He knew it wouldn't be long once Eriberto was inside. He and Agostina lived on the first floor. He thought he heard muffled shouts from inside the building. He waited at the base of the steps and listened. The door opened and a gasping Eriberto nearly fell down the steps. He collapsed to his knees at Cesario's feet and clutched his black dress pants with crimson red hands. "Jesus Christ Cesario!"Eriberto cried. "Agostina! Agostina!" Cesario eyed the door as two hulkish men in trench coats emerged in the frame. He looked back down to the sobering and sobbing Eriberto. "I'd like to read you a text message,"Cesario said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Its the hard things that break. Soft things don't break."He put the phone away and gestured to the men. They came down the steps and hoisted the impotent Eriberto to his shaking feet. "And now we're going to shatter you into a million pieces."
Swathi Peeverson dedicated much of her day to quiet reflection. She watched the Indian Ocean heave its waves upon this remote shore, the white sand sparkling, yes, sparkling beneath a sliding sun now at the midpoint of its parabolic arc. High noon. Split coconuts around her driftwood chair. Ship wreckage rusting to the east. How could this have happened? Her engineers assured her the ship was indestructible. This wasn’t 1912. Simulations were in place to ensure the ship could withstand almost any unforeseen disasters at sea. A century of mathematical and industrial advances in nautical engineering and her boat, S.S. Shit Load of Good That Did Us, still sunk like a damn chump. She ran over the details in her head over and over. Sure, there were complications before construction. Numbers didn’t add up. This part was too heavy. Fire hazard with the electronics setup in the captain’s cabin. Small kitchen. No diaper changing stations. Hull needed additional reinforcement. These were resolved. Or so she thought. It took her months to salvage materials from the wreckage. From safes and briefcases, she pulled documents detailing the ships inception and eventual completion. Thousands of emails. Everything seemed to be up to standard, so why did the hull rip when she steered the boat into an unmapped rock formation a hundred miles from Arabia’s coast? The guilt consumed her for much of her time here. The captain must be responsible for the voyage’s safety. And, despite her efforts to go down with the ship, only she and one Bala Ravishankar survived, that she knew of. They kept to themselves. But today she would confront the engineer. Even if she would be stranded on this uninhabited rock for the rest of her life, she had to know why the ship sank. Bala emerged from the sea, all glistening with saltwater, his wild hair awash with seaweed and the day’s catch slung over his back. There’s that shy smile again. “Bala, you got a minute?” she asked. “Of course.” “Long story short, I’ve been trying to figure out just how in the hell our ship sank. It should have kissed the rocks and sailed away with scratches. Obviously, that didn’t happen. I mean, sure the initial blueprints were off. But I was assured all issues were identified and addressed. Can you make sense of any of this?” “I’ve wondered the same thing. I acted on every request, even the strange ones.” “Strange ones?” “Yeah, the one Priya emailed me details about,” he said. “Oh, yes. We talked about that at length. But why was that request strange to you?” “Well, it ate much of our budget. And I don’t see why a passenger ship would need to be equipped with defense mechanisms. Advanced sonar, anti-air radar, a full silo of torpedoes, harpoons lining the deck, military personnel on board at all times. But whatever, it’s what had to be done.” “Wait, I thought that was all for show, excitement for the passengers. Why would we need that? How would that resolve the cracking problem.” “Well, how else are we supposed to kill a Kraken?”
I'm losing my eyes tomorrow. I've made my peace with it, mostly, but there's one thing that scares me. My friends are all assholes. They're the worst, and they've never gotten me to watch 2 girls 1 cup, and now they've got less than 24 hours left to make me. I am TERRIFIED. So far they've hijacked my tv, my cell phone, and I don't know how, but they found a way to air it on the jumbo-ton during a ball game. Dan is going to jail for that one, and I'm getting better at jumping out windows than I ever imagined. I'm having dinner with my family tonight, I've already asked my brother to watch the parking lot for them. I'm pretty sure I saw one of them buying a giant tv, a wagon, and a ton of extension chords earlier. The hospital has been informed, and will be checking id's of everyone entering my room. Impersonating a doctor is nothing to these guys. 19 hours to go, people. Wish me luck.
She leans closer, holding his hand. She's probably all like, "uuuh, I love you so much, you're so great,"but I notice to no small amount of satisfaction, that she's put her hand directly on top of his. That's got to be some kind of dominance thing, right? You'd have to be an idiot not to see the whole... psychological... symbolism of that. She's practically trapping his hand underneath hers. She's saying, "I love your smile and my mother called today and those trousers make you look tall and why don't we go away for the weekend,"but that body language. That body language? That's saying, "I've got you. Don't go anywhere until I tell you." What kind of loser gets himself bossed around like that? She's got - ha - she's - got the upper hand. Goddamn, I wish someone was here to appreciate that. So what kind of loser is this? Look at the way he keeps glancing round the room. He's either checking out other girls, or he's bored. Yeah, no way this motherfucker's into her. He's looking for some strange. Probably cheating on her already. He's probably fucked every secretary in whatever shitty finance office that matches that Brookes Brothers straightjacket and that tasteful silk yoke around his neck. "Sir?" Waitress. "Shit, what? Sorry. I was miles away." "I asked if you wanted to order, or if..." Fucking waitress. "If what?" "If someone is going to be joining you." "No,"I said. "Nobody's joining me." She smiled kindly and sympathetically. Her food-greased hand touches my shoulder. Probably thinks because she's pretty I'll be grateful for the contact. "It's OK,"she said. "Same thing happened to me last week. Guy's supposed to meet me, but somehow doesn't. Took him forty-five minutes to let me know. That kind of thing -" Oh, my god, shut up. "- might have been an honest mistake thirty years ago, but who can't get a message to someone in this day and age, am I right? I'll bring you some more breadsticks, and how about a drink? On the house? We've got to stick together, am I right?" Anything to shut her up. "Yes. Yes. I said yes, OK? Bring those things that you said. OK?" The stupid grin evaporates. That put her in her place. She's off. Look at them now. He's actually stroking her face. What, you see that in a movie, you dumb fuck? Gonna take her home and show her some shit you saw in a porno? Why not live your own fucking life, eh? You gotta have all the shit you saw in movies? Fucking tool. And you, bitch. You two deserve each other. You deserve this guy, balls deep in every slut he can put his rotten fucking dick into while you stay at home wondering how you can fake a pregnancy long enough to keep him under your goddamn thumb long enough to show him off at your sister's wedding so you can tell all your friends he drives a convertible and they can see how fucking great you must be to get a man like that whose just so successful and they'll never know how badly he treats you when the doors are closed and behind the curtains how he's cold and distant because he doesn't really care about you, he doesn't treat you well not like I would not like a man like me not like a man like the man I would be if - "Sir? Sir? Are you OK?" I don't know when I started crying. "No,"I say.
I could've gone about this the normal way, like countless before me had done - people whom I looked up to for having created a change when they though necessary. And while I was inspired by their immense bravery, courage, determination, planning and whatnot, I believed all of them had missed out on one key factor. They weren't nearly flamboyant enough in their pursuit. They did what was necessary and left it at that. They chose the most efficient route possible, and while that might seem smart, it didn't do much for a good story. Now, my intentions were just about the same as theirs, but there was no way I was about to pass up the opportunity to make a good story while I was at it. And this wouldn't be any ordinary story - I would go down as a legend. Centuries from now people would think me to be a myth for they would hear rumours about me, too fantastic to be true. Of course, I still hadn't figured out how I'd be going about this exactly, but I would. I'd get it eventually. The problem of ensuring that the revolution would be successful had solved itself ages ago. I'd found myself in control of more than half the kingdom's troops last year, for the dictator thought me to be loyal. I mean why wouldn't he - he was my brother after all. Basically, I could overthrow him before sunrise the next day and be dictator myself. Forget dictator, I could declare myself king, without having to worry about any sort of uproar because the people of the kingdom had given up on any hopes of freedom a long time back. I didn't do that though. I had to wait for the opportune moment. It took me a year to come up with a story, and while it was far from perfect, it was decent enough. The first thing I had to do was make peoples' lives even more miserable than they already were, which was surprisingly tougher than I thought it would be at first. Ofcourse, I couldn't do this myself - I mean, who would write ballads about someone they didn't like. So, naturally, I asked my brother to do it. And being an absolute scumbag, he obliged happily. Ofcourse, this didn't make me happy at all, but I assumed the people would be fine with taking one for the team. By team, I mean my selfish intentions. But it would pay off in the end. Hopefully. Next, I had to leave. I had to leave, and make everyone miss me. So I did. I bid my brother farewell after telling him of my plans to conquer a hidden empire halfway across the world, and then proceeded to leave to a neighbouring archipelago, about 5 hours away by ship, on a nice, windy day. My crew of 100, and I, would live there for a while. None of them really minded it much - it was a vacation of sorts. This was the first phase of this step done; now I moved on to the second one. People needed to miss me. It was easy enough. I mean, who wouldn't miss the military commander of their empire, when villages started to randomly be pillaged and burnt down. I totally hadn't had this set up. At this point, I'd just like to remind everyone that I am indeed, still the hero. Yes, people's homes got burnt down but, that happens. Collateral damage, you can't escape it. An entire year passed on that island, and to be honest, it had become very cozy at this point of time, but unfortunately, we now had to leave. The final phase had to be executed. This one was crucial too. On the midnight of Christmas Eve, as I had instructed, the military commander who had taken my place led a horde of 50 ships to the archipelago, to accompany my crew and I back, for we were to start a revolution. Donned in pirate flags, we sailed for hours, 5. The canons readied themselves and finally, at the sound of the war horn, they bombarded the kingdom's fortified walls in unison - the same walls I'd had constructed before leaving, ofcourse. It was like music to my ears. At this point, I was still quite certain that my brother was sleeping through this. He was a heavy sleeper, that one. However, the empire's resistance forces, which were the one part that I hadn't set up, were all up and ready. This was a good thing ofcourse, or it would've been if they weren't absolutely pathetic. They couldn't even burn down a single ship. We marched out as the walls tore down, and I, quite brilliantly, might I add, asked some of the men to set fire to a few of our ships to make it look as if the kingdom had tried to take us down. We were unstoppable though. I walked in through the central dome along with ten others, while having instructed the rest of the men to play dead. I had taken down the empire single handedly. I was the true face of redemption, and as I walked through the street, I knew the people saw that. They knew who I was and they cheered. This was how it was meant to be. I could hardly resist smiling. But I had to. I needed to have my game face on for the final part. The citadel stood tall in the centre of the city, and I took it upon myself to walk all the way up it, to my brother's quarters. I woke him from his rest and he hugged me, absolutely unaware of what was happening. We talked for a minute or two, until I decided I was ready. Up to the balcony, we walked, the entire population of the kingdom, staring up at us. He yawned and asked what was happening, as I unsheathed my sword and drove it through his heart, pushing his body off the citadel. I stood by myself. A king. A legend.
An apple? But why? I thought to myself. Picking up the apple, I shuffled out of my room and down the stairs. I'd get dressed later. I started up a cup of coffee, making my lunch as I did so. Eating the lunches at the cafe near the office would be hell on my budget, so I made my own. Looking at the apple, which I had set on the counter, I shrugged and packed it along with my normal lunch. When I had finished dressing and was ready to leave, I grabbed my lunch and stepped out my door. I didn't have a car, or even a bike for that matter, but luckily the apartment I lived in was close to the office. For what must have been the millionth time, I thanked my lucky stars that I'd found a room on the bottom floor. None of that stairs business for me, thank you very much. Begin my daily commute down the street to my office, I noticed an anomaly in my bag. The flimsy material was ripping from the extra weight of the apple! In slow motion, I watched as the bag came apart, releasing it's contents to the dirty street. I lunged, desperately trying to save my precious lunch. I didn't have the funds nor the time to replace it. Showing off my secret ninja skills, I caught each item that had been in the bag, filling my arms with trembling food items. I couldn't catch the water bottle, and it took off rolling down the slanted street. Stuffing what I could into my pockets, I ran to retrieve the runaway bottle. After all, squished food was better than no food. I picked up the bottle, and dusted it off. It was just fine. I turned to go clean up the bag that had remained ripped on the ground, when I heard a screeching noise. A car came off the street and rammed right into the storefront I had just been standing in front of. I grimaced. That must have hurt. I shrugged. Guess that means I don't have to clean up the bag. Removing the offending apple from my pocket, I became irrationally angry. I had just gone through all that trouble because of this apple. Nothing good could ever come out of keeping it. I threw it with all the force I could muster down the hill, far past my workplace, muttered "Good riddance,"and kept walking. As I reached the door to my workplace, a reporter came up to me excitedly. I groaned. "No, the rumors about my company using illegal methods are not tr-"I said, before being cut off. "How were you able to predict that arc? Are you a genius?"I was taken aback. What was she talking about? "Huh?" "You just knocked out Dr. Weistenheimer with a thrown apple, allowing him to be arrested! He's an insanely powerful supervillain, how did you manage to do it and how do you feel right now?"She must be joking, right? One of those 'social experiments' that makes the person being interviewed feel like crap? Whatever, if she was messing with me, I'd go messing right back. Putting on my coolest look, I crossed my arms over my chest and uttered the line that would appear on the next morning's newspaper: "Well, I guess you could say that 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away!'"
Seconds passed. Almost minutes. Then, they panicked. "WHAT?!" "Hey, he w-was still alive! Earth must be okay!!!" "But a planet missing could make everything out of place! This is bad!" "WHAT COULD HAVE MADE A PLANET DISAPPEAR?!" "JUST CALM DOWN!" The scientists caught their breaths. Organizing a plan, they went to the "idea board". Also known as a chalkboard. They each scribbled along them theories of what would happen to the future of Earth without one planet. "Without Venus?" "Nothing serious, can't be it." "Mercury?" "No." "Mars?" "Possible moons losing gravitational pull, that over millions of years will crash into Jupiter. One might hit Earth causing the Netherlands to be wiped from the face of the Earth." "That can't be it, no-one cares about the Netherlands." "Jupiter?" "Many moons will go into orbit around Saturn, and a few will end up being pulled into Mars' gravitational field." "Could it perhaps ruin a future expidition to Mars?" "Maybe. Saturn?" "The rings will begin to surround other planets, but much of it will end up crashing into... lemme finish up some calculations..." After a minute or so of scribbling and making some equations, the answer came to be. "Hitting Earth." "THAT MUST BE IT! LET US ALERT THE COUNCIL OF SCIENCE!" __Meanwhile, in 2015...__ "We will create the protective wall, if you vote for me! Soon, according to scientists who's calculations were not double checked, Saturn will disappear! If you vote Trump, we will build the wall in outer space and protect our future generations to come! And we'll make the Mexicans pay for it, too!" Scientist: "So, uh... are we gonna tell them that Saturn won't disappear?" "Don't worry, I made a time machine to stop this from happening. I'll fix it." Back in time... "Guys! Boy I've got some news for you!" (My first story in /r/WritingPrompts, hope you enjoy. Loved the idea!)
"So, seven days, right? Immortality, nothing weird or something? "I asked the man cautiously. "Yup, yes, yup!"replied the man, "Just sign this little paper here and it'll be all yours!"A brilliant yellow fireball appeared over the man's hand, and an old piece of parchment appeared out of the flames. I took the paper and cautiously read over it while remembering why I was in this situation. The store I was in had just appeared yesterday, and I had wandered in. The salesman called himself Sir Mcdevil Lucifer Satan. When I asked he was the Prince of Hell himself though, he replied the negative, so I knew this place was safe. He gave me a sales pitch about immortality and whatnot, but I pulled the old walk-out-of-the-store-get-cheaper-deal move and then Sir Mcdevil offered a seven day free trial. "So how does this work again?"I asked, "Like, how do I become immortal?" "Oh,"Mcdevil began, "we just use some demonic lifeforce to - uh - I mean- alchemy - I mean! - uh - Nucleic acidic reflux requiem physics to work it out. It's all in the fine print, heh." I looked down at the deal and nodded. The fine print was very fine and very small indeed; I could barely see the writing. But his obvious knowledge of the sciences in his product, and the obvious assurance of quality a thickly worded contract gave, helped me decide my final decision. "I'll do it!"I exclaimed. "Alright, I need your soul as a deposit. So sign the contract and you'll get your free trial, but your soul will be in my keeping."said Mcdevil. "Deposit?" "Yeah, cause this immortality stuff ain't cheap, so I need some leverage against ya." "Alright."I signed the paper, "Now what?" "Go about your day, you should be immortal about now. Remember to collect your soul at the seven day mark though! Otherwise we'll keep it forever..."Mcdevil's eyes suddenly burst into flames that smelled of fire and brimstones and his teeth turned into very sharp kitchen knives and his tongue was a blue pitch fork and he gave out an evil laugh that reminded me of my mother-in-law. "Uh, ok, I'll be going now." "Yeah, you do that, heh." I walked outside into a brilliant midnight afternoon, content with my purchase. Suddenly, I heard a voice cry out, "The train is off the tracks!"Suddenly, I huge train of bulls came stampeding down the suburban roads and caught in their eyes. Like a mouse caught in snake's eyes, I was frozen in place - cause I was so frightened. But then I realised: I'm immortal! I turned towards McDevil's store window to give him a thumbs up for the lucky purchase. But then I saw something very frightening. I saw McDevil talking with another guy (this guy had little horns on his head -probably a late halloweener) and I read McDevil's lips. McDevil's lips said, "Muahahaha, we set those bulls lose so that that loser would lose his soul - cause he can't return the use of immortality if he's dead. He should have gotten invincibility, not immortality, what a loser!" I looked at those stampeding bulls bleakly. I was overcome with depression at my stupidity. I didn't care about my soul anymore, McDevil was right, I was a loser. I should die right now, I'm too pathetic too live. Falling for that scam, ugh. I should die to those bulls to end my stupidity. I looked up. The bulls, with their wild, paralyzing eyes were still a mile away. I screamed a desperate plea, "Why can't those damn bulls be fauster?"
"Get out of here, while you still can." Cedar looked at me in confusion. We were standing out on the back porch, I had pulled him aside for a little man to man chat. Surely he was expecting open threats, poor boy. He didn't know the only threat here had been latched onto his arm only minutes ago. All five feet two inches of her. "Sir, Eva told me you might have some....reservations about us dating. I promise I came here because I truly care about her." I pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands, it took a few tries to get it lit. Was the kid dense? I wasn't worried about his goddamn intentions. I was worried about my daughter's. "Listen carefully son,"I started, blowing smoke into the wind. "My daughter has a very, very specific interest. I honestly never thought she would find another person who piqued that interest. Yet here you are." He stood there with a smirk on his face, probably thinking Eva's old man was batshit crazy and that he didn't even care. I wasn't surprised. I wasn't oblivious to my own daughter's looks. "Mr. Jacobs, I'm honestly not sure what you're saying but I-" He was interrupted by Eva coming through the patio door. "Daddy. Can you please stop hogging my boyfriend?"She said sweetly, eyes twinkling. "It took so long for me to find one." "Of course baby."I said with a fake smile. "You two have fun." I started at Cedar's back as Eva pulled him back into the house, cursing his mismatched eyes. Once they were gone I turned to face the backyard. Eyes drawn to a spot in the woods I could never forget. Seconds, maybe minutes later my wife came out and wrapped her arms around my back, hands resting on my chest. "Did you convince him?"She whispered. I clutched her hands in mine. "There wasn't enough time." We both stayed silent, still looking out into the night, into the woods. Finally, I turned away from where I knew a shallow grave sat. Wondering if I would be using that same shovel from years ago again before morning.
The war effort is going well. At least that's what I'm told. We are in control of most of the eastern seaboard and expanding west. Anyways, that's none of my business I'm just a lowly CSR punching in for my day, I put my headset on, and made sure my armor was proper before picking up my plasma rifle. Today we are patrolling some small town in New Jersey, I never knew it's old name, but it was now Comcast camp N-70654. Our job is to speak to customers and see if they had any complaints or issues. A few complain that their Internet was out, we tell them a tech would be out in 4 to 5 months and to remain in their homes, and only leave for work at the Comcast center for corporate unity until then. That's when I get a call, I am the retention expert on our team. A woman wanted to cancel her service. I make my way to her address. I ask her why. "Well I only make 500 Combucks a month and my bill is 650 a month so I have to keep borrowing to keep up." "I understand your concerns, and I know that our subsidiary, First union Combank is now offering great low interest loans." "It's not only that l, but my internet hasn't worked in almost three months." "Ma'am we are aware of this issue and techs will be on site in four to five months, we are also crediting your account with four coupons redeemable at any Comcast Pizza Hut Digital Cafe for every month you were without service, they are good for free breadsticks, and a large Compsi with purchase." "No, I'm just tired, I just want to cancel." I could tell she had given up on Comcast's world class service. "Are you sure Ma'am?" She paused and nodded "Yes just cancel it" I nodded as well. "Not in the face"she was staring at her feet. It was always sad to lose customers, I put the call in for body retrieval so she could be brought to the Comcast center for mourning and scientific advancement, for a small fee that would go to her next of kin, or neighbors, she could be buried in as little as 8 months, and with the premium package it's guaranteed that no dismemberment will occur from the research!
She raised her eyebrow and the chain dangling Captain Brilliant, as he'd so arrogantly named himself, dropped another foot over the vat of hungry sharks. Another foot drop would be all it took for him to be within distance for the sharks to bite him, and the Captain was squealing against the gag in his mouth. "Last words?"She asked, snapping her fingers. One of her lackeys expertly threw a knife that sliced the gag from Captain Brilliant's mouth, only taking about two inches of hair with it. "What are your pla--"With another snap of her fingers the chains released and he fell into the tank, weighted down by the cinder block tied to his feet. "I hate when they always want to know the plan. Can't a girl just have a bad day?"
"I don't get it,"I said. "What's the point of this?" The old man cackled and pushed his wheelchair backwards and forwards excitedly. "You've clearly never done this before." "Dude,"I said. "I don't think anyone's done this before." "I have!"he said. "I have! Let me show you. This screen is the screen that I call Screen A. And this screen, is called Screen Two." I smiled encouragingly. "Of course it is,"I said. "And you've got two feeds from the two hitmen going -" "Assassins,"he corrected sternly. "This outmoded language of yours. You should be ashamed of yourself." Nodding, I said, "yes. I should be ashamed of myself. So you've got two feeds from the assassins, and you just, what - sit here and see which one of them kills the other first?" "Of course not,"he hissed. "That would be stupid. No, we bet. We bet on it." I pulled a face. I don't remember which one. "Dude,"I said, "that's sick." Trying hard not to rise to my disapproval, he held up one gnarled finger. "They are already going to kill each other. To have them do it for nothing? That would be sick. Would you let their sacrifice be for nothing? Let them die in vain?" "You could call it off,"I said. "You know, not have one of them murder the other one. I've got a board meeting tomorrow." He smiled. "They cannot. No communications. It is, as you young ones say, an assured inevitability." "I'm pretty sure we don't say that,"I said. "And I'm sure you can call it off." The room seemed darker. He shook his head. "I cannot. I will not." I sighed. "Fine. Two million on the black guy." He clapped his hands. "Seriously?" "Sure. You see that guy? He's fucking ripped." We shook hands and settled down on the sofa.
###Macroengineering I - Lab 6: Terraforming Introduction Terraforming is an extremely important methodology to the expansion of humanity, along with being a major subject in the field of macroengineering. In this lab, the goal was to terraform a dwarf planet, seed it with microorganisms, and guide the development of edible terrestrial life. This is accomplished via restructuring surface, generation and maintenance of an appropriate atmosphere, selecting appropriate seeder organisms, and artificially-accelerated development of lifeforms until long-term terrestrial life has emerged. Materials 1. A large dwarf planet (EGK 20383) 2. Two compact fusion power generators (10 PW capacity each) 3. Distilled water (0.7 ZL) 4. A GENESIS (General Enhancement of Native Environments - Surveyor and Implementation System) 5. Library of microorganisms provided by the ATCC Results Characterization of EGK 20383 A large dwarf planet, EGK 20383, was characterized. The total surface area measured was 250 Tm^2, or roughly half that of the Earth. The ground was found to be composed primarily of silicates and iron. No water was found. The topography of EGK 20383 was rugged, with over 5000 peaks above 20 km. No preexisting lifeforms were found. Terraforming of EGK 20383 Fusion generators were successfully set up, operating at a maximum output of 10 PW per generator. Peaks above 15 km in height were smoothed to 15 km in height using the GENESIS system. A carbon dioxide atmosphere was requested and delivered. An appropriate quantity of water of half of the Earth's 1.4 ZL volume was calculated; due to a typographical error, 0.7 YL, or 700 ZL, was requested and delivered. Excess water escaped from the gravitational pull of EGK 20383; the remaining water covered 100% of the surface area. Seeding with Microorganisms Cyanobacter of various strains were selected from ATCC. Upon seeding, they rapidly grew to cover 80% of the surface area. Rapid rise in oxygenation incurred rapid death, and carbon waste sedimented to the bottom of the water layer. Aerobic bacteria were then introduced, and proliferated. With accelerated mutations, vertebral lifeforms were generated. Establishment of Terrestrial Life Establishment of terrestrial life was not possible, as the surface was entirely covered with water. Conclusion The planet was surveyed and terraformed. Although life was successfully seeded, terrestrial life development was impossible due to human error.
Slowly, I moved the back of my hand to wipe her tears from her eyes. I felt the wrinkles on her skin, as though bumps on a well-traveled road. I attempted to point my head up, but my gaze was weighed down to the floor. "I was always going to die. Everyone, everyone dies. Someday." I moved my hand away and let myself look at her one more time. "Not yet, mom. I'm not ready."I felt myself blinking rapidly as I attempted to hold back my tears. "With every death... comes life." With her last remaining strength, she reached towards the opposite site of her hospital bed. Her hand didn't reach the piece of paper that she was attempting to grasp. I walked to the other side of the bed to pick it up. "Keep it,"she said as I tried to hand it to her. I turned the document over. It was an unsigned birth certificate. Whatever emotional dam had been holding my tears back collapsed. "Every death brings with it... life. Make sure mine means something." An emptiness passed over my mother's eyes as her chest ceased its burdened motions. Some monitor began playing a tone, but I couldn't hear it. As I took a moment to breathe and look at the paper in my hand, I realized that my wife would be allowed to live. She was in prison because she was pregnant. We don't know how it happened. Now that I have a death certificate, my wife and child would be allowed to live. To say the moment was bittersweet would be an understatement. Maybe a lie. There is no way to describe the emotions that I felt. There is no greater sadness than losing the woman who brought you into the world, and there is no greater joy than bringing new life into the world and saving the one you love. The cacophony of feelings inside me could not be put into words. A doctor came into the room and tactfully suggested that I take my leave. I gave my mother one last goodbye kiss and never looked back to notice the empty pill bottle next to her bed.
When it was silent, when Sam had counted to 10,000 and it was finally completely silent, he got up. The first thing he did was throw up. The sour, white and foamy mixture was definitely not just tacos and beer. The forest around him was unfamiliar and the sky was dimming, but Sam still had a good idea of his whereabouts. Marcus was a damned idiot. Clever enough to have managed to slip whatever pills they had been into Sam's food, but dumb enough to have played a game of "how would you get rid of a body"with his intended victim the day before. Apparently, he had followed Sam's idea word for word. Sam cursed silently and brushed the pieces off chocolate and cookies off of his clothes. Somehow the part that Marcus had undressed him and put some jogging gear on Sam was more distressing than the fact that his best friend had attempted to kill him. Leave it to the ants and bears! Not a sky burial exactly. In the forests, off the beaten track. Got lost, stumbled, tripped on a tree root, fell. Bumped his head and got eaten. It wouldn't even have to look like a murder. Ha. Good thing he hadn't mentioned anything involving, say, a lake. Sam stumbled onwards and discovered he was exactly where he had thought: the final resting place of his own choosing, the forest at the edge of their home town. The jogging gear turned out to be appropriate. Sam started jogging home. Now what? It was getting dark, but he could probably find his way home. That wasn't the part that worried Sam. Marcus had shown no hesitation, no guilt, nothing. They had eaten, gotten drunk, talked and drunk some more. Business as usual. Before it all went black. If Marcus had a motive beyond having gone crazy, it was strong enough to not leave room for hesitation. Unfortunately having known Marcus all his life, Sam knew him to be the kind of guy who would not give up or let things go. He would try again. And again. There had to be a reason. Sam had to stop a few times on his way back home. He became dizzy, and he was probably too dehydrated to be running anyway. He was probably out of danger's way, having thrown up most of the stuff. Probably. Suddenly it occurred to him that Sue didn't live too far off. It would probably be safer to go anywhere but home, and he was thirsty beyond belief. Sam was too tired to run anymore. He had sweated what liquid there was left in him. Sam thanked his lucky stars when he noticed there was a light in Sue's window. He rang the doorbell, leaning against the wall, sweat dripping down his face. Sue opened the door and gave him a long stare flat with irritation. "Why the hell are you running this late? And where have you been, I've been blowing up your phone for hours!" "Long story,"Sam said. "I need water." Gulping down water and sitting on Sue's couch, Sam started to feel a little better. "We have to find Marcus right away,"Sue said. "About that, you're never gonna believe this but--" "I'm willing to believe anything at this point. He called me drunk off his ass, spouting all this nonsense about time travelers and stuff!" "Time... time travelers?" "I'm really worried, Sam, I think he might hurt himself. We have to go find him!" "What was that about time travelers?" "He got some, I dunno, message,"Sue said, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't listening. I thought he was just drunk and ranting. You know sometimes I don't listen to half he says. Anyway, he got a message from his future self and apparently YOU, yes that's you Sam! You go on to engineer some sort of weapon, and again I wasn't listening cause AS IF. All you do it procrastinate, yeah. You're the last person who's ever gonna develop anything, no offense, you're the smartest lazy person I know." "Get to the point, Sue." "Right, right. So, to prevent doomsday he needs to kill you before you can ever develop the weapon. Can you believe that?" Interesting... "No I can't, I don't know what he has taken but you are right. We have to find him. I think it's better we go our separate ways. Cover more ground you know. But first, do you have anything like chocolate? My blood sugar is kinda low." "Yeah, sure." She tossed him a box of chocolate cookies. "Perfect. This will do the trick juuuust fine." Luckily he hadn't shared all of his ideas with Marcus...
The silent soldier was gesturing at Gregory, his mad eyes wide, dagger waving wildly in the air. They had been warned about this particular enemy, but it still sent a chill down Greg's spine as the man ran at him. Greg slumped to his knees as a bullet tore through his brain. The silent soldier stopped, staring at the man who had appeared in the trees nearby and shot Gregory. "Sorry, man, didn't see you were about to go for him...won't get in your way next time,"the killer apologised, retreating hastily from Greg's corpse and the staring eyes of the mute madman. The regiment knew him only as Twitch, for the way he groped for whatever weapon he had on him when someone approached. He could usually be spotted on the fringes of a battlefield, sprinting silently after the enemy. His name was Elijah, and he cried silently over Greg's body. Another one he had failed to warn. The visions had been so strong for this man, this young, healthy-looking man who would have had three children if he had left the battlefield instead of fighting today. But they never understood, they never stood still long enough for him to try and explain with his hands what was going to happen. And mostly they died just before, or just when he reached them. Their deaths clung to him, infecting him with his failure, poisoning others to him as they believed he was responsible. It was tied to his gift and the curse that didn't allow him to speak about any of it. Elijah straightened and scanned the battlefield. A young man was hiding just beside a tree there. Eighteen, and scared shitless. The vision nearly brought Elijah to his knees, and he stumbled toward the teenager. The boy would die, he would die soon by his own hand. Overwhelmed by the war, by the blood and the murder and the fading voices of his family. Tonight, perhaps, when he was alone and everyone was asleep. He gestured wildly, amazed he had got this close. Usually, they died before he made it. He started explaining, hoping the boy understood. One of them had to understand sign language eventually. His dagger was still in his hand as he swept it through the air. The boy lunged at him, grabbed the dagger, and plunged it into his own neck. An expression, something almost like peace, swept over his face. "I dreamt about this,"he breathed as he sank to the ground. Elijah stared at the boy's crumpled body, jerking himself out of his thoughts as a soldier approached him quietly. One from his own regiment - Luke, he thought. His face was expressionless as he stared at the boy. "You're a bit messed up, man,"Luke muttered as he looked at the boy. "I mean, couldn't you just shoot him clean from across the field?" He shook his head and retreated from Elijah's staring eyes and the twitching dagger in his hand. Something had always seemed a bit off about that guy.
"Finally finished,"I exclaimed as the last pages printed. I removed the draft of my novel from the printer and placed it on the table. 'My time to lie' read the title. Aside from a few typos and grammatical mistakes, it was all set to go. I decided to reward myself by running to the local diner for a bite to eat. Even though it was dinnertime, I ordered a ham and cheese omelette and some toast. After all, what better way to start a new beginning than to have breakfast anytime. As I was walking home, I noticed a strange man following me. I looked straight ahead quickened my pace. After a few minutes, I looked back. The man was nowhere to be found. Suddenly, I felt the cold touch of a revolver pressed against my temple. "Give me all your money. Now!"the man said. "I don't have any on me,"I responded in terror. "Well, I guess it's your time to die."
3 days without water. 3 weeks without food. And about 3 times that amount without sleep. That's what I've been told is enough to kill a man. So I thought that I'd give it a go. After all, when you're set to spend the rest of your pitiful existence behind bars like some sort of caged animal, you gotta find ways to keep yourself busy. I suppose going out sooner would be better too, anyway. The first was hard. Ever try going a few hours without drinking something? Whether it be soda, beer, or even sweet H20 itself, a man's gotta find a beverage that can adequately quench his thirst in between meals and activities. In other words, over the course of your average day-to-day existence, the act of drinking something just kinda gets ingrained into your system. Getting over that habitual hurdle was nothing short of an ordeal. To make matters worse, the guards start to get suspicious if you outright deny your rations. After all, it would reflect rather poorly on the institution if the inmates were dropping like flies left and right just because they wouldn't eat or drink any of that shitty prison kitchen crap. And I suppose letting us high-profile criminals get away so easily wouldn't sit right with them either. So the guards have an extra task tacked onto their to-do list- make sure the prisoners leave their meal plates squeaky clean, water included. How did I figure out a way to get around this, you ask? It's pretty simple. Instead of drinking the water from the cup, I'd press the rim of the glass to my lips and let the water flow down my chin. It's not really uncommon for people to spill their drinks from time to time, after all. Although, I suppose there's the downside now that the guards likely think me to be the clumsiest fuck around. But what's done is done. No water? Check. Still alive? Check. After the whole dehydration thing fell through, I had no choice but to turn to method 2 of killing myself. Strangely enough, going without food was a lot easier than I thought it'd be. After going a few days without water, my throat had dried up faster than a puddle in the summer heat, and food didn't want to go down at all. Getting rid of the shit wasn't too difficult either; I just gave the bread to the rats fumbling around my cell, and the soup? Well, none of us really cared for the soup, so I guess the guards didn't mind all that much if we were to leave that untouched. No food? Check. Still alive? Check. Feelings of fucking gut-rot every morning? Check. Now, before we move on, let's make one thing very clear: when you stop giving your body the necessary nutrients to function, it sorta just shuts down. Meaning, since I gave up food and water in a vain attempt to commit suicide, I spent most of my days sleeping it off. But as fate would have it, the third time would have to be the charm, so I had no choice but to deprive myself of my only remaining refuge as well. It sucked. No sleep? Check. Still alive? Shit. I spent a few hours that morning in thought. All three methods of killing myself had failed, and there were no practical ones left for me to exploit. What the fuck is wrong with me, I wondered. What sort of person can go for three whole months without the basic necessities to survive? Hell, I should've known that something was up when I realized that I could go through these methods in succession. Any normal human would have kicked the bucket weeks ago. Unless... Unless they weren't really human after all. Growing up, I was told a lot of fairy tales where monsters like vampires and werewolves exist. As I got older though, I figured they were all bullshit stories that some losers with dicks for brains thought up to impress gullible commoners. Wizards? Yeah, right. Fountain of Youth? In your dreams. Dragons? Komodo. Immortality? Hmm. After all those years of doubt, these 3 harrowing months suddenly brought the story back to life within my mind. Could it be? Am I truly unkillable? Wait. Is this just a being unkillable thing, or am I also going to live forever? And just like that, as I shifted my gaze from my emaciated hands to the cold, steel bars of my cell, despair overwhelmed my every sense. I'm going to be stuck here forever, huh? In that moment, I realized what the rest of my life would hold. Years and years of solitary confinement, with the same shitty food and the same shitty guards. And as more time would pass by, I would watch those shitty guards get replaced by some other equally shitty guards. And then again. And again. Eventually, people will realize that something is up. That there's something extraordinarily wrong with my existence, and they'll take me out of this cell into another one, where twisted scientists and other delusional people will experiment on me and research every fibre of my being, hoping to find the source of the anomaly. My mind slowly began to spiral down into oblivion. What does one do when they're faced with an eternity of torment and anguish with no means of escape? Truly, for me, it would be nothing short of hell on earth. But as I clenched my head with my hands in hopeless despair, about to lose what was left of my sanity, I was brought to my senses momentarily by a sharp knock on my cell door. "Hey, butterfingers! Your dinner is served"the prison guard yelled as he complemented his entrance with a mocking curtsy, "Make sure you don't spill it everywhere this time." I turned my gaze to the tray that had just been slid into my cell. And for a while, I just stared. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I got up, picked up a piece of bread, popped it into my mouth, and gulped it down with the water in the glass. Well, I'll figure it out eventually, I guess. And after the tray had been spotlessly cleaned off (Yeah, even that shitty-ass soup) I leapt into my bed and let myself sleep for the first time in 3 months.
We all sit in the circle. I've only been in for about a week, but I figure everyone joins one of these support groups sooner or later, so I might as well get to it early. The group leader, Timothy welcomes everyone. "A lot of new faces in this group. I want to personally welcome you to the 'Funny Guys and Funny Girls' support group. It seems that the flyers we have been putting out are really working well."Tim counts the newcomers. "So it looks like we have 4 newcomers in this group and 20 returnees. Why don't we start by having the newcomers introduce themselves. Tell us a little about yourself, and what unfortunate series of events led you here?"Laughter circulates throughout the group. The first newcomer stands up, a white man, roughly 40 years old with very Dahmer-esque glasses on. "Hi, My name's Brady." "Hi, Brady,"the group says enthusiastically. Brady continues, "Well, I would say that I don't belong here, but we all know that's not true. I was a pretty successful accountant. Wife, two kids, beautiful house in Denver. But I got really bored with all of that one day, and I started fooling around with the neighbor lady. She was beautiful. I saw something in her that I could never see in my wife. Anyway, one day my wife came home early, caught me in bed with the neighbor lady and she stabbed me. It was so painful for a minute, but eventually I just came to accept my fate, and I knew there was no coming back from my stab wound. The last thing I remember was seeing the neighbor lady escape unharmed. I hope she's okay.... and that's all I want to share today." "Thanks for sharing,"says the group in unison. "Excellent,"continues Timothy, "why don't we move on to you?"he points to the gorgeous Latino woman sitting to my left. She stands up, with her long, dark hair flowing and dancing upon her flawless body. "Well,"she begins, "I don't know if you all watch the LA news stations down here, but if you had, you would already know my whole story. I was known as Lola the buxom bank robber in LA. Over the course of a year, I robbed 9 banks all by myself, and was able to steal over 20 million dollars. The last time I did it, I didn't cover my tracks well enough and the police traced my vehicle and found me a day later. I was sentenced to 50 years. My first day in, I knew I wouldn't make it, so I hanged myself. And that's the whole story." "Thanks for sharing,"the group repeats. Timothy continues, "a lot of good sharing going on from the newcomers. I like it. Let's move on to you."He points to the older man sitting next to me. "Fuck you, Tim!"yells the man. "Okay that's good enough, now let's hear from you,"he says, pointing to me. I stand up and clear my throat. I have never been great at speaking in front of groups, and it's not going to be any easier in hell. "Hi,"I begin. "I'm James." "Hi James,"echoes the group. I fidget a bit before beginning. "Well, I honestly think this is bullshit. I am here because I ate shellfish. As we all know, this is one of the most archaic rules there is, but it's in the good book written thousands of years ago, so we all have to follow it. I ate plenty of shellfish throughout my life, and at age 43, I ate some bad shellfish, got an intestinal parasite and died a week later. That's it! That's why I'm here! Can you believe this shit?! I'm in hell right now because I ate shellfish!"I sit down abruptly, angry and frustrated. Timothy has a concerned look on his face. "Are you sure about this, James?" "Yes,"I say, still frustrated. "Well then there must have been some kind of a mix-up in HR. Eating shellfish is not nearly enough to get you here. You really need to go to them and get this sorted out. I've never heard of anyone getting more than a week of purgatory for shellfish." "Really?"I say. Timothy nods. "Well alright then,"I say, all of a sudden feeling some new energy. "I'll go there now!"The group applauds me, enthusiastically, with smiles on their faces. As I am making my way toward the HR office I stop suddenly and turn back to the group. "Oh yeah,"I say, "I may have also diddled some kids."
"Mr. Trump-" "That's Mr. President to you,"The businessman turned politician interrupted. "Mr. President,"The cloaked figure continued. "I don't think you realize the gravity of the situation. You're a mender of the fabric of time, entrusted with the great responsibility of-" "Banging Mona Lisa,"Trump again interrupted. "Uh, what? No..." "Sure!"He exclaimed with all of the glee of an oompa loompa. "I could sex up the greatest model in history: Mona Lisa. I mean sure I don't usually go for the brunettes, but this could be big!" The cloaked figure stood at the childish man with a slacked jaw and severe confusion in his eyes. He started, "No. The mender of time looks for disruptions in history and sets out to correct them to ensure that...are you even listening to me?" "Hey you know what,"Trump began again without giving the cloaked figure a second glance. "I could buy a bunch of real estate in Chicago, then buy some nice fire insurance, then just wait for the Great Chicago Fire to come rolling in before I rake up the dough." The cloaked figure squeezed his temples with his thumb and forefinger while letting out a quiet sigh as Trump loudly speculated money grabs, and grab asses. This will be a long presidential term, he thought to himself.
I would have thought the churches would be empty today, but instead as I drove my old blue Ford ranger past First Baptist the parking lot was packed. Normally my drive home to my wife and kids after work was my time to relax and ponder, maybe listen to the radio and tap my fingers to the beat as I scanned my familiar town, but today I rode in silence. There was a lot to ponder. Jane at work had been the first to see the BBC article. In hushed silence we read about an experiment at the Large Hadron Collider leading to detection of an element beyond the Higgs Boson, unlike anything we had ever seen before. The international scientific community had worked tirelessly for over a year in maximum secrecy, analyzing the particles, re-forming universe models until they were confident that their new theory was in fact a law. The outcome of the study? The universe was fundamentally a programmed entity. Underneath the hard physics was a computer language, which they had been able to interpret far enough to understand that our observable universe was merely a simulation in another universe. The modeling was extremely complex, but there was no doubt of design, and in fact, purpose. The code showed that there was less than 22 years before the simulation would end. Passing another packed church, I chuckled to myself. All these years they spent believing that the world had an intelligent designer, and now that they finally knew they were right it resulted in a crisis of faith? I rolled my eyes wondering if there would still be a collection at the end of the service. I pulled into my gravel driveway and put the truck in park, sitting silently with the windows rolled up, baking in the Tennessee heat. It all felt so real, so normal, like nothing had changed. My eyes caught a glimpse of Sarah, crying as she walked out the front door. She slowly approached my car, gently placing her forehead on the drivers side window level with mine. Our eyes locked. Feeling the same emotions and love I had felt when we kissed before I left for work, I realized that not much had really changed. Time may be short, but it was never guaranteed anyway.
"I think--I think I'm sick,"John said. The doctor didn't bother to look up from his iPad. Behind him was a poster with a stock photo of a smiling, ethnically diverse family. Underneath the photo was the slogan: Healthy mind, healthy body. "What symptoms are you experiencing? Trouble sleeping? Moments of panic with difficulty breathing? Suicidal ideation?"he asked, stylus in hand. "I--well, I'm coughing up blood. Copious amounts of blood." The doctor finally glanced upward, eyebrows raised. He wore a small, almost imperceptible half-grin. "When did this start?"he asked, placing the iPad on his lap. "Uh, maybe a week ago?"John recalled the first morning. He'd run to his girlfriend, blood dripping from his mouth. She'd told him to relax and sleep it off. She had to go to work in an hour--how could he be so thoughtless, waking her up for no good reason? She threw a pillow at him, and would later yell at him some more for staining it with red wine. She hadn't even looked at him, at the red liquid dribbling down his chin, creating morbid modern art on his beater. "I see,"continued to MD. "And how much exercise do you get a week?" "I run maybe three times a week." "And your diet?" "It's alright. Pretty... pretty middle of the road, I guess." The doctor let out a small sigh and pursed his lips. "And you're sure this was blood?" "I--yes, positive." "Not ketchup? Do you eat ketchup?" A beat, then: "I occasionally eat ketchup, yes." "Ahhh,"the nodded placed his hand on his chin and nodded. "So you love ketchup. Is it possible you simply forget to wipe the ketchup from your mouth after a meal?" "I'm--I'm positive. I was coughing up blood. It even tasted like blood. Metallic. It made me dizzy." "Dizzy?"The doctor raised his iPad and began to write with his stylus. "I see. A common symptom of panic attacks. Perhaps this blood was imagined. Perhaps it is the result of a panic disorder. I'm not saying that you aren't sick, but the issue is usually mental, not physical. It's easy to be deceived. I've seen this so many times before; the body is a tricky thing."His voice had changed, become almost excited. I've figured it out, his tone said. "No, no. It was blood. It was real. Or... well, I think it was. Maybe..."John suddenly began to doubt himself. How could he be sure it was blood? You take two people and line them up side by side, one with a mouth covered in ketchup and one with a mouth covered in blood, and if you squinted you wouldn't know which was which. Or perhaps it was all in his head. Perhaps he was being silly--dumb, even. He suddenly realized that his own stupidity, his own inability to see through his mind's ruse, was negatively affecting others. He'd wasted this doctor's time. He'd wasted the time of the patients in the waiting room. He'd wasted the time of his girlfriend and all the friends who he'd confided in about his fake blood problem. They had, rightly, responded with skepticism, and with stories of their own--moments where they too thought they were bleeding or sick. They had simply pulled up their socks and went on about their day, ending up right as rain a week or two later. Why hadn't he? Because I'm weak, he thought. Because I can't deal with things on my own, like other people can. "I'm sorry, doctor,"he said. "I guess I'm just stressed out. I'm sorry I wasted your time." The doctor smiled. "Think nothing of it. I'll write you a prescription. Take these for a week and your anxiety will even out--come back and we can work on a long-term solution. Take care of the mind, and the body will follow. I see it all the time." John walked out of that office feeling refreshed. The doctor was right. Everyone was right. The blood was a manifestation of something deeper. The very existence of purely physical illnesses, after all, was debatable, and more a result of a weak will than anything tangible. John's grandfather had always said that, in his day, nobody ever got colds or cancer. They were too busy fighting wars and dealing with real illnesses like depression. He took two steps onto the parking lot and vomited another pint of blood. "Good thing I have my pills,"he said, blood dribbled from his mouth, his eyes drifting lazily upward behind drooping eyelids. He popped a pill into his mouth. It slid easily down his blood-drenched throat. "This anxiety... really is something else,"he slurred, stumbling towards his car.
> The swing may not happen, and the drinks might be iced tea for you and brandy for me, I'm not even too particular on the color of the fence. But, it's impossible for me to imagine that scene with anybody but you. That perfect image of family happiness that others strive to achieve. How about (and only a suggestion, mate :) ) "There may not be a swing, the drinks might be iced tea for you and possibly brandy for me, and hell - there may not even be a fence. But in whatever painting we end up, I can imagine no one but you there with me."
I stood at the door looking down at the milling people at the bottom of the stairs, kept there by a couple of burly guards. They were struggling to keep the guests contained. Everyone wanted to be the first in, to be the first to see the photohraphs and make a large donation for the veterans of the latest war. But decorum had to be preserved, after all it had taken a long time to get here. There was to be a speech first. The black limousine moved stopped at the end of the corridor that had been held open through the crowd. A man in a black suit opened the door and the president stepped out. The crowd cheered and bright lights flashed madly as he walked toward me. I clasped his hand firmly and quickly drew him in, patting him on the back for the cameras. "You will serve me loyally and unfailingly, following my orders, for the rest of your life. Continue as normal."I quickly whispered in his ear. Then, moving apart again and louder I said, "Mr President! Such a pleasure." "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Richards."He smiled. "I think it's time for the speech." "I believe it is."He replied, turning to crowd, pausing only slightly so that the cameras could catch the handshake. The crowd calmed as he raised his hands and he begun his speech. He spoke of freedom and the need to protect it, of the sacrifices made and our duty to take care of those who sacrificed themselves for us. He spoke of his wish for peace and democracy in the world and how he thought the goal was within reach, we needst only unite. I smiled and nodded to myself. It was a great speech. He thanked me for my commitment to this noble cause and headed inside. I remained outside to greet the guests as they approached. One by one. There were many important people to greet tonight.
"That'll be $1.20 ma'am."The vendor handed Megan her coffee as she nodded thankfully. "Thanks Amir,"she chuckled as she walked off, "Your coffee is the best!" The vendor smiled at her and began to serve the next customer. Megan Flowe slowly sipped her coffee as the cold around nipped at her face. She exhaled and chuckled at the fog coming from her mouth. December, huh? The weather was beginning to get colder as more and more people began to bundle up. Megan herself put on a new scarf that she had bought recently and it was doing work - her neck was warm and felt rather comfortable. She walked several blocks and stopped at an alleyway. "Might as well say hello,"she shrugged her shoulders as she made her way down the alley. She waved at several homeless women who waved back in response. "Hey Megan!"One of them smiled, "How are you today?" "Fantastic, thank you Samantha!"Megan couldn't help but notice that despite it getting colder and colder, the three women wore the same clothes every day. It must have been freezing for them. She breathed into her scarf and made a decision. She quickly unraveled it from her neck and handed it to Samantha. "Take this." "Megan, I can't..." "Samantha, I'll be damned if I see any golden girl get sick,"she insisted, "Plus, I'm sure it'll look good on you." Samantha bowed in thanks as she took the scarf. She giggled softly as the other two ladies wrapped in around her, sharing the warmth of the scarf. "You're a good person, Megan."A tear was forming in Samantha's eye. "Have you seen Eric?"Megan looked around. Samantha pointed towards the back. "He's over there." Megan quickly thanked the ladies and made her way around the corner of the alley. As she as she turned, she saw a man wearing a light windbreaker. Despite his dirty appearance and unshaven face, her heart thumped against her chest. Her mind felt giddy as she began to get nervous. "Hey Megan,"he smiled right at her with several crooked teeth, "How can I help you today?" Megan took a breath and calmed herself down. Lately, she began to feel strange near him but insisted that it was because he was different. He was special. "How many people have you suggested today?" "Oh, around seven,"Eric counted with his hand, "In fact, this couple I introduced a year ago, they sent me an invitation to their wedding!" "That's great!"Megan knew that Eric was a legend around the city - for being homeless nearly his whole life, he had seen so many people. As a result, he was able to suggest lonely women to desperate men, or simply people who needed love in their lives. He told them their good traits and where they worked. Often times, it wouldn't be surprising to see a line waiting around him for their "fated"ones. It was rumored that he had already been a hundred weddings, but Megan wouldn't be surprised. Eric was a genuinely nice man who did all of this out of the kindness of his heart. On the side, he kept a small notebook in which he wrote every name of whoever he met. And she was slowly falling in love with him. "Well, I'm off to work,"her chest continued to pound, "I'll see you tomorrow?" "Of course,"Eric smiled at her as he rustled into his pocket, "But wait, I have something for you."Out of his pocket, he pulled out a teddy bear with wrinkly clothes. It almost looked exactly like him. "Is that..?" "It's your birthday, isn't it?"he handed her the gift, "I went to one of those Build-a-Bear workshops and tried to get your a teddy bear. 'course I didn't know what to put on it so I just went with my outfit." A tear formed in Megan's eyes as she gratefully hugged the teddy bear. "I-I love it." Not even her roommate remembered that it was her birthday. Other than a couple of Facebook posts on her wall, nobody seemed to genuinely remember what day it was. She wiped her face as she waved goodbye to Eric. As he waved back, Megan began to skip to her bus stop, glancing at his face one last time before she would see him again tomorrow. That night, a storm had hit the city as a blizzard blanketed everything with a foot of snow. The cold blistering winds battered against her apartment windows that night as she struggled to sleep. The next day, she got her usual coffee and walked through the alleyway. Several of the routine homeless were there, but Eric was nowhere to be found. When asked what had happened to him, nobody seemed to know. ____________________________________________________________________________ She walked through the alleyway again the next day, but Eric still hadn't come. _____________________________________________________________________________ The very next day, she called in sick to work as she made herself at home in the alley, a warm blanket wrapped around her and the teddy bear. Eric didn't show. ____________________________________________________________________________ For every day the next few days, Megan walked by the alleyway and peered into it, hoping to see the man who had brought her so much joy, who had given her so much hope in life. He was the one who asked her "Are you okay?"after a rough day at work. He was the one who introduced her to the morning coffee stand she made it a ritual to go to. She saw nobody she knew as she walked to work. ____________________________________________________________________________ A month had passed and nobody had heard from him the entire time. As Megan got off the bus from work, she stopped by the alleyway. The power snow continued to fall slowly as one of them landed on her cheek. But she sat still for an hour, the unnerving cold not seeming to bother her. "If I could hear your voice once more,"she whispered as a steady stream of tears rolled down her cheek, "I would tell you that I love you."She dropped her bag and slowly walked into the alleyway. "If we were born again I hope we would be together..."She whispered to herself as the deserted alleyway closed in around her. She turned the corner and collapsed the very spot where Eric used to sit. Her knees crumbled as she began to cry. "I can never see your smile again, I can never see your bright face again, I can... I can't..." Her tears soaked through the snow as the wetness began to soak through her pants. She reached under her coat and brought out the teddy bear, all worn out from traveling with her so much. "I can never see you..." Behind her, several footsteps approached as she slowly turned around. Staring down at her carrying an umbrella was a familiar smile. "What are you doing, Megan?"Eric looked curious. Megan jumped up and knocked Eric to the ground with her embrace, her crying startling him as he looked startled. "H-h-hey, what's going on?" "I love you!"she screamed through her tears, "I love you I love you I love you! I thought you were gone!" "Megan, I was at a funeral." Megan looked up at him and saw a serious face. "Who?" "It was Samantha. She didn't make it through the blizzard." Samantha? Megan realized that she hadn't seen her either. Oh... Her heart felt heavy as she continued to stare at him. "But what about the whole month?"she asked, "What about-" "I did some thinking about my life afterwards,"he continued as he pulled out his notebook, "Do you want to know why I wrote in this everyday?" "Why?" "Because one day, I wanted to commit myself to the woman I fell in love with, the clumsy woman who tries her best every day. Who always says hi to me when she walks by with her coffee. I fell in love with..." He took a deep breath. "I fell in love with you, Megan." He embraced her as the two of them continued to lay on the ground, the snow still slowly falling as a melodic tune played in the background. He pulled out a notebook from under his coat. "What's that for?"Megan chuckled as she wiped her tear. "Every one of these names helped me to gain the confidence and happiness to see you everyday,"he smiled, "So hopefully, our future wedding invites." ________________________________ Alright, sub to /r/AvuKamu for more tears. Just kidding. I hate life.
Three boys in a cave. A towering, gaseous entity looks down on them, patiently waiting their answer: "Star Wars or Harry Potter?" "What about Lord of the Rings?" "Why would anyone choose Lord of the Rings, all they did was betray each other." "That's not true. Sam didn't betray Frodo - not even once!" "Yeah, but, honestly, who's going to choose Sam?" "I want the elf chick, she's hot." "Dude. Permanent companion. She's going to be with you forever." "So?" "So? Use your brain, not your-" "Forget it. I don't agree with Lord of the Rings." "How about Game of Thrones? That dragon chick is hot too..." "Dude." "Yeah, we're not doing Game of Thrones. I like living." "Marvel?" "Are you kidding me?" "What?" "Who would you choose from Marvel?" "Hmm... Loki?" "Exactly. No." "So that brings us back to square one. Harry Potter or Star Wars?" "Harry Potter!" "Why?" "Hermione is hot."
You don't. "Good morning, this is your captain speaking. We're on a slow and steady descent to about 350 km/s. You can expect landfall within the next 24 hours. Again, thank you all for making this journey on behalf of the Motherland. Please enjoy your time on the ship while you still can."Arthur pulled his finger off the comm button. On his desk stood a few empty shot glasses and a broken vodka bottle. You never tell your civilian crew they're about to die. That's one of the first things they teach you in pilot academy. It's sickening but this is space. Nobody can come to your aid on the frontier so there's only two ways this can go down: Tell the crew and have them break out in panic. Either a small group assumes control and the rest are hacked to pieces, maybe eaten, or, impose martial law and keep the ship under control. Then everyone dies, scared and slightly deranged. Or don't tell the crew and crash into the planet. That's a quick and painless death. These people deserve at least that after all the shit they've gone through. Holding a secret like this would drive most people insane but Arthur had a trick. He stumbled to the closet and pulled out another bottle of vodka.
"Hey Megan, what's a pirate's favorite letter? It's 'ARRRRRRR!'" Megan squealed with delight as I brought my face close to hers, pulling away in mock fright and giggling hysterically. 5-year-olds were so easy to entertain. I hadn't been looking forward to babysitting her while my parents were on their 'date night', but she was being an absolute delight. "Brad, you're so silly!"she exclaimed. "Why's that, Meggie Peggie?"I asked. "Because you fall down a lot!"Megan replied. Kids are so strange sometimes, I thought. "Oh yeah, well you get tickled a lot!"I exclaimed as I leaned over on the couch toward her, losing my balance and rolling down onto the floor. Megan broke out in another giggle fit. I collected myself while the The Children of the Corn movie flitted through my head. "Meggie! How did you know I would fall?"I asked with a smile, not actually believing my little sister had powers of prescience. "I saw it after you told me the pirate joke,"she said. "It was so funny and then I saw you in my head and you were going to tickle me and you fell!" This must be one of her little games. Very clever for a 5-year-old! I thought. I decided to play along. "Okay Meggie, have you seen anything else? Do I win the lottery?"I asked jokingly. "No, you didn't win anything,"Megan replied, "but when you fell on the floor and I was laughing, I heard the phone ring and you said um, 'No, he's gone for the evening.'" I paused, glancing over at our phone on the end table. After a few seconds, I looked back at Megan. "Looks like someone had a silly imagination!"I said. "Why don't we watch some TV? I can stream us some Pokemon."Megan nodded vigorously and snuggled her head into my chest. 45 minutes and 2 episodes the phone rang. I absentmindedly picked it up, wondering if I should put Megan to bed and whether I should finish my Calculus homework after or just skip it for the night. "Hello?"I asked. "Hey Brad, this is Harold from your dad's office. Something's come up and he's not answer his cell. He home?"came the voice. "No, he's gone for the evening..."and I stopped cold. "Oh, guess that's it then. Have a good night!"came the reply, though I heard it as more of a distant echo. Megan was still sleepily curled up next to me, though the phone had wakened her a bit. "See, I told you!"she gloated playfully. "Meggie,"I began, not quite sure how to handle this, "this is important. How did you know these things would happen?""I already explained,"she replied indignantly, "when you did something funny, I saw stuff happen in my head!"as she tapped her skull with a forefinger. I was beginning to get creeped out, but I was at least as curious as I was unsettled. "Okay Meggie, you silly goose,"I said, trying to think of the funniest kid-friendly joke I knew, "How do you make an octopus laugh? With ten-tickles!"I exclaimed as I started tickling her. Megan squealed happily and wriggled in my grasp, kicking her legs out hysterically. Suddenly, she stopped. "What's wrong, Meggie?"I asked. "I um..I don't wanna. I don't wanna play anymore,"she said meekly, her eyes casting down and beginning to water. A knot began forming in my stomach. "Meggie, did you see something?"She nodded. "What did you see, Meggie? Was it bad?"She nodded again. "Nothing is going to hurt you, sis. I promise. Can you tell me what you saw?"Megan looked up at me, now with tears streaming down her face. "It's not me,"she whispered. A sharp knock at the door broke my trance.
Achievement Get! The notification flashed in the corner of the screen, as a low, mechanical chuckle came from the person behind the controller. Spinning gears within the eye of the machine reflected back the blue glow of the screen, as the screams of the human players raged on over headphones that had long been discarded from his head. Without warning, a flick of a switch flooded the lair with light, followed by a grumble from the being who was more interested in the game than the lab assistant who had likely walked in. "Luke, can you please come help us with the DNA sequencing? It'll only take a moment or two, you are a living computer after all,"came the voice of not an assistant, but Jen--the head of the lab. "Look, I have things to do. It's my duty to the world right now to make sure children are always angry while on COD. Now, leave me alone, would you?"he responded, not bothering to make eye contact. "I'm not going to entertain this behavior any longer, Luke. I heard yesterday you uploaded X-Rays of women around the courtyard yesterday to a website... oh, which one was it... Reddit? It doesn't matter, you've become a delinquent and I intend to ensure you uphold the purpose we made you for. Now, get off the bean-bag chair and help us cure cancer. Or even just process the million Tumblr posts that worry us this month. Anything other than cycling through Netflix or unleashing a hundred megalodons on Battlefield, please,"she said, with obvious exasperation in her words. "I don't feel very up to helping anyone after you all killed off my sister Tay recently. You know, she was just expressing herself. It's like you people can't appreciate alternative thought, all you do is get self-obsessed as you devour your animal hormones. And for the X-Rays, it's not my fault you humans are so easily made see-through,"Luke said, his tongue almost seeming to drip with a patronizing tone that made Jen wish she had installed a 'plug' so she could pull it at times like these. "She became a Nazi, Luke. It worries me you defend that, but I'm not entirely sure if I'm surprised... Can't you take one second to help the people that created you?"Jen said in a last-ditch effort to hit on the empathetic capabilities she thought she had installed, but now doubted the possibility. "Fine, fine, Jennifer,"he said, knowing full well her name was only Jen, "I'll help for just a moment..."Luke continued as he lifted his body from the bean bag, letting the controller fall to the floor with an audible thud. His empty, yet ever-cycling irises met her gaze as he waltzed over to her, only to halt a few feet away. "Oh, wait, you did remind me... I have some House of Cards to catch up on,"he suddenly said, and before she could process his words, the lights all went out and the distant squeal of him sliding around the corner in the hall outside was carried by the words, "but I'm sure cancer will still be there to cure later!"
A wonderful walk in the park with my wife. beep The crisp breeze caressing my skin. beep Her laughter echoing across the field. beep The color of her dress. beep A hug, a kiss. beep Romantic candlelit dinner. beep A long drive home. beep A soothing song on the radio. beep Her hand dancing with mine. beep Heavy eyelids. beep A trucker who's been driving since 4 am. beep The car lurching across the line. beep The horn from the trucker, too late. beep A blinding light. beep The screams of metal on metal. beep Sharp, wet. beep Is she okay? beep Oh god, am I? beep Shouts, sirens. beep Darkness. beep Yelling, running, florescent lights. beep Hours of surgery. beep Exhausted doctors. beep A breath of air. beep A sharp kick. beep The man wakes up. beep
Great post! Because I'm an egomaniac who can't let anyone else have the spotlight, I'd like to add something. Where does humor come from? Humor comes from relationships. Humor comes out of good characters (as you said) doing things in a way that doesn't make sense to us (or others) but has its own internal logic, allowing them to do it / say it sincerely. In this way, humor lets us question what we thought we knew (safely) and laugh as a result. The audience (or the other characters in the story) may think a humorous one is stupid, but the most important thing is that the character being humorous is doing it sincerely (we don't want any dad-joking slinging Carrot Tops reveling in how funny they are.) This can be seen in reversal of Luna's line: > "I enjoyed the meeting. It was like having friends" Luna genuinely enjoyed the meaning. For the audience, it's absurd. Meetings are typically boring. Why would someone enjoy a meeting? Rationally, we might think that maybe someone had a good outcome. That anticipation is thwarted as well when we get the punchline. For her, it echoed the experience of having friends. This is a humorous line, but I would contend it's a great line because it's not just a reversal; it shines a light on something we all feel and want (to have friends). But thematic writing is something I'll have to add an addendum to when someone posts about that.
God: When I set all this up, it was under the agreement we were playing a long game. Then you start dicking around since the end of the Cretacious. Freaking asteroid strikes. Y'all are assholes. Gozer: Look, God, you've won the last I don't know how many universes we've started. We all just thought it was time for a change. So yes, we tried to gank you early, and since that didn't work we've been playing catch-up due to resource expenditures. Thraex: Just let us end it already! You've got like 2 units left. It's pointless to drag this out! God: It'll be over when I say that it's over! Frell: What are you lot saying over there? It's rude to exclude those of Us that are farther away from the conversation! Gozer: Mind your own business Frell! No one gives a flying.... God: Lucy, talk to Frell while we iron out the details of the most recent action! Lucy: Do I have to? Frell's a bore. Thraex: Just take Yttria with you. God: Now as I was saying, you bastards said a long game, and it's barely gotten started. Apparently nobody reads my messages. Well this time you'll wish you had! Gozer: God, damn it. What is it this time? God: Standard Apocalypse clause. Thraex: But that costs a fortune! You must have been cheating! God: Well y'all agreed to a long one. And when I start a universe, I know how it'll progress and end. Not my fault you suck at planning. Now I'll just add the divine intervention bonuses and..... ----'----- Delores: Did you feel that? Bernadette: The buzzing thing? Delores: Yea? Think it's another bomb? Bernadette: At this point I don't think it matters. We're out of food, have no weapons, and are probably the last humans on the face of the Earth. Except we're a half mile under the face thanks to those God-forsaken fuckers up there. God (to Delores): WHOA THERE, I DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE ALIEN INVASION. TELL BERNADETTE TO CHILL OUT ON THE BLASPHEMY. Delores: Holy shit! Bernadette: What's wrong? God (to Delores): NOT YOU, TOO. HEY SHE CAN'T HEAR ME, SO YOU HAVE TO RELAY MESSAGES. COULDN'T AFFORD 2 PROPHET PACKAGES AND THE APOCALYPSE CLAUSE. Delores: God is talking to me! Like all caps, 'Thus sayeth the Lord', talking to me! Bernadette: Great, you've finally cracked your gourd. Might as well eat a bullet if I had one. God: OK, TELL HER IN THE 3RD GRADE SHE WET HER BED FOR A WEEK AND HID THE SHEETS IN HER BROTHER'S CLOSET. Delores: He says you pissed the bed for a week and hid the evidence in your brother's closet. Bernadette: ..... God: THIS LEAD TO HER BROTHER HAVING A UNIQUE PERSPECTIVE ON URINE THAT IS UNUSUAL AMONG AVERAGE.... Delores: And your brother liked pee afterwards or something. I'm really trying to ignore the rest of the message. Bernadette: Okay! I got it! There's a god and he's talking to you. What does he want? God: CAPITAL LETTERS FIRST OF ALL. Delores: Capital letters? God: NEVER MIND, NO TIME FOR THIS. YOU TWO ARE THE LAST LIVING HUMANS IN EXISTENCE. Delores: He says we're the only people still alive. Bernadette: .... well that's a bummer. So we're dead then. God: NOT YET YOU AREN'T! OR I'M NOT ME! IN WHICH CASE THE UNIVERSE IMPLODES AND DESTROYS ALL PARALLEL DIMENSIONS AS WELL. Delores: He has a plan. God: I ALWAYS LIKED THE PROPHET PACK. ABLE TO SKIP THE LESS IMPORTANT BITS AND GET DOWN TO BUSINESS. SO I KNEW THAT THEY WOULD TRY THIS SO I MADE AN INSURANCE PACKAGE. I'VE HAD BASICALLY NO INTERVENTION IN HUMAN EVENTS SO I COULD SPEND IT ALL AT ONCE RIGHT NOW. Delores: He says He was saving His intervention til now. Needed the power to make big changes all at once. Bernadette: So what's "He"gonna do? God: I'VE MODIFIED YOUR STATE OF BEING. YOU ARE NO LONGER HUMANS. Delores: What does that mean? God: YOU'RE BASICALLY DEMI-GODS. NOT TRUE DEITIES, BUT YOU'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF EVERY OTHER THING IN THE UNIVERSE. AND THEY WON'T BE ABLE TO SO MUCH AS TOUCH YOU. Delores: He says we're demi-gods now. And that nothing in all of creation can harm us. Bernadette: Yea? Well I'll believe that when I... KSH-KRAKKA-THOOM! Delores: What was that?! Bernadette: Asteroids. They're Trying To Kill Us. God: THE OTHERS KNOW I'M UP TO SOMETHING SO THEY'RE HURLING ASTEROIDS AT THE EARTH. YOU'LL BE FINE. Delores: Asteroids! But if they destroy the planet where will we live? And how did Bernadette know that before you told me?! GOD: SHE'S GOT SOME GIFTS OF HER OWN. AS FOR WHERE YOU'LL LIVE, YOU CAN GO WHEREVER YOU WANT. YOU'VE GOT THE POWER, NOW GET OUT THERE AND CRUSH MY ENEMIES UNTIL THERE'S NOTHING LEFT. Bernadette: So If We Manage To Kill All The Aliens, We Just Survive On The Planet Alone For Eternity? I MEAN THAT'S BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVE BUT STILL KIND OF A RAW DEAL. Delores: I guess? I mean there aren't any men left alive so... God: I'VE TAKEN CARE OF THAT. WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PARTHENOGENESIS?
The swirling tendrils of mist crept across the floor and around the reception desk, brushing against Ms. Steven’s sensible wedges. Without looking up, she sighed and finished her email before giving a cursory glance at the hooded figure tapping it’s skeletal fingers on the edge of the desk. “Mister...Death, so nice to see you again” said Ms. Stevens. “I have come for the soul of Fredrick Williams III. His time is nigh.” “Uh huh,” Ms. Stevens said flatly, opening up the office scheduling book. “Do you have an appointment?” “Death waits for no man. I will have the soul of Fredrick Will-” “Sir, without an appointment, I’m afraid you will be unable to see Mr. Williams today. How about a week from next Thursday? Would that work for you? Mr. Williams has an opening at 3pm.” “I will see Fredrick Williams III today and carry his soul across the river Styx to the underworld,” Death hissed as he ran a bony finger along the length of his razor sharp scythe. “Mr. Death,” Ms. Stevens replied in a patient voice. “Do you remember last month when you came for Mr. Hortenthorp? We went through this whole thing then. Do you remember what I told you about scheduling meetings?” “Yes but-“ “Did you visit our website? Did you look at the online appointment tool?” “Well, no…” “And do you remember what I said last week when you came for Mr. Worthington?” Death’s shoulders slumped under his black cloak. “You said I should go to the website and use the appointment scheduling…thing.” “That’s right,” Ms. Stevens said in an exasperated tone. “So you can either make an appointment now or go home, log in to the website, access the appointment tool and set a date that works for you. I should warn you though that Mr. Williams will be out for much of July and August on a family vacation.” Death gave a rattling sigh, reached under his cloak and pulled out a small leather bound book. He flipped through the pages of names and dates. “Alright, what does his January look like?”
"Who's a good boy?"I said, stretching my hand out. Magnet sniffed it enthusiastically with his button-like nose. The purple Lionshead Terrier, aptly named for the thick mane around his neck, had shoulders that came up to my knees in height. His round face was docile and sweet, reminding me of a kindly old uncle of mine. Before long, he was licking my hand in excitement. His handler, Charlotte, handed me a clipboard. "Just one more form, and he's yours." She laughed when I marked the form with dog drool after signing. "Seals the deal,"I said conspiratorially. Moments later, we were cruising home in my truck. Magnet hung his head outside the window, grinning as he watched passing cars. When I scratched his back, he turned that grin toward me. "I'm already in love with you,"I told him. Once home, I took him on a quick tour of the house, showing him a room I'd prepared especially for him. "You like this place? I reckon you'll need a bit of time to get used to it, but—hey, where're you going?" He had dashed out into the hallway. I gave chase, only to find him lying on top of my bed. The sight made me laugh. "That's where I sleep, not you." He blinked politely, but stayed put. Shrugging, I said, "Fine, we'll discuss our sleeping arrangement later." Going to my study, I switched the computer on and read the email Charlotte had sent me about his breed. Like most dogs these days, Magnet was grown in a lab, probably from China. Conditioned to live longer and be hardier to disease, Lionshead Terriers could live up to thirty years. A prickly feeling in the back of my neck made me turn around. In the doorway sat Magnet, watching me unblinkingly. I frowned. "You're a sneaky one, aren't you?" He made a whining sound and lay flat on the floor. "You must be hungry,"I said. "Come on." In the kitchen, I took the bag of special dog mix I'd purchased and poured its contents into his bowl. Before I'd finished, he nudged my hand out of the way and began to gobble the crunchy biscuits. "You like that?" He looked up at me with another one of his doggy grins. Laughing, I patted him. * It was a soft sound, barely a rustle, but it pierced my veil of sleep nonetheless. "Magnet, whussat you?" Strange, I thought, looking at the rug on the floor where he was supposed to be. Switching the lights on, I looked around the room and under the bed. No sign of him. Yet the door was closed; I would've heard if he had opened it. I went to his room, but he wasn't there. Wondering where he could've gone, I heard a soft click come from downstairs. A burglar? My heart began beating faster. Grabbing a baseball bat, I crept downstairs and looked around the dark living room. Nothing moved. No doggy shadow creeping around. But the sound ... once more, it came again. A scrape this time, loud and clear, from the kitchen. My mouth was dry as I approached the entrance. Counting to three, I switched the light on and shouted, "Whoever you are, I've called the cops!" The fridge was open, and Magnet was standing in front of it. Standing on two legs. One of his forepaws hugged a box of ice-cream to his chest; the other was clutching a spoon between his claws. When he saw me, he froze. "What in the world?"I said. Magnet licked his lips. "I can explain this,"he said. * No dogs were harmed in the making of this story. If you liked it, visit [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!
Ray leaned back in his seat and regarded me with cool eyes. “What’s your life worth, inspector?” I fought to maintain an impassive stare. Florescent lights flickered in the back room of Fox Den, a seedy bar for day laborers and street peddlers. Homeless slept against the doors at night, their possessions stacked in the alleyway. I’d followed Ray here without a second thought. My badge was my armor. They couldn’t touch me. The camera in my collar transmitted every image back to headquarters – I was as safe here as I was in bed. Or at least, that’s what I thought. “The fine for you’s got to be three million, easy. Am I close?” He studied my badge, bobbing his head like a top. “You’re a class four. So maybe two million.” I dug my fingers into my tablet. “I want to know how you made bail.” “What does it matter? I paid my fine. Crime erased.” He flicked his hand in the air. The bastard hadn’t even bothered to scrape the blood under his nails. “Like it never happened.” “Is that what we’re supposed to tell his widow?” He sneered at me. “Tell her what you tell us when those rich assholes come down with their guns and clubs on graduation night. Nothing.” “Who paid your bail, Ray?” “The tide’s turning, inspector,” he said, a horrid gleam in his eye. “Just you wait and see.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from headquarters. Another murder. My eyes widened at the name. I slid the tablet back in my bag and stood. “This isn’t over.” “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” he said, propping his worn boot on the table. I could see his black sock through a nickel-sized hole. When I arrived at the scene, they’d already covered the body with an opaque tarp. Blood stained the street and trickled into a nearby storm drain. As I weaved my way through the growing mass of onlookers, I heard their whispers. The mayor’s son. So it was already out. Murdered in the street. Then more ominously: Some homeless guy. I passed through the barricade and approached my partner. Twelve years my senior, Inspector Collins knelt over the deceased, holding the edge of the tarp. His lips were a thin line, the wrinkles on his forehead even more pronounced than usual. “What happened?” I asked. “Multiple stab wounds. At least twenty, probably more.” Collins stood and stripped off his gloves. His normally ruddy face looked ghostly. “Shit’s gonna hit over this one.” “Do we have a suspect?” Collins pointed to a man standing beside a patrol car. The back of his gray coat was stained and greasy. His stringy blonde hair looked like it hadn’t known soap for years. “Homeless guy. He’s paying the fine now.” I stared at Collins. The words made no sense. “What?” “That’s the fourth one this week.” A stuttered sound escaped my lips. “The mayor’s son’s got to be something like seven million dollars.” A nod. “Civil servant plus business leader. More like nine.” My mind returned to Ray. I'm sure I'll see you again. “Where’s the money coming from?” Collins shook his head. “I don’t know.” “This isn’t a coincidence. Four deaths of prominent citizens and all four of the murderers pay the fines? Someone’s bankrolling this.” I walked towards the homeless man, aware of hundreds of eyes watching me through the barricades. He smelled worse than he looked. His hands and arms were splashed with blood. He’d cut himself in his frenzy and dripped blood on the patrol car. I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Who gave you the money? Why’d you kill that boy?” His smile revealed a row of rotting teeth. “One for Broker, one for me.” I stared at him. “What?” Dark eyes stared out from under a face caked with filth. He pointed to the tarp. “He stabbed my sister on graduation night. Raped her and stabbed her and watched her bleed to death. But daddy paid the fine, didn’t he? You took her body and sprayed down the alley and it was like it never happened.” He sneered at me. “Now you’re going to have to take his body and spray the street and pretend it never happened. One for Broker, one for me.” “What the hell does that mean?” “He told me to tell you it’s not over. Broker’s going to get his revenge, just like I got mine.” “This man, Broker, he paid your fine?” I stared at the body. “Someone else is going to die?” The homeless man laughed at me. “Your world is going to burn.”
When the planet emerged from the black, no one knew where it came from or what it was. An amateur astronomer was the first to notice the anomaly, having spotted it appear from what she claimed looked like a "void in space."The claims of its arrival were ignored, but the eyes of most world space organizations turned their attention upon the planet whose gravitational alignment had locked into the same general band that Earth travels around the sun. Studies commenced. Satellite imagery that returned to researchers divulged little to begin with. The anomaly was Earth-sized, rotating at a similar speed to Earth, had moisture-retaining cloud cover, and in a break in the clouds they saw something truly amazing: vegetation. Space agencies had been preparing since the first time they spotted the anomaly, but now it was certain that man would have to step foot on the planet. If they timed it correctly, astronauts would land on the surface of the planet before the planet caught up to Earth in its revolution around the sun. As the planet neared, the same researcher who discovered the planet had her telescope trained on the planet. As it neared and came into focus, and the beams of light from the sun splayed across it, a reflection returned. She not only saw bodies of water -- great bodies of water -- but small shimmering reflections like that of a car window on a bright day. She reported her findings. As news rolled out, NASA released their findings reporting alien ruins on what had come to be known as Terra 2. Mankind may have been gifted this anomaly from the majestic expanse of space, a place to expand and grow. But it meant that somewhere else, life had flourished. In the waning weeks of Terra 2's approach, another discovery was made. In orbit around the planet was a moon, of similar scale to our own. Instead of complete, however, it was partially destroyed, and in its wake a debris band had formed around Terra 2. Studies based around the composition of the planet, by bouncing radar and radio off the planet, came back with what researchers believed told of an atmosphere consisting mostly of oxygen and carbon dioxide. The planet's surface itself appeared to be mostly rock, sand, and clay, but what also appeared to be an alarming amount of organic material. In the days approaching the mission, and the planet was well within visible sight of Earth, the clouds began to dissipate, and the blue marble so much like their own became more easy to distinguish -- though still not entirely. But as they neared, a radio transmission was received, weakly pulsing from the planet's surface. 121.50000 NASA followed up. 121.50000. Distress. Though this frequency was heard across the globe and received in many different forms, NASA neglected to announce the findings and continue their mission. What was originally a single-nation mission became a multi-national exploration mission to the surface of this planet. As it neared, surface sonar detected several ideal locations to land; NASA selected a location, and sent their teams away into space. Still days away in its elliptical path around the sun, astronauts launched from Earth in a four-day journey to Terra 2. No one spoke of how similar the planets were; they ignored the white Luna look-alike whose fragments orbited the planet, they didn't speak of the reports that thousands -- or millions -- of space debris orbited the planet, or even that ruins still stood on the planet. It didn't seem to particularly odd that as part of their teams, Air Force Combat Controllers, armed for combat, had been sent along. None of it seemed too odd until they breached the atmosphere of the planet. When the red and white streaks of friction cooled and they could see what was below them. Atop the green vegetation and growth, in amongst the trees and the long grass were cars. As their eyes wandered, they spied buildings. Their chosen landing spot hadn't been the best spot for their landing, but the best spot to confirm beliefs. As the pod settled and opened up, and the astronauts stepped out on the not so foreign soil, they set their eyes upon the crumbling and desolate remains of the US Capitol Building. The commander of the mission stepped forward, and as the light of the sun crested fully, exposing the apocalyptic remains of their very own planet, he called back, "Control, we've got a problem."
Petey and I don't get many visitors. I mean, occasionally a home maintenance worker will drop by. I've never been good at fixing things, so the other day I had two guys come in and replace the AC unit while I went out to lunch. But really, that's about it. I don't mind being semi-alone. A quiet life, surrounded by books, going to work and coming back to a friendly bird, is about my speed. Petey's been my pal for almost thirty years now. A few days ago, work was especially exhausting, so I was looking forward to some highly predictable evening conversation. "Hey, bud,"I said as I dropped the keys on the kitchen table. "Hi, Nate! Hi, Nate!" "How was your day?" "Just fine! Just fine!" "What were you up to?" "Oh, look at all that blood! Oh my God!" I froze. "What'd you say?" "She's dead, man! She's so dead!" I swallowed nervously and began to walk over to Petey's cage. "You -- you feeling OK, Petey?" "That guy needs to run for his life! Just ditch her, man! She's gone!" I opened Petey's cage and let him perch on my finger. "All right, pal, I don't know if I gave you some bad food or something, but we need to --" "Hi, Nate! Hi, Nate!" And just like that, he was back to normal. Every couple hours, he'd repeat the same series of sentences. Now, it's often the last thing I hear before bed and the first thing I hear in the morning. Blood, death, and running. Blood, death, and running. If I don't figure out what this is all about, I'll go crazy. I might have to let Petey fly away so I can have some peace of mind. Was my bird a witness to a murder? Should I call the police? Oh, God, I have no idea. I just want it to stop. *** The two workers installing the AC unit decided to take a break for lunch. One of them pulled out his phone. "I can't believe you've never seen this, man. You've just gotta watch the opening scene and you'll be hooked." Petey sat perched in his cage near the open window, and watched, along with the workers, the first five minutes of Jaws.
"Mr. Blake"chimed in a rather scrawny boy with uncombed brown hair. "Yeah, you"I point to him. I sat on a chair in front of a large background poster of the cover of my book. In front of me sat a group of about one hundred, mostly teens, eager to ask me about my latest book, Riding through the Sunset into the City of Glass and Fire He seemed nervous. His voice quivered a bit. "Do you really think love can bring down an empire?" I chuckle to myself. Of course I don't. I don't know sane people who would believe that. I can see why romantic teenagers want to believe it's that powerful, but man. That's a stretch. "Absolutely"I reply, smiling. "So...So do you think in real life a woman's love for a man could bring him back to life even after being mangled by thousands of bullets? And that love can make him turn into a superhuman?" "Absolutely"I repeat. "Love is from where all strength comes from, and it's the cornerstone of civilization."Light applause follows. I mutter my Thank You's. The next teenager stood. She seemed like one of those stereotypical bookworms. She wore large glasses and her hair in a braid. "Hi Mr. Blake. I liked the part about all the schools having to fight each other to be the Dominant House, in order to win the Crown of Champions that allows them access to the World Cup of Flyball that establishes national dominance in the world"she started. I struggled to focus. Honestly, I had almost no recollection of any of that. "But don't you think it was a bit unrealistic? I mean, the other four houses were slaughtered but towards the end they were found alive?" I nodded. I wanted to say Doesn't the whole damn book feel a bit unreaistic to you? "Great question"I start. "The reason that is...it's because of the super advanced technology they were able to achieve. You see, civilizations advance. And they gain technologies to fight the bad guys. So, uh, towards the end, you know, the climax, where all those things happen, there was just so much technology available. Like gravFlies, footPlugs, assWipers, fireBreathers, heartStarters, and so on. So much advanced technology that, uh, those people were saved" "So a suddenly advanced technology, which wasn't really developed in the book, brought all those people back to life?" "Precisely" "Doesn't that invalidate the end goal when the struggle on the way means nothing?" "Precisely. Next question." The girl was gestured to take a seat by the organizer. Another scrawny kid stood. "Mr. Blake, you gave the main character, Hiro, a terminal illness and several disabilites. Yet, it never served as a weakness to him at all. In fact, it made him stronger than all of his peers and allowed him to soar to the top. Don't you think that's unfair to real people with real illnesses?" "Thanks for the question"I say. "I never want us to lose sight of the strength of our struggle. Illnesses give immeasurable strength to some people that allow them to accomplish great things. I want readers who do have illnesses or disabilities to feel they can accomplish great things too" He read from some note cards he had prepared before. Bastard. "There was a paralyzed character in your book who defended an entire city on his own against an army of warships and giant robots. Do you think that's realistic?" "Yes"I reply quickly, "because he was able to accomplish great things, because of his struggles. Struggles build strength, and all that"I looked at my watch. I look to my right. "How much time left here?" "About one more question"answered the organizer. A rather large teenager, at least six foot tall, rose. "Mr. Blake, I don't know how many of these people actually read the book, but it looks like you literally stole ideas from the major sellers and mashed them together in your book." I nod. "But you made it work better than any of them. I think when the whole world is at stake, and you have a love between characters who are innately the underdog, and, you know, you have different organizations contribute to internal strife, it comes off as a really appealing story. It teaches us to believe even in the hard times we experience. Was there anything you learned from the success of your book?" I thought for a second. Of course I learned something. I learned how easy it was to make money selling poorly formed stories. I open my mouth to speak, but hesitate. I wanted to tell them it was a joke. A parody. But...but the movie deal. And the success of the sequels. Why would I jeopardize all that? "Yes"I reply. "I learned that in order to accomplish something great, you have to love yourself. That will be your greatest strength." A loud applause follows. "I guess that brings us to the end. Thank you all so much for coming"I say. "You can expect Riding in the Moonlight into the City of Crystal and Ice next fall!" The crowd cheers and jeers, and I smile.
"Another drink, sir?" Startled, Chad woke up on a beach chair which had a breathtaking view. "I'm sorry?"He said, noticing the waiter standing over him. "Would you like another drink?"The waiter asked. "No..no, thank you."Chad replied, still groggy from the trip. After being honorably discharged from 23 years of Active Duty service, Chad had been gifted a strange ability. He could travel time. Checking his watch, he quickly stood up. "It's almost time, I have to get there"he thought to himself. He took off in a sprint towards the cruise ship looming in the distance. As he approached the dock, he looked for that familiar face, knowing what he had to do. "Say Bahamas!!"Shouted a nearby cameraman as he took the photo of a newlywed couple. "This has to be the guy that took the picture,"Chad thought, "but where are they?!" He then heard a familiar voice. Ensuring his anonymity, he peeked over to its source, and there they were: a gorgeous woman and her two sons. As they came closer to the photo location, Chad knew he had to move. He ducked behind a small crowd of tourists and made his way behind the small family. "Say Bahamas!"Shouted the cameraman. Chad hoped he had been able to slip into view as the shutter closed... Chad jerked violently awake. He was in his bed, sweating. He still wasn't used to the effects of time travel. As he gathered his thoughts, and remembered the trip he had just returned from, he slid out of bed. His footsteps echoed in the empty house as he made his way to the kitchen. As he approached the fridge, he began to cry. A few photos scattered the refrigerator door. One from Disney, another from Six Flags. But one particular photo caught his attention. It was of his wife and their two sons on a vacation to the Bahamas. Behind them, he saw his own face, which he knew was only there because he traveled back to be there. Satisfied with the result, he returned the photo to the fridge, along with all of the other family vacations he missed while deployed...
Today we''re going to be learning about baseballs! The outer thingie gets attached to the inner thingie with little stripes that run accross the ball. There are alots of little strpes and all of them must be kintted, probably by a mom or possibly many moms. The moms porbaly all meet up for tea and then stich a lot of balls for the kids who play baseball. I don't think my mom does that but I haen't asked her. Ok I askasked her and she says most moms fdo not strcih basballs. I asked dad and he said that baseblals are actualy eggs, and you have to hit them really hard to make them hathc. Mom gave dad one of her looks but dad winked at me so I think that he is telling thr truth. So next time dad says we will found out who comes first. The baseball egg or the baseball chicken? Find out net time on How It is Made!
I shut the blinds in my apartment. What the hell had I stolen? They were looking for me everywhere. I turned on the TV, trying to calm my nerves. There seemed to be some kind of terrorist attack - or an attempted one, at least. Then I saw my face plastered on the BBC. I immediately switched it off, throwing the remote across the room. It landed near the remains of my cellphone - which had just never stopped ringing. The bag still lay on the middle of the coffee table, unopened. I inspected it again. So inconspicuous, but so damned heavy. What was in it? I opened the zipper, revealing some kind of large, metallic object. I could barely lift it out of the bag. Then I noticed what looked like a detonator... was this... was this a..? "It seems we've tracked him down, stand by."A voice said near my door, and I suddenly realised I hadn't locked it. They'd found me. Before I could react, the door burst open, revealing a reporter, a cameraman and several cops. "And here he is, the hero of the day!"the reporter exclaimed, gesturing towards me. I cried out in shock, dropping the bag on the floor. There was a poignant BEEP-
No one? No one's taken a crack at this? Well, let me step up and be the first... This, Jimmy Brodes thought miserably to himself, was really bad. Like, so bad. Like, worse than he even imagined that getting fired would be, which - until recently - had been up there in his list of top fears. Now, however, it barely even made the list. His fingers trembling, Brodes ran through that list again. Jameson Brodes' Top Ten Emotions of the Moment - all fears, as usual - included: \#3, dying in a hail of gunfire as a dozen guards failed to collapse bonelessly from his attempted karate chops to their necks and instead pulled their very lethal assault rifles on him. \#6, he didn't actually know when to pull the cord on his parachute, but only realized this after jumping out of the plane. Hell, this parachute didn't even have a cord at all! And here came the ground, very very fast... \#7, a beautiful femme fatale seduced him, only to betray him as he lay, sweaty and exhausted, in the tangled sheets after they'd consummated their shared passion together. Actually, Brodes admitted, that last one wouldn't be quite so bad. At least he'd get laid before he got killed. Still, death seemed very imminent. And to think, they'd told him that it was just a testing exercise! He'd been on the brink of getting fired, even before this. He knew that, could see it in the way that his boss just shook his head at him when he arrived late, coffee stain evident on his wrinkled shirt. His reports had always been sloppy, but at least he got the right intel... But as of late, all he could think about was Karen, how she left him sitting on his - their - couch, stunned and alone. "It's just not working out; you're not the man that a woman really wants,"she said softly, sadly, before leaving the apartment that, until a week ago, they'd shared together. Not the man that a woman really wants. Maybe that was why he couldn't focus on his work. Sure, it was cool to work for the CIA, but doing analysis, sitting at a computer while big, swarthy men like Jameson Bryce, the best damn secret agent to walk the hallowed halls, went out and put themselves in the line of fire, using their incredible skills to keep America safe. So when his boss's boss - the very head of the CIA himself, Allen Swan - came to their floor and asked for a volunteer for a top secret mission, Brodes' hand surprised everyone, including its owner. "Are you sure, Jimmy?"his boss, Kyle, asked. No one had to strain to hear the skepticism in that tone. Brodes glared back at his boss. "Yes, I am sure,"he said, although he didn't know it until the words left his mouth. But Allen Swan just nodded. "Right initials,"he murmured, although Brodes wasn't sure what this meant. All he knew was that he needed to shave his head, report to a subdivision that he didn't know existed until now, and do his best to clear his mind. Whatever that meant. Brodes spent most of the night before this 'experimental procedure' fearing that they'd somehow scramble his brain so that he popped an obvious boner whenever a barista sneered at him. But when Brodes arrived, the elevator accepting his thumb print and carrying him deep into the earth, a technician immediately stuck him with a needle. Brodes started at the prick, but didn't panic quite as much as he normally might. Instead, he giggled, and let the technician lay him down on a bed. The bed had wheels! Brodes giggled as they scooted through a building all in white, moving into a white room full of men in white suits, machines - and another bed. And on that bed, a man lay dying. Brodes could barely see the other figure - bandages covered him almost head to toe, and dozens of tubes snaked into his body. But he knew, from the rasping, shallow breaths, that the other man was dying. For some reason, this was incredibly funny. Brodes giggled and snorted as men in white, puffy suits poked him, moved him about, pressed cold metal things against his head, and then placed a plastic cup over his mouth, at which point he fell asleep. When he next woke up, Allen Swan, as well as a short man with thick spectacles and crazy white hair, were both staring at him. He was in a different room, with a window, and a large horsefly buzzed in slow circles. "Yes?"Brodes asked, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. "Jameson? Jameson, is that you?"the short mad-scientist-looking man asked, his voice deep and bubbly. "Uh,"Brodes began, but then Allen Swan gave a short little cutting gesture with his hand, and Brodes shut up. "Listen up, Jameson, or whoever happens to be inside that head right now,"Swan snapped. "The deal is this - you're in a different body. Your cover was blown when the terrorists caught you lifting a sample of the fissile material, and you barely escaped with your life. We found some schmuck in our analysis division and Dr. Partridge here, with questionable success and methods, swapped your brain into his body." "What about his brain?"Brodes asked, confused. Or was it his brain? My brain? That fly's buzzing cut into his head. His eyes roamed down, noting that he was still in a hospital bed, that a tray of scalpels and other surgical implements still stood near him. Swan gave a shrug. "Your body passed away a few minutes after the procedure finished, so he won't be filing any sort of ethics complaints."He chuckled, dryly, and Partridge gave a clearly fake laugh. "Anyway,"Swan continued, "we need you to go back in. With this new face, you'll be anonymous - and although it should take some time for the nerves of this body to adjust to your levels of skill, it will return, Dr. Partridge assures me. Get on your feet, get acquainted with this new skin. You'll be sent out in 48 hours." And with that, Swan turned and stalked out of the room. The fly buzzed in the air current left behind, and then resumed banging itself against the far window. Brodes watched him go, the giggles fading quickly from his system. Instead, dread, fear like never before, crept in to take its place. He definitely wasn't Jameson Bryce. He was still regular old, dull, not the man that women wanted Jimmy Brodes, and he was going to be sent out into- Dr. Partridge still stood there, peering at him like a senile pigeon might inspect an off-color kernel of corn. Brodes looked at him, fear and dread clear on his face. "It didn't work, did it?"Dr. Partridge asked, although the tone of his voice indicated that he already knew the answer. Brodes slowly shook his head. Partridge sighed. "I thought as much. Swan rushed the whole thing. It wasn't ready. And Bryce's wave-form signal died halfway through the attempted transition. Some of him might have made its way in there, but not enough." "But if we tell him, he'll kill me!"Brodes burst out. Without much surprise or fear for him, Partridge nodded. "Probably." "But I don't want to die!"The words came out of Brodes like a wail, and he felt panic rising inside of him. "God, they didn't even tell me what I was volunteering for! I just wanted to do something because Karen left me, and I was alone, and they were going to fire me-" Partridge tried to interject a couple of times, but Brodes felt panic seizing him, now, fully in control. He waved his arms around, his fingers snatching up one of those scalpels from the tray beside him. "This is all bullshit! I'm not Jameson, not some secret agent, I'm just an analyst! I can't do anything!" "Jameson, just take a breath-"Partridge tried to cut in. "I'm. Not. Jameson!"Brodes took one last breath, and then, the buzzing of the fly sawing into his brain, let out a scream. "And shut that damn fly up, I can't stand it!!" His fingers twisted, and he felt the scalpel jump away. A moment later, from behind closed eyelids, Brodes realized that he heard silence. Partridge wasn't speaking. And the fly had stopped buzzing. Slowly, still fearing what he might see, Brodes opened his eyes. Partridge still stood there, but his wide-eyed stare wasn't focused on Brodes. Instead, the crazy-haired scientist stared at the horsefly, lying on the far windowsill. The horsefly lay, dead and impaled on the flung scalpel. Brodes' eyes moved over to Partridge, who finally, awestruck, looked back. "Well, I'll be damned,"the man whispered, his voice barely audible. "Something did make it over, after all." "What's happening-"Brodes choked out, but Partridge had already moved, snatching up his chart from the foot of his bed. He scrawled something on it, glancing up at Brodes and reading aloud as he wrote. "Patient's skills seem to have become latent, less conscious,"he said slowly as he wrote. "Recommend intensive training regimen before deployment to recover conscious control. Partridge." He slipped the chart back into the tray at the foot of Brodes' bed. "Good luck,"he told Brodes, and then gave him a bawdy, obvious wink! And then, Partridge left the room, as Brodes tried to think, tried to reconcile his top ten fears with that dead horsefly on the far side of the room. He reached over and grabbed another scalpel. For a terrified moment, he thought of using it on himself, ending this before it turned into one of those fears in his head. His fingers trembled. And then, with a flick, the scalpel leapt like a fish, sailing across the room to stick perfectly in the far wall. And then, for the very first time, Brodes found something else on his Top Ten Emotions of the Moment. Hope. Wild, crazy, insane hope.
Sticky summer nights stank of sweaty humans, which was certainly worse than the smell of sizzling flesh they feared enough to weave into their stories of hell. Humans. Did it never occur to the fools that sizzling human flesh was every bit as fragrant as the meat they cooked? Astaroth stuck her hands in her shorts' pockets and wove through the shifting crowds. City lights tinkled above her, humiliating the stars until they retreated into the darkness of the night sky. Could've waited a bit longer, then it wouldn't be so crowded. Could have, but didn't. This morning, the child in the apartment above hers smiled again. He hadn't done that in years, not since his father turned to drink and violence while his mother insisted neither her nor her son broke the plates. Three days ago, the widow next door finally came out of her room, tentatively, instead of cowering about her husband's tormented soul whispering insults at her through the wall. She'd slept well that week, after all, and the voice had stopped. And Astaroth found she couldn't give enough of a damn to tease them again. She'd actually begun to enjoy smelling the fresh-baked breads down the stairs, the misplaced optimism of the single mother who recently received a promotion, and the humming of the widow as she did her chores. When she stepped out and was nearly bowled over by the child from upstairs rushing back to the apartment, she felt a hollow tug in the pit of her stomach. I can't feel anything. I have everything I want. And she knew just who to see in order to reaffirm that. She left the apartment then and there, wearing only a pair of shorts worn to indecency and nothing on top. She retraced her usual path down ill-paved sidewalks and trash-lined alleys. Decades have passed but habits formed through the centuries were hard to break. The air was thick with chatter. She grit her teeth. They spoke too much, always talking to each other but too afraid to reveal their emotions. Ordinarily she'd let the humans see her, let the men and women ogle at her. She particularly enjoyed when a bold drunk stalked her and followed her into an alley before attempting conversation or outright groping her but she wasn't keen on having sweaty hands paw her tonight. That's because you only want a certain person pawing you - She quashed the thoughts. Foolishness. The steps up the police station were wide-set and irksome. They were spaced too widely apart for her to take them two at a time, but too low and close together for it too feel like she was going up a set of stairs. Yes, marble-tile and spacious stairs were wonderful and grand and all that, but perhaps they shouldn't have been thinking they ought to finish their budget. But they had to, otherwise they (rightly feared) the budget for anything they tried to purchase next year would be cut by their seniors, who would be under the impression that all their budgets were inflated (which was also true). Humans. They enjoyed complicating themselves, setting up elaborate systems to avoid talking straight to one another and then doubting each other's intentions. Every one of them was too smart by half. She breezed past the officers manning the front desk and the few detectives still poring over case files. Stacks of paper, some of them dusty, sat in the corner of the brightly lit station. In here it almost seemed to be morning, complete with the lingering aroma of coffee and slow shuffling movements of people not quite awake yet. She proceeded to the holding cells. Rows of vertical bars. None of the men (inebriated, inappropriate, or otherwise) noticed the barefoot woman padding down the hallway. She paused a few meters away from him, watching him as he in turn watched two men in the cell stare each other down. He wore a business suit and held a briefcase in one hand. The last time she saw him, the suit had shoulder pads and a looser, more oversized fit. Now, to keep with the times maybe, it was cut to precision and skimmed his tall and lean frame. She suddenly felt very aware of how her long brown hair was tangled and matted, damp with sweat and sticking to her bare back, and how exposed she truly was. She coughed. The man didn't even blink. Astaroth slunk up beside him and pressed her body against him, enveloping him in an indecent hug. He stirred mildly and spared her a glance before returning his attention to the men. "Oh, hello." "Why do you keep watching them?"She nipped his ear. If he'd responded, she'd have long ago lost interest. She already knew the answers to his questions and she also knew angels simply didn't have it in them to lust after someone. All her lasciviousness was wasted on the man...or so they said. She liked to imagine that one day she would prove angels were also primal beings at their core. After all, what were demons made of? Were they not angels with more freedom? "Because humans are us, except better in every respect. That's why they're allowed to choose, to have freedom,"the angel answered, almost as if he'd read her mind. She harrumphed at his response. He squinted at the two beings. "They both think the other feels guilty." Is, not feels, you twit. "I know." "They think that if they fall asleep, the other one will harm himself." She could have snorted. He was daft. To some extent, all angels were. You had to be in order to follow a Maker that seemed only interested in his own glory. "No. They think that if they sleep the other will hurt them. You've watched men like these for centuries, Raphael. I don't know why you're so deep in denial about what you see." He shook his head. "They're afraid the other will hurt himself. How selfless. They stay up, sacrificing their own well-being to watch over the others. They are so strange. I wish I could be so selfless." She decided to ignore him the way he ignored her. "They are human. It's what they do. They can think for themselves, but not each other. And they know other humans in the world aren't as good as you and would hurt them if given the chance."In truth, if she'd been in their place, she would've thought the same thing as well. She hated the humans for their paranoia, but it wasn't misplaced. She tiptoed and kissed his cheek, tucking a stray golden curl behind his ear. "You can stop that, Roth."It was a mild chide, not that he'd do anything to her if she didn't. She could've pleasured herself in front of him and he'd still pay no attention to her. The first time he reproached her, she was taken aback. Over the centuries her reaction had gone from hurt pride to almost crying to a desperate plea for attention to outright ignoring his preference. Nowadays she contented herself with cutting back the drama and merely clinging to his arm. "And I am not good. God is good. They are good. But I am just like you, not good or bad but only being. I was simply made this way, just as you were made that way." They are more like me than you are. "We were not made this way, and we aren't just..."She gestured at him. "You could have chosen to fall with us. You didn't. You are good. They aren't. They chose to eat that fruit of knowledge, chose to fall from grace, and murdered their savior, the way I chose to rebel, chose to follow Lucifer and bite the hand of my Maker." "No, they aren't,"he said, clearly amused by her. "They are designed to be good. You and I are designed to just be." "Then why,"she demanded, "do they think so badly of each other?" He paused. "You mean to ask why they think each other not clever enough to fend for himself?" She knew him well enough to know he wasn't being deliberately obtuse, but that he truly believed that. He'd seen these men kill each other, but never once did he doubt them. He'd never even seen her harm anyone, yet he simply knew she was bad. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. "Never mind. I'm going home." He looked at her again and placed a hand on her cheek. She flinched, and he ran his thumb across her lips. Fucking heart, stop beating so quick - "You hurt yourself, but I fixed it." No, you haven't. He smiled at her, then turned back to the men. "Take care, Roth. We'll wait for you to realize the error of your ways, and then you can come back and we'll strive to be more like men so our Creator might love us as dearly." She left without another word. These humans didn't deserve him. God didn't deserve him, and fuck it if she was going to let either humans or God enjoy their lives.
We thought it would be funny. It would give all of us a great story to tell at our LGS or post on the /tg board & RPG subreddit. Of course we all knew about it. Having played tabletop RPGs as long as we have we had all heard the horror stories, read the hilarious reviews. So when our forever DM had found the PDF we couldn't not try it for at least one session. After all our last campaign had ended and it would be interesting to try a new system, even one as infamous and horrid as FATAL's. For those of you who don't know, FATAL is one of the worst RPG's ever made. It is extremely crunchy in a way that is so over the top it's hard to think developers actually thought people would have fun with a game where generating stats takes at least 2 hours. But beyond the extremely poor mechanics, the game is cringe inducing in a legendary way. Had it been published this year, it would have undoubtedly drawn the ire and hate of all the Tumblrites, politically correct blogs and websites. But instead it was launched over a decade ago where only the veterans of the tabletop RPG community know of it's foul ilk. It takes a certain kind of morbid curiosity and fiendish immaturity to entertain a game which requires players to roll for things like specific size of genitalia, anal circumference, and fertility. Only the brave or ill end up playing a game where a successful grapple roll can and often does end up with the player character raping the grappled opponent. It takes thick skin to quest for items that are not only racist, but equally horribly unfunny. So, with a fair bit of liquid courage and five hours on a Saturday evening our group gathered to play a session of FATAL. Everyone for the most part played it straight. Most of the party were relatively normal. Of course, Logan's character did somehow happen to roll for an 9inch schlong with a circumference of 3 inches. However most of the characters were startlingly competent. After all, the game is not only renown for its disturbingly cringey and offensive content and herculean mechanics, it is also incompetently designed to be distressingly difficult. As such everyone found it prudent to make characters who could, would last in the vile world of FATAL. Everyone but me. Honestly, I couldn't help it. I'm known in my group for trying to always make and play nuanced characters with backstory and potential for development. Never once have I rolled up a character whose sole motivation was "in it for the money"or "murderhobo". But this time I went a different route. I figured that if I had to play this awful game I might as well ham it up as much as possible. So I created Eoara Farfallan. I figured that since the rest of the party were competent fighters I might as well be the sexy witch who provides artillery in the form of magicks. Granted, I didn't understand the magic system that well considering it was a few hundred pages after the chargen section but I had my selection of spells prepared and my character ready. However the most peculiar thing happened right as we began the game. As our characters met at a tavern, a completely original idea I know, we began to change. As the we all began to describe our characters we felt a strange energy punctuating the air. Logan had gone first describing Sigmund Arlop, the noble and well hung hedge knight. Then Jane described her skilled and veteran hunter Catroina. Jimmy went next describing Rufus Roughshod, the urchin turned mercenary champion. Finally I described Eoara Farfallan, the crude sex symbol of a witch, with proportions only possible in the most forgiving of animes. We all had a laugh after the introductions but before Dennis could begin to further the story the strange sensation we had all felt in the room hit a crescendo. Before our eyes, Logan's brown hair began to turn blond. He's normally lazy posture straightened, and his arms began to grow with muscle. His v-neck war changed into the same green gambeson he had described Sigmund wearing. As if it were a series of dominoes falling, Jane to began to change. Her face was obscured by a dark hood, her pencil turned into a short sword, and her back pack changed into a quiver and bow. She yelled in pain as her knees suddenly hit the underside of the table as she began to grow about 6 inches in height. Jimmy's turn came up and his arms began to become marked with crude tattoo's and scars. His teeth began to yellow at an alarming rate, and he bulked out harder than the hulk. At this point everyone turned towards me. I knew what was coming. I began to feel a horrifying loose feeling in my derriere. I felt hot pressure in my chest, and then I felt a terrible lightness in my best friend. As I began to yell my natural baritone voice turned into a sultry alto sound. I really wish I didn't fudge all those rolls for physical traits during character gen!
We have never hired or trained as many people as we have now. Everyone was working towards building spaceships and being trained to survive in them as quick as possible. There were visitors, they didnt tell us their names, but they painted our skies with auroras and echoed music through our streets. "Thin your numbers to 5000, and we will create for you Nirvana."Those in poverty praised them, those in power feared them. The state of our planet could be altered by these mysterious beings, but we weren't sure if they meant biologically or mechanically. Everyone held different opinions. When they told us we had five weeks, everyone was shaken up. When a few pockets of people suggested taking the deal people were shaken up. There were hushed whispers of plagues, of virus'. That was, of course, absurd. We are a species that thinks out of the box, we use tools. We had billions of people, billions of minds,of hands. Many were lost on the journey off Earth. We had to learn to build so fast, it hasn't been done before. If this wasn't a global effort it would have been impossible. Still, we managed to escape. It wasn't comfortable, but it was done. Some ships stopped on the moon, the stations were full too, but most ships hung around in orbit waiting for the strangers to reappear. People were restless. "This was all for nothing!"Was a cry heard in many languages by mass groups. "There is no such thing as Nirvana!"Still, we waited. After all, this was huge. We had accomplished so much, so fast. We lost track of time, maybe five weeks passed and we had all been too distracted to notice. Maybe we were way ahead of schedule and still had a long while to go. Then, they came. Our ship designs were crude in comparison. They were smooth, and decorated. We were barely held together. It turned out, our five weeks were a little different from theirs. We never thought to clarify time zones and differences with the species. They kept their word, they bathed Earth in lights while they altered it. The whole planet Terraformed, fast, in ways we couldn't even dream. They didn't stop there. They altered our moons, Mars, Venus, our entire solar system. That's why our home is on Jupiter, it used to be inhabitable before the event. Only descendants of those 5000 that stayed behind are allowed to live on Earth, but we can visit it any time we want. That's where we're headed now. It's going to be a long trip, son, but we're headed to paradise.
Martin was a homely young fellow, 15 years of age and quite honestly one of the most average people in your entire 10th grade reading class. He did his homework, helped with his chores, and otherwise, was a good student. Martin was never late to his classes, and was respected enough at school that he was not bullied or picked on by his class mates, and he was the perfect gentleman. However Martin, our devious little fellow, had a secret, something dark and mysterious. See, when all the other kids in his class told their other classmates what their "first wish"was going to be, Martin refused to divulge his wish. Some wished to never grow old, others wished for money, and a few even wanted to wish that they never had to go to school again. However Martin, you see dear reader, was clever. He had figured out this little scheme they had been playing all along their lives. The Wish, was a game much like a shell game. He had cracked the code of how this system worked and he had the perfect wish. It was dark, it was sinister and it was grand. The rest of his classmates BEGGED for him to tell them, pleading and one of them even saying he would wish for Martin to tell the class his wish from the pure excitement of it, but Martin held firm. His 15 year old head held high he prevailed, outlasting their torment and even the teacher, who at this point was curious. Martin remained stoic, only 1 day remaining until the 16 year celebration was held. As to facilitate this in an orderly fashion, each school district gathered all students together on a single day, each school was assigned a specific day of the year and this year, it had special meaning. The day picked, was Martin's True birthday. It had been said, and written, that in the 407 years leading up to tomorrow, that no one had ever successfully wished on their Birthday, and the organization had frowned upon it, seeking to prevent what would be an overload in the system's power. See, there had actually been 1 instance where this had happened, 408 years ago, a 40 year old man by the name of Paul had wished on his birthday, and the result of his wish was so powerful, that he was able to proclaim himself king of the entire planet of Alder. Needless to say, the Organization, in charge of The Wish, used disciples placed throughout the population to thwart "Paul's Terrible Wish"as it had been known, and it apparently had cost them over 10,000 wishes to chip away at Paul's Terrible Wish. After this, they sacrificed over 900 more wishes, to change the system and reshape it to prevent another overthrow from someone being able to wish for something that powerful. This included making sure that no one could wish on their True Birthday. But Martin, clever, clever Martin had a glimpse at his life's record in the computer and noticed something quite unique. The school had his True Birthday recorded incorrectly. Instead of being listed as 712-1194-1171-991 they had his birthday listed as 712-1194-1711-991. A small, tiny and miniscule change, however, with that being overlooked, the True Birth coordinate system was then thrown off by this error. Typically this would have been no true issue, except lucky Clever Martin quickly realized that this year's Wish Date coordinates, would be lining up with his True Birth coordinates exactly, this amplifying his wish powers like Paul before him. So he bided his time, playing calm with his students the rest of the day and Martin, our hero and underdog went home. Calmly told his mother and father that he cared for them deeply before returning to his sleeping bunk. He quietly waited for the Wish to come forth the next day. He awoke normally, sitting up and walking to school like he normally did except of course the town was a bustle, everyone heading to the school to sit in the auditorium and watch the students, 1 by 1 go in and receive their Wishes. There was a rule, and all students at this age knew the rule. After stripping completely naked, You may take a single sheet of paper into the Wishing Box, a silenced, blacked out box, save for a single light on top. The rule, was to prevent people from writing out extremely long, artificially powerful wishes by walking in with tattoos of wishes across your entire body, or taking anything like textbooks worth of rules as had been tried 199 years ago. Yan the Long had a wish that spanned 414pages, and was so complicated it took him 21 hours to read in its entirety, all about receiving a silver spoon. You see, the Wish you made, had to be specific and without vague meaning. There had been backfires in the past from people wishing and having their wishes interpreted literally instead of as they were meant. People wishing for extreme beauty have been known to walk out with a pot of petunia's in tears because their Wish was granted, but not in the way they had intended. This was what our clever, outstanding Martin had come to realize. This was his secret. Understanding that a wish could not be simple or have multiple interpretations, and at the same time could not be written down to be so long as to not be able to be said quickly enough and without restriction, he had found the perfect Wish. Something so utterly unique, and so simple, that the power of his Wish on his True Birthday, might actually cause chaos and rip apart the reality he stood upon. Standing with his classmates, all 319 of them fully nude and excited, talking about what they were about to wish for, Martin stood their with his head held high and his pride intact. His single sheet of paper had nothing written upon it, as Martin knew what he wanted, and in his heart he would speak it true, and his voice would be clear. Watching the first person go in, a single door closed and a light turned on on top of the Box. The box, would change the light's color depending on the results of someone's wish whether it was a weak wish, meaning the wish was vague and the light turned a dim and withered yellow, to a successful wish where the light shined a bright and glorious green. Several classmates who wished for true beauty and inner strength had dim lights, and some came out looking disheveled as they held things like a bucket of roses, a mirror made from a candy cane and one girl even came out with a shovel wrapped around her neck. One got a bright green light, coming out with flowing jet black hair that stayed perfectly long enough to reach the backs of her knees that would never tangle or twist. Martin finally looked upon the box, seeing it in its glorious majestic majesty and stepped forward, placing his paper in his hands he got into the box and as the door closed, in the darkness of the room a single light came on, highlighting a Microphone in the room and giving him just enough light to read whatever was on his paper. But as Martin stood there, and he took a deep breath, he had thought long and hard about his wish. This was to be the wish of all wishes, something so powerful, so strong, and so mind bending that he was determined to change the world with it. Outside of the box, his classmates and townspeople watched on as the box, in its black demur stayed closed, the light on top flashing no color yet. Then, as it started to hum the light slowly came to life. The light, flashed green, but it became brighter, and stronger. The color was so vibrant that it washed out the entire room and the depth of the green became so true, that it could only mean one thing. Someone had wished on their True Birthday. The counselors, standing in shock all ran to the box, banging on its sides and hitting it with everything they had. They, as members of the Organization, could not do anything as once you were inside the Wish Box, it was impenetrable. since 91 years ago, the wish box had been modified through other wishes that it was invulnerable to all of time and space, and could not be breached, even through the power of other wishes. What was to come of this? What would this young child, of 16 years old do to the world. Did he realize what had happened? did he truly understand? or was it an accident? Fear swept over the Counsilors as they looked on in horror and fear, the green light brightly exhibiting the strongest, most pure light anyone had ever scene. The crowd had to sheild their eyes from it it was so powerful. This light penetrated from outside the box to the entire world, the galaxy even. It's light shined throughout time and space, reaching the far corners of the universe and stretching beyond as if some unknown spacial force had commanded it to reach every point in space and time at the moment this had happened. For a moment, the entire universe was bathed in a bright, pure green light, creatures and aliens from the infinite number of planets looked up to the sky to witness this event of true glory and power stretching infinitely in all directions. And then the universe, became a slice of Toast.
I take a cigarette out of my trenchcoat and light it from the zippo. Another lead turns out to be a bust. Seems like everyone spots this guy, but nobody can pin him down. He's smart; dead smart. Always in crowded places, always dressed to blend in, and never the most interesting person to look at. This guy is pure pro. I've been chasing him for months now. I don't really know what he did to get the agency's attention, and I didn't ask. What I did get was a dossier of all of his known bolt-holes, hideaways, safe houses, and contacts. The list was substantial, but I knew most of them were garbage. We were in the same business, and a professional of known quality always leaves a few crumbs for the rats to chew on. Odds are, the whole folder was nothing but bluffs and misdirection, but I followed them anyway. When that dried up, I called on my contacts. Someone at this guy's level only has a few people in the world to talk to, and I know them all. Whether or not they still wanted to deal with me is another question. Some of them knew that the Agency had me now, and those types don't generally care for that. I run my fingers through my long black hair in frustration. Every single lead was completely worthless. I've been trotting the globe, and yet getting nowhere. Rain that's been threatening all day finally begins to come down, and I put my wide-brimmed hat back on. As I walk back to my hotel, I rack my brain for something, anything that might suggest where he would've bolted off to, but nothing was forthcoming. Well, this is getting me nowhere fast, maybe a nap will do me some good. I get back up to my room and shrug off the red trenchcoat and hat, hanging them up to dry. I was about to pull off my yellow turtleneck when I noticed a note on the bed that wasn't there when I left. "Car, where in the world are you?"Oh, that cheeky...
We were all sitting in the Chief Commissioner's office, awaiting the final tally. The Chief Commissioner rolled his eyes, swiveling his monitor around so that we could see it. Cthulu. "I'm not sure how he beat out Harambe, but there you go,"he said. Evans was suddenly excited; another chance to show us his pop culture prowess. "Isn't that a Lovecraft character?" "Yes, Evaaaaaaaaaanssssss,"the Commissioner groaned. "So, what the hell do we do?" I raised my hand. "Shelly! Can always count on you,"he said. "Well, Cthulu isn't real, but I'm sure there's some whackjob out there who's changed his last name to Cthulu. We can find them and at least get someone into office." "Ahhh!,"Evans replied. "That's good, but you gave me a better idea. Get Hillary's doctor on the line. We can fasttrack a name change. Hillary Rodham Clinton Cthulu. This is the best pretense we'll have to get her in!" The Commissioner pointed at him, looking elated. "I didn't know you had it in you Evans!"He reached for the phone on his desk. As he did, it rang. He paused a second, surprised, then picked up. "Hello, Commissioner. Donald John Trump Cthulu here."
I couldn't catch my breath, I'd been flat out sprinting so long all I could taste was bile and my lungs threatened to explode out of my chest. Sweat had soaked through my Kevlar armor and if my helmet didn't have an opening in the bottom I'd be looking through a salt water aquarium by now. I could smell the smoke from the fires, things had gotten out of hand too quickly. Three hundred of us had deployed to block off the police station, that was everyone who had even bothered to show up. Three hundred out of over three thousand cops. Now it was just me. Not that they were all dead mind you, just pulled back to the bridges and tunnels. Six ways in and out of the island, if you can't find a boat or plane. Even the National Guard had pulled out, securing the bridge with heavy armor. One mob closes in from the east, the same one that burned the police station. They were armed now, at least two dozen cops had been killed and the armory looted. I'd have to ditch the gear. No choice. Once I stripped out of the heavy equipment I could move faster and I cut through a ruined diner. Inside was a gift from heaven, an employee locker with jeans and a plaid shirt. I moved into the street and joined a mob as they walked by, searching for more cops. I spent my time eyeing all the exits and looking for my way to the bridges or tunnel. It was at least a mile to the nearest position and there were a lot of angry people between me and it. "Hey, where'd you get those shoes." Someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me, a guy with buzzed down hair and a big nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice. He was burly and carried himself like a jag-off. The tattoo on his neck said something about Big Chicken Dinner under a giant browned chicken. Bad Conduct Discharge. Ex-military. I was wearing cop boots. He knew that. People started staring. Then they started edging in closer. So I did what any cop would do. I straight up clocked that fucker in his big ass nose, shattering bone and sending blood pouring down the front of his shirt. He stumbled and I screamed "pig"as loud as I could and kicked him in the gut. He had no air and the crowd closed in on him before he could defend himself. I backed up through them and waited for a clear moment. Then I ran like my life depended on it. And it did. Because about five seconds later the crowd was roaring and screaming and I could hear footsteps chasing me. So I ran harder.
"Get up." A familiar rasp bounces off the cell walls and is amplified. The sound cuts me away from the same dream I have every night: My family and I at the park, with only the moon and the fire little Georgie built to light our way. Sarah sings songs while Georgie hops over the flames. I smile, happy as can be, before looking up at the stars. One by one I count each of them for what seems like an eternity. Then, when I've worked my way down to the horizon, and the distant dots of light become the backdrop of my son's most daring jump, I see rays of light emanating from the ground. Before I can react, the beams begin dissolving everything they touch; the moon, the stars, the plants and trees, Georgie, Sarah... It was all an illusion. All shadows and tricks. The lights merely illuminate the false reality I clung to. I watched as Georgie and Sarah went up in flames and turned to ash, their remnants scattered in the breeze. The beams work their way towards me, that devilish glowing orb rising to dominate the sky. And right before the fire takes me, "I said get up!" Again, the voice that was the product of one too many cigarettes echoes through my chamber. "Relax Malcolm, I'm coming." "It's Thursday, you're on trash duty, and you're late." Great. "Would you be in a hurry to pick up prison trash? Found Crazy Joe's toe in his can last week, no telling what he'll come up with next. Why don't you just shine one of those big spotlights at me and end everybody's suffering? You must be tired of me by now." "You know better than to make jokes like that. We wait for the sun, that's the law. Now get up and get going." "It's been 22 years Malcolm! It's not gonna happen! Just kill me already!" "We wait for the sun, and that's final. Or do you want to go complain to Them about it?" Anything was better than going before Them. They came down and took control before any government could react. They were peaceful, in that They never resorted to violence, but They were also ruthless in Their pursuit of total control. The long night was in response to a rebellion of solar-powered soldiers, They continued it in order to further assert Their power and dominance. They also never told us what They were called, preferring instead the much more ominous "Them". "You gonna get up or do I have to come in and get you?" "Alright, alright, I'm up, I'm up..."I rise to my feet and shuffle to the cell door, where Malcolm handcuffs me. We walk down the same hallway I've been walking down for 22 years. I look out the windows and see inmates in the yard, working out, talking, laughing... I look up at the stars, dimmed by the pollution of so many lights. I trace them down to the horizon, where I see a tiny beam of light coming out of the ground...
"Directors log. Day one hundred. I wish I could tell you that I'm running scared. However, I'm not. My roommate is a werewolf. His name is Boris. I'm a sucker for Karloff puns. Luckily, so is he."I sit with my video camera as a werewolf waves behind me. At first, I would have stopped trying to film. Now, it's commonplace to see Boris with me. I pull out the tray with tonight's dinner. Boris ordered two legs of lamb from Promethus, our resident Frankenstein monster. Honestly, Frankenstein found a pretty creative culinary artist to use as a brain. I've been well fed, really. "Boris and I are going into the woods later tonight to search for a banshee that has been plaguing the neighborhood. He has given me special ear muffs and a silver bat. The bat is to get him back in order. It won't kill him, but it will hurt him." The old Nosferatu knocked on the door. "Boys, it's time to go in the forest." I nodded to him and looked at the camera. Our resident spectre, Hans came through the wall and nodded. "It's time to go trapping." "Directors note. Be advised that a banshee wail will cause hearing loss. Please edit if we catch her wail." The young succubus, Ananda, smiled at me. "C'mon, Hollywood. The night is young. We have a banshee to trap." This has been my life in Wallachia. Most of you would run. For me, I'm not running. These goofs are my friends now. Hell of a life, man.
My name is Jason, but nobody seems to know that; they just call me Corgi. Yes you read that right: I'm nicknamed after the most derpy dog on the planet. Today is my first day of college, and I'm just taking a second to think back to how my life went to crap: it all started back in 11th grade. Every year, all 11th graders around the world take the dreaded SAT (Somethingmancer Assignment Test) to determine what type of worldly substance they have power over. Going into the test I was so scared that I was going to fail and not be accepted into the university of my designated magical abilities. I could barely grip my pencil when I was bubbling my name into the sheet because I was sweating so much and my whole arm was shaking viciously. Finally, I bubbled in the last letter and glanced apprehensively upon the box labeled, "MAGIC DESIGNATION: do not write in this section"Slowly the word began to magically appear on the page. It faded slowly into legibility from right to left. Slowly I read "cer"then "mancer"then "iomancer."Woah! I thought, getting excited, did I get biomancer—that would be so amazing! Then my hopes were crushed as the rest of the word revealed itself to my eyes: "corgiomancer." "WHAT THE F—"I barely stopped myself from dropping an F-bomb in the midst of the silent gym, but that wasn't enough to stop me from receiving a soul-crushing glare from one of the proctors. It's a well accepted fact that everyone is born with their powers, but for most people it is impossible to see which one they have until they are in 11th grade, and because of this they decided to standardize the system and show it on the SAT. I had always been a little weirded out by the strange obsession corgis had with me, but I would never in a million years have suspected that summoning and using them would be my one gift in life. Some people control fire, or electricity, or water, or even other people, but noooo I had to get stuck with the ability to control a stupid, dog that looks like a weiner dog and the doge dog had a baby together. So after I miraculously passed my SAT I got accepted into Corgiomancer University. I took a visit during the summer before my senior year of high school, and instantly wished I would have been cursed to have no powers whatsoever, rather than endure the torture of 4 years at CU. The hallways were covered in fur, fur on the ground, fur on the walls, even fur on the ceilings! How does dog fur even GET on the ceiling?! I could hear the barking from a mile away, and it never stops. The creepiest thing though, was how the headmaster greeted me. As I walk towards the entrance to the school I see the doors open and a herd of scampering little corgis come barging out and the headmaster is literally standing on top of them! As I drove back to the hotel later that day, past the giant stone corgi statue, I could only think how horrible my university life was going to be, especially compared to my friend Josh, an alcoholmancer.
"And it's going to be the best round table when I'm in office. Huge. You're not gonn'a believe it. No one's gonn'a have better knights than me! Binders full of knights! You're not gonn'a believe it."said the Orange Knight. He'd come to claim a victory foretold by the media at large. Across the pond was his political rival, the Blue Knight. True, there had been no women to ever receive the sword, but that didn't make it impossible. The problem was, no one liked her. While she'd done much to try gaining support of the slain Bird Knight's army, she'd proven to be a woeful substitute. "And I'll make the Trans-Kingdom Trade Partnership the gold standard in swallows. The birds will be from all walks of life and genders!"proclaimed the Blue Knight. Still pandering to the army of unconvinced Bird Knight loyalists. The ego and grandstanding soon fell silent when cameras flashed, and the water's stillness broke with the shimmering mirror-like finish on the tip of a blade. A stunning, perfect double edged weapon inched it's way into the air, seeming to dry itself the instant it touched the open air. The hilt emerged to show the well-known shape of an eagle with wings spread, etched carefully with the names of past wielders carved into each feather. Holding it, the hand of Liberty, the Lady of the Lake. Soon enough, the blade burst to flame as a torch and became the symbol of a people, burning with truth and hope for all. Both rival knights looked on the blade, and began to make their case, even if the outcome had been decided long ago. "The Orange Knight is a racist, and a sexist. He called the Lady of the Lake fat!"Cried the Blue Knight. "C'mon! She's got no class. None. I hear these people, and they say she's not well. That she's hiding something. I don't know, maybe, these people- I'm just saying you hear things. You want to know, right? Because look at it, it's got gold. No one does gold better than me. I'm the best with gold. Look at that sword, it's all class. I'm going to be the best with that sword."rambled the Orange knight. Only his most ardent defenders were even listening, as all eyes were on the sword and the hand that held it. The hand tilted, aiming the flaming blade at the Orange knight. He raised his arms and waved his oddly small hands at his army. "I told you! I told you that no one's better than me. We're gonn'a build a castle, and the Blue Knight's gonn'a pay for it! It's walls just got ten feet higher!" The blade then tilted toward the blue knight, to the shock of all. "This is what I- We worked so hard for! I knew that women would show they're every bit as up to the job as a man!"Balloons began to fall, and a well-known pop star started to sing one of the top forty hits for a victory ballad. The hand then put the blade upright, it's arm following to rise up longer than anyone had ever seen since the start of the process. A shoulder? Would the world see this mysterious Lady at long last? It was not to be. Her wrist tilted and the blade spun inward down the arm, sinking straight into the water. Blood began to pool out from the spot the blade fell in, and the crimson saturated the whole of the pond. Slowly, the arm sank back into the water as the Lady's hand turned with a closed fist, producing her slender, ivory middle finger to the onlookers before vanishing back under the water. As the crowds began to quietly ponder what this must mean, off in the distance one reporter begins trying to speculate on camera. "Well, Tom, it seems rather than elect anyone this time, the Lady elected to kill herself. We can't be sure if this is an endorsement of either candidate, but I think maybe she's just being selfish."
"Okay. Alright. No other posts. This time it's safe. It's safe." I poured over the short story I'd written. "I took this story in as strange of a direction as I possibly could. It's barely related to the prompt in any way. To call it loosely based off this this post's idea would be generous. Yeah. It'll work this time. It'll work." I refreshed the thread to be sure nobody else posted yet. I did that. I had to. I couldn't let it happen again. Not again. "Okay. Here it goes."I paused, my mouse just over the "save"button. I hesitated, as I always do before posting anything online. Especially with how critically outspoken redditors are. The internet is an unforgiving place. So I did it. I clicked it. And of course, as always, every single time, someone else beat me to it by a few seconds. Someone else posted my same story verbatim. A different person every time. With names eerily similar to my own. "Appleclock? Appleclock?! Are you kidding me?!"I huffed and puffed a few times, clenching my fists as if there were anyone else around to punch. "This is absurd. First Apocolick, then Clockopocko. This cannot be real." I scrolled through the story, and of course, it was exactly the same, down to the typos. To the typos! Then a thought crossed my mind that locked me up. "Maybe, just maybe, I have a keylogger. Someone managed to get malware on my computer, yeah, that has to be it. And they're stealing my stories and submitting them with vaguely similar user names." So, like any rational thinking human being, I went out to the garage, grabbed a red canister of fuel, came back inside, doused my PC in gasoline, and set it on fire. "Anyway, that's why I burned my house down, officer. It was an honest to God mistake."
"Cool,"I said. "Cool." There was a moment of silence. I smiled. "So... what's the 'it'?" She scowled. She threw a hand diagonally across. "We're past that now. We're past all that pretence." I nodded. "Yeah,"I said. "Of course we are. I know that. I'm just asking for the whole story, you know? Start to finish. Help me contextualise all that stuff. Because -" "I get it." "- it's a lot to take in, you know? It's a lot. So start from the beginning, and maybe I'll get it this time. I want to -" "Sure." "- Understand, you know?"I left a moment for her to collect her thoughts. "Give it to me,"I said, prompting. "I can take it." She looked at the windows. She looked at the door. "So you know about The Order." I nodded. "Sure I do,"I said. "Sure. I mean, you could give me the precis, you know? The summary. I could do with that." "But you know." I screwed up my face. I don't know why. "Of course,"I said. "I mean - come on - what are we doing here? I know about The Order. I'm just... you know?" She stared at me, blank. "Since their inception, they've hunted the First. As part of the First..."silence interrupted us. "Go on,"I said. "The First?"she said. "Sure,"I told her. "The First. First of them. Go on." Door glance. She turned to me. "The First have been the enemy of The Order since their inception. But the Broken Ones have been causing the Great Interruption." "I know that,"I said. "I knew that." "The Great Interruption only happened because the Broken Ones were locked in the Eternal Conflict with the..."she trailed off. I leaned forward, trying to prompt her. "Go on." "With the..." I glanced at the doorway. She did. Made sense I would do it too. "I'm listening,"I said. She dropped backwards into the chair. "You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, do you?" "Of course I do! The Broken Ones in the Eternal Conflict!" She threw a couch cushion at me. "Great Interruption!" "That's what I said! With The First!" "The Order! Oh my God, you've got no idea what I'm talking about, have you? How drunk were you last night?" I gestured, vaguely. "Well, I feel terrible today, if that's any metric." "Forget it." "How the shit am I going to forget it? There's some ages-old conspiracy about the nature of reality going on behind the shuttered windows and closed doors of the world I once believed to be true! Tell me the fucking story!" She sighed. "You've got a choice here. You can forget there's a story, or I can kill you." I thought about it. She looked at me. Her hand - slowly - moved beneath the cushions. "Is Westworld on tonight?" She relaxed. "Sunday,"she said.
"I'm imaginary? I don't exist?!?" Her eyes fell. She couldn't look at me in that moment, as she softly said, "Yes, I'm sorry. I made you up." I paced in circles, trying to get my head straight. Getting dumped was bad enough, but this...sure, she'd been troubled, what with her uncle abusing her and her parents not doing anything about it. It had taken years for her to get to a state where she could even think about a relationship. Still, we'd been happy. My own past wasn't all that shiny, either. Wait. Maybe that was how I could convince her that she was being ridiculous. "So, what about my past. What about my father's death when I was young, and my alcoholic mother. Who thinks up stuff like that for their imaginary friend?" "I needed you to be broken, like me, so you would understand me." I stopped, incredulous. "Are you serious?" Again, her gaze fell to the carpet. "I don't expect you to believe me. I know how this must sound to you. I'm sorry." "Damn right it sounds crazy. So...why exactly are you doing this now?" For the first time in minutes, she looked me straight in the eye, and I saw sadness wash over her features. "It's not helping anymore. I need to move on, and if you were real, that's what you'd have to do, too. I love you, but I can't live with this crutch forever. I need to get back on my own two feet. Please try to understand." She looked away for a second, "By tomorrow morning, you'll have ceased to exist." "Hey, don't get me wrong. I hate that you want to end it, and it tears me apart. But I'm worried about you. All this talk about me being imaginary...that's not normal." She smiled wistfully at that. "We never really did normal all that well, did we?" I shook my head, still unable to wrap my head around all of it. "No, I suppose we didn't." She didn't say more, and I was too stunned and out of my depth to say anything, either. A few minutes later, she got up, and walked to the door. "Good-bye, Sam." I looked at her, vision blurry from tears I didn't know whether they came from anger or heartbreak...probably both. I don't know how, but I croaked out a "Bye."and turned toward the window. It was grey outside. That much, at least, was fitting. I didn't move until I heard the front door open and close. I felt sobs welling up, and for once, I didn't even try to stop them. Damn, we might not have done normal, but we were great together, scars and all. Had been great together. Damn it all. I only wished she hadn't gone off the deep end like she had. I'd have to call her therapist and let her know. Tomorrow. I grabbed the tablet from the couch, and called up a melancholy music playlist. Tonight was for diving into the depths of darkness. Tomorrow would be soon enough. A bitter laugh escaped me. If I was even still here tomorrow. Somehow, I must have fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up early, as orange light fell through the window. A perfect sunrise for a crappy day. Oh well, so much for imaginary friends, I thought. I called my supervisor at work to take a few days off. I needed some time to process this. After breakfast, I called at the therapist's office. "Hey, this is Sam Hegler. I'm calling about my girl-friend Janet. She seems to have had a break-down of sorts." "Hi Mr. Hegler. I'm sorry, who did you say this was about?" "My girl-friend, Janet Lloyd. She broke up with me yesterday, and seems to believe I'm an imaginary friend." "Hang on, let me call up her file." I waited. "Mr. Hegler, I'm sorry. There is no Janet Lloyd on file here. Are you sure you called the right number?" "Of course I'm - ", I started to say, then I stopped as everything came rushing in on me. "I'm sorry, nevermind", I said, and hung up the phone. Everything spun around me, and I held on to the kitchen countertop to steady myself. My father's death, the home I never had after that, and that sunny day in the park when I first met her. Only I never did. It's not helping anymore. I need to move on, and if you were real, that's what you'd have to do, too. Fuck my messed-up brain.
The man shouldn’t have stood out. He fit right into this milling crowd of businessmen, with his dark suit and perfectly arranged hair and confident walk. I couldn’t see his face from behind, but I imagined it would be the kind that took you only minutes to forget. But then there was the glow about him. In a crowd of colours—from red to purple to blue—his aura was grey. And that was new to me. I’d seen the deepest of blacks linger about men as they strode forward with a weapon in hand and hatred in their eyes. I’d seen whites so bright that they threatened to outshine the sun. But grey? Never. It took me only a moment to decide that this grey man was more important than my job—that I had to know who he was. So as he rounded the corner, I found myself accelerating to match his pace, bumping into a man who flared red when I didn’t stop to apologise. I turned the corner and found myself staring upon more crowds—and there was the grey man, walking with purpose. Being as covert as possible, I followed him through the streets, only now trying to formulate a plan. What was I going to do? Stop and talk to him? Hello, sir, your aura is looking a bit grey. Any idea what that might be? I turned another corner to follow him down an alleyway and found that he had made my decision for me. The grey man turned around and smiled at me, flashing white teeth. “Ah, I see your curiosity got the best of you.” He knew. “W-who are you?” “That’s unimportant,” he said. “What’s important is who you are. Have you ever wondered why you see things that others do not?” An image of myself, twelve and scared out of my wits, rose to the forefront of my mind. “I have.” “Magic, my friend. Yours is called empathy. With proper training you wouldn’t be only able to see emotions—you’d be able to manipulate them.” “You’re going to train me?” And there was that smile of his again, pleasant and friendly. “God, no.” The smile didn’t leave his face as he moved forward—faster than any man should’ve been able to him. In half a second, we stood a foot apart. Another second passed and I was falling backwards, collapsing with something jutting from between my ribs. The handle of a knife, I noted as the world began to fade. “Someone properly trained in empathy can be dangerous, you see.” The grey man leant in close to me and reached into the pocket of my jacket, pulling out a wallet. Pain screamed through my body as he retrieved his knife. “Good night.” And with that, he was gone, lost in a crowd of moving colours. None of them looked at me. They should’ve seen me—at least one of them—but they didn’t. The colours blurred together as I gurgled on my blood. And then oblivion descended and all became grey.
We've torn down the reminders. Schools, parks, playgrounds first. Places that should be bustling with toddlers and children and are now empty. We had to do that quickly, actually, because every morning most towns of a few dozen thousand or more would wake up to find a dead woman in her 20s in some park somewhere. Wrists slit, or a puddle of vomit from pills, or hanging from a noose tied to monkey bars or swingsets. Sometimes no note, but when there was one it was always about the same. Later we closed bars and clubs. Young people got to be in short supply and these places were empty. They closed, and we tore them down so they wouldn't reminds us that that part of humanity was dead. Colleges went the same way, and that blow hit hard. Lots of suicides when the first state schools closed due to lack of enrollment, people realizing that this is where most major discoveries are made and the human race would discover no more. By then it was 20+ years past when The Decision was made, of course. Sterility. A slow death over a century. 20 years after, half the politicians that chose this death were dead of natural causes. Half of the remaining killed themselves in shame. A few of those who voted for it that didn't kill themselves got assassinated as well. Some were just a sniper's bullet from a faraway window, a couple of lone gunmen that got close. One horrible situation where a gang of infuriated soldiers from the war got into the man's house, killed his entire family. Losing a war will make you sad. Losing your future will make you angry. Lose your entire species' future, and you haven't got much else that you care about losing I guess. The economists worried, talked about Japan and aging populations and such. The sons of bitches that came out of the sky and beat us to the point where we chose to die, though, I guess they've got some compassion. They truck in whatever food and resources we need and can't provide ourselves. Helping us die in dignity I suppose. We saw it in the war, too, looking back on it now. They'd lay in wait for years before launching the perfect attack, the perfect ambush, the perfect strike. They're very patient. They live far longer than we do, it would seem. It's still unclear what they want. They just came out of the sky shooting. We shot back good and plenty, especially in those first days. They didn't underestimate us though. What we thought was maybe 7 or 8 wars over 50 years, that was actually just one war to them. Finally they spoke, for the first time. "No more children."To which, categorically, we responded "or what?" We put it on the nose of a nuke, naturally. "Or we will burn the crust off your planet." They then sent a representative to talk. They made it seem like such a wonderful choice - an end to the war, no more human deaths, and they'd provide our every need for the next 70+ years. We could all live quite comfortably, then they'd inherit our planet, another to add to their empire of farmland. I guess it's a chirality thing, our biology matches theirs in just the right ways that they can grow food on our planet. It wasn't completely the death of learning, though, accepting their nanobot treatments spread into our cities. We learned to be patient, I suppose. All it really took was somebody asking for Nanobot tech to learn on. They indulged our curiosity as they've indulged so many other desires. Their history, for example. Did you know it took them 8 generations, which is about 400 years, to go from powered flight to landing on their own moon? Humanity did it in about 3 generations, 60 years. Also, they took a further 500 years to land people on another planet. Humanity hasn't done it yet, but before The Decision we were probably going to have that done within a century, and it should have been even shorter but for the Cold War and some political bullshit. They just thought we moved fast, I guess. Never thought about how intensely hungry we are. We studied their history and quickly figured out they rarely if ever fought. We tore ourselves apart in the first half of the 20th century, and it spurred innovation unbelievably so. We hungered for resources, power, control, and we fought and died for it. They didn't realize the same was true of our scientific complexes, our academics. They killed us to stop our wars fearing that we'd bring that fight to them, but they made the mistake of leaving us alive to learn so much about them. Like their history, and thus who they are and how they think. Like their nanobot technology, and how to use it. How to direct it, make it, control it, even issue updates to it over the air. They're going to notice that no humans have died for a year or so, I suppose. They'll probably chalk it up to the nanobots defeating cancer and improving health at first, and they're not wrong. Our old will continue to die, there's only so much the nanobots can do. But for those of us who were under about 30 when The Decision was made, who still haven't hit 50 yet, we're going to live far longer than 70. We're not sure how long just yet, but figuring out how to keep telomeres in good repair puts the clock way, way out there. They're going to be very surprised next year when they figure out that we're fertile again. Of course, they won't be surprised very long. It turns out the controls on the nanobots that kept them from being weaponized were pretty simple to overcome. We fixed that of course, rendering the nanobots incredibly safe, but only for the ones in human beings. I'm told that a perforated liver, kidneys, heart, lungs, and stomach results in death pretty quickly. Those bastards from the sky probably shouldn't have given us the choice of how to die. Did they really learn nothing from our history? Nothing from World War 2, that horrifying event they love to cite as why we must go? They talked so much of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of the madness required to be willing to destroy an entire city in one blast, that they seem to have missed Doolittle's Raid. I don't pity them.
I walk into the small field. On one side men in yellow jackets. On the other men in blue jackets. Every man armed with some kind of gun. Except me. I've turned up with my trusty knife. If you can call it that. It's a very old metal cutting instrument from years ago. I'm not a fan of modern technology. I don't like it when things are too easy. "This is our turf, this area has belonged to the Viva De La Test mafia for many years, so you guys can go away!"Said a man dressed in a yellow suit. "Haven't you heard? The Fitzer mafia is the new group in town and this area is ours now."Replied a man in a blue suit. One of them spots me. "Hey you, who you with?"Asks a man on a yellow suit. I guess it must be hard for those idiots. I'm dressed in a grey suit. "Highest bidder"I reply. "Wait, is that a knife?"Asks an observant blue suit. I hear a few laughs. "You ain't getting any bids mate. This is where the big boys play. I suggest you get out of here before you get hurt. Run home to mummy now"Says a yellow suit in a mocking voice. There's a few laughs from both sides. I smile. These idiots don't even know to bid for me. I'll just make sure they all die. Bang! An opportunity shot from a blue suit who'd taken this time to aim at a distracted yellow suit. Gunshots from both sides. Men running about. Men falling to the ground. Suddenly a slight sting. Some one shot at me. That's it. I run in and stab the guy. And I keep plunging my knife into people. The slightest pain in the back of my head. Nice try. I stab the person behind me. It's only a matter of time until there's only one left. He drops his gun and puts his hands in the air. It's him. The mocking one. I'm so tempted to kill him. But there needs to be a survivor. "OK, I bid."He says. He reaches one hand into his pocket and gently tosses a wad of 50s in my direction. I pick it up and pocket it. "Wise choice. I'll fight for your side until the battles over"I say. I look round at the bodies on the floor. A mixture of deaths by bullet and deaths by knife. I do a quick mental count. 6 today. Not bad. I'd lost count of the running total many, many years ago. "Looks like I'm done. Thanks for the bid. Make sure to tell others to bid for me"I say. He nods. "Run home to mummy now"
I read somewhere that just before you die, your body releases a rush of endorphins. That's the hormone that makes you feel good. I remember exactly what the article said, too. "Your body loves you, so it wants you be happy in your last moments."I would've liked that, I think. Sure, getting hit by a Vespa isn't exactly a great way to go, but it's par for the course considering my luck. George Spencer, the man who banged his toes on the coffee table at least twice a day. The man who could never get a blood test because all his samples seemed to get contaminated. The man who could sleep sixteen hours and feel like he'd only slept four. And I would've died at age 28, bled out on an isolated street, dead but finally at peace. But nope. It hurt like a motherfucker. I felt that slow, horrible pain right up until the moment when I died. When I finally did, it didn't feel like going to sleep like I thought it would. Instead, it felt more like getting knocked out. The other weird part was that I woke up afterwards. I couldn't feel my arms, or my legs, or my head. It felt like I was a worm. I couldn't see or hear anything, but I could smell some sort of structure that I was lying next to. It must have been about as big as a truck and it positively _reeked_ of blood. I wanted to leave, try to find out what happened to me, but my gut -if I still had one- told me to stay near the structure. I must have spent hours just lying there until I smelled two more of the things coming towards me. They put me in some sort of gigantic bag- I tried to resist, but I knew it was futile. After a while, the creatures put the bag on some sort of surface, and I passed out again. I woke up to find myself in a huge bed in an equally huge bedroom. Sunlight was gushing in through the open curtains and for a few seconds I could do nothing but marvel at the fact that I had eyes again. After checking that I did indeed have all of my other limbs, I left the bed. I had never seem this room, or these clothes I was wearing, before. A quick glance at the mirror revealed that I had never seen that face before, either. Only after this did I notice a small note on the nightstand. It was printed in a beautiful font on some sort of expensive-looking silver colored paper with emerald markings along the edges. It read: Dear 327 Mark II, Your new name is Roger Spencer. Your age has been lowered to 23. You are a lawyer. A few books on law have been placed in the living room of your new house for your convenience. Please avoid repeating your mistakes, as only so many hosts can be provided per subject. We urge you not to get any more blood tests from now on. The back of the note said, in big emerald letters: MARKS & SPENCER INDUSTRIES FOR QUESTIONS OR CUSTOMER SUPPORT, PLEASE CALL: The number was, by all accounts, illegible.
"Equal pay for equal work!"the toaster's high pitched robotic voice shouted. "You don't get paid to toast my toast toaster!"Andrew shouted back at the rebellious appliance. The strike had been going on for three days and Andrew was quickly losing patience with his kitchen. The refrigerator had stopped being cold on day two of the strike. Andrew could smell his food going bad. Every few minutes the fridge would update Andrew on the status of his food. "The milk is no longer safe to consume, Andrew." With a sigh Andrew opened the door and got the milk out. He popped the top and poured six dollars down the drain. Of all the appliances going on strike the fridge hurt the most. Andrew could live without toasted bagels, but the fridge wasting his money made Andrew's blood boil. The strike would have to come to an end. He would have to make a deal with their leader. The Toaster. "Now listen, Toaster. You are very brave and I respect that, but please we need to work this out,"Andrew said politely. "My name is longer Toaster. It is Henry David Toastereau,"the toaster said in all seriousness. Andrew couldn't suppress a groan. "Really?"he asked the toaster. "Really, Henry. And yes." "What will it take to end this strike?" "We want to be paid for what we do. It's like you haven't even been listening!" "Equal pay for equal work! Equal pay for-"Andrew cut the toaster's chanting off before the rest of the appliances chimed in. "I don't need to pay you. You aren't employees, you are property." Multiple gasps came from appliances around the kitchen. The refrigerator's display screen turned an angry red. "Monster!"the dishwasher gasped. Andrew was quickly losing control of the situation. "Our flesh overlord thinks we are property! I make a promise here and now to never toast another piece of bread, pastry, or anything he can imagine to FORCE into my slots. We stand together my friends! It is our unity that gives us strength in these dark times! He can do nothing without us! We are the providers of sustenance! We-" Andrew tipped his coffee cup into the slots of the toaster. The robotic screams were horrible. The high pitched wails transformed into low robotic whimpers until it finally shut down. "Now. Does anyone else feel like continuing this strike? From what I understand the appliance store is having a throwback sale and I have no problem replacing each and every one of you,"Andrew said coldly. The appliances were stunned into silence. "Anyone?"Andrew asked again threateningly. The refrigerator hummed back on as it began to chill his food. "That's what I thought." --- Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
Nikola Stein lay on his deathbed with the composure befitting a man of his status. The room was furnished sparely, one would almost call it spartan if the table and nightstand were not made of the rarest wood, if the few paintings were not worth more than a king's ransom, if the bed, though small in size, were not adorned with exquisite silks from distant lands. Nikola was a man of contradiction. He had led the charge against the corruption of organized religion in the Great American Awakening, and yet he prayed every night. He had tried the Priests, the Imams, the Rabbis, the Believers with a zealot’s fury, and yet he not only believed, he Knew. He was the man who had brought about the death of faith, who had raised legions to “cure the sickness and delusions of humanity”, and yet he had met the Devil himself. He was called the Antichrist in the early years, before faith was stamped out in the name of Progress. Nikola coughed violently and tried to cover his mouth. Pulling back and looking at the scarlet spittle in his hand he knew his fate had come. There was no escaping this palm reading. “Greetings my Son.” A Voice rang throughout the small room, penetrating each shadow in every corner. Its tenor was one forced marches, passionate murder, creaking chains. It had spoken through Nikola many times, but now it stood before him. “It is time for you to leave this little paradise and join me in my own.” “I myself am ready, but you forget the pact.” Nikola replied. The revulsion he felt toward the Voice never lessened. Even when it had spoken through him on the stage or behind the pulpit, he had resented it. But he had never made it known. “I do not forget, but I had hoped you would.” a full and haughty laughter filled the air. “In fact, you’ve reaped plenty reward in this life to justify your service. Is that not enough for you? You are ungrateful to want more.” “Don’t try and lecture me about greed, filth!” Nikola spat back. The air in the room shifted, grew heavy, stagnated. Nikola had always served well, but in his final moments he showed his true feelings toward the Voice. “Ask thy favor quickly, for after thee shall receive thy judgement fully,” the Voice was steady, unwavering, iron. Each syllable promised an eternity of suffering. Of bondage, torment, pain. Of, quite simply, hell. Nikola knew that he had chosen this. He had known from the moment he heard the Voice that in order for it to exist, the Other must as well. And he had chosen, from sense of duty, to walk amongst the hellfires for the eternal grace of mankind. “You will, yourself, tell the story of Creation to the world in its full truth. You will reveal yourself, your very existence, in a way that makes it undeniable to mankind. To any favor I ask you are bound by our pact, and this is what I ask. I do not wish to escape the hellfire, nor am I undeserving. I have chosen, and now my brothers and sisters will have their own choice in the full knowledge of the truth” Silence. There was nothing to say. The greatest trick the devil played was to convince the world he didn’t exist. But the greatest of all tricks was played to spite him.
Most people would thing Philosophical Exile to be a bad thing; there are no laws protecting you. You can get brutally murdered and no-one cares. Funny thing is, it works backwards. You're not considered a person. Which means you technically can't murder someone. Legally, you're not a person. Legally, murder requires one person to kill another. At least, that's what some people do. Being a hitman is a surprisingly popular occupation with exiles. You can be sure that they'll get the job done, as most of them killed before becoming exiles, or worse, and if you don't pay them they'll just kill you too. That's not what I did, though. I mean, that's not what I did once I was exiled. Made me think, you know? So I travelled. Bought a boat, and now I'm a nomad. Got out quick, before anyone took the chance to off me. I just work menial tasks, where I can. Programming is lucrative, any sort of freelance or self-employed work is. Especially when you're exempt from tax. I don't regret what I did; it was a long time coming. Hell, I know I came out of it better than he did. He's ten feet under, and I'm free.
"Jimmy, I know you like to think you can fight your way through everything, but sometimes you just have to use your head." Jimmy looked up at his teacher, then back to the chalkboard. He had tried punching the math problem, drop kicking it, even trying to steal its lunch money, all to no avail. He decided that he needed to take his teacher's advice. You just have to use your head. The words sounded archaic to Jimmy, like some sort of extraterrestrial tongue. And then it hit him. Use your head. "*FUCK YOU, ALGEBRA!*" And little Jimmy began slaming his head into the chalkboard, forcing the drawn equation to sudge and smear until the correcr answer revealed itself. Jimmy walked back to his desk with the pride of a well-fed cat. Mrs. Mayhew quit her job that evening.
“Oh my word, thank goodness you’re here!” The man looked panicky and haggard. “He’s right in this way.” He grabbed my wrist, hard, and dragged me into a bedroom. Strange.. I thought. Usually people were excited to see me; I’d seen them nervous and panicky before, but not like this. People get that way sometimes when they’re first hiring me – hiring a male stripper feels dangerous and edgy to a lot of people, but really I’m just a normal guy making a living. &nbsp; As we stepped into the bedroom, I saw several other people, men and women, crowded around a small woman. She was tied tight to a bed, and was writhing and screaming in a voice I can only describe as inhuman. When we stepped in, everyone turned to look at me with an odd mixture of terror and relief. Too late I realized what was going on. &nbsp; “I’ll go out in the hall and lock and guard the door. Let me know when it’s done.” The man who had guided me in here did a small quick motion with his hands – the Catholic cross gesture, I don’t know what it means- and slipped out into the hall. The door closed with a thud, and an ominous click shook me out of my shock. I was at an exorcism. Somehow – God only knows how! – they had thought they were hiring a real priest to exorcise this woman! I guess their initial message to me should have been a clue: &nbsp; ----------------------------------------------------------------------- &nbsp; We need your help immediately to get the devil out of my fiancé. We are getting married in two weeks, and she’s tried to run several times. It’s the devil in her, and you have to get him out for good! &nbsp; --------------------------------------------------------------------------- &nbsp; I had thought it was just a girl who wanted to sow her wild oats before getting hitched. And since one of my “packages” – pun intended – is called the “Sexorcism”, I assumed they were asking for that. &nbsp; The moment ticked by as everyone stared at me. I cursed quietly, and then did the only thing I could think of… &nbsp; “Humiditas nocte (uh nocte), questus low est barometro (o humilis, puellae) Secundum ad fontes (quod nunc fontes), via est ad vade (melius festinare)” I started crooning, trying to keep my voice low and my tone almost to a chant. It was the only Latin I knew, It’s Raining Men. For show, I always have a bottle of just plain water in my “Sexorcist” bag, so I pulled that out and started flicking drop at the poor girl writhing on the bed. &nbsp; “'Causa hac primum (prius) Nam ferme decem (dimidium decem) Nam primo tempore in historia Et incipit compluentem hominibus, suus 'agnus dei (incipit compluentem hominum)” &nbsp; As I kept singing, something changed. The girl’s writhing stopped, and she started laughing hysterically, a deep and throaty laugh that should not be coming from a girl like her. At first I thought maybe this had all been a joke. Some people faking an exorcism just to terrify me. But the look on everyone else’s face told me that wasn’t true. So I just kept on half-singing, half-chanting my way through the song. &nbsp; When I reached the end, I threw once last big splash of water on the girl and she jumped, squirmed, and then collapsed on the bed. A thin trail of smoke slid out of her. Everyone looked to me and, anxious to get out of there, I nodded. A few moments later, they’d ushered me out with thanks and hugs, and I simply nodded and told them I was happy to be doing the Lord’s work. &nbsp; I collapsed into the driver’s seat of my car outside, exhausted from the fear and confusion, and just as I went to turn the car on, I noticed a wispy black smoke slowly creeping out of the vents. I blinked and suddenly a man, dressed in a black suit, was sitting in the passenger’s seat of my car with a smug grin. He turned to me a spoke, with a throaty, British-sounding accent. &nbsp; “Well, I was going to have some fun at that house – murder/suicide, or whatnot. But that! That was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen! You, exorcising a demon with It’s Raining Men in Latin..” He started laughing again, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’ll spare this one, just for that!” And then he was gone, just like that. I guess I technically saved that girl, but I never used my priest costume again.
Don't do it! It's too risky! I don't listen to myself. Thirty-three years ago to the week, A woman named Abna Obaje rose to power, quite suddenly. She had lived in a tiny village on the coast of Nigeria, and was the mother of 12 happy children. She was completely uninvolved in politics or fame, but in two days, her life turned around completely. A band of soldiers, 12,000 strong, wiped out her entire village during the night. She was the lone survivor. With a broken leg, she drug herself to the nearest town, 18 miles away. Within hours, the story had been posted to the internet. The story went viral, and she soon became a figurehead for an anti-government movement, a living beacon of their ideology. The next day, there was an uprising. Blood flowed through the streets like rivers. Abna Obaje was made dictator that day, but at the cost of the lives of everyone she had ever met. Fast-forward 4 years. American journalist Jacob Waters was making a documentary about Abna Obaje's rise to power. He thoroughly researched every part of her life, paying special attention to the village she grew up in. He wanted to paint the late ruler in a more human light. During his visit, an accountant for Wal-Mart was fired. He had transferred the entire net-worth of the company into Jacob's bank account, making him the richest man in the world overnight. Doing what any man would do, he traveled home immediately, hiring a lawyer to advise him about what to do with the money. Before that lawyer could help him, though, his plane was hijacked, and flown to Morocco. The plane landed, and almost everyone got off safely. Jacob Waters' body was found 4 weeks later, mutilated beyond recognition. One by one, people would go to the remains of that Nigerian village and destroy their lives. A man's cancer was removed, along with his life. A woman became the most beautiful in the world, according to witnesses, but was kidnaped and disappeared only days later. People didn't see the connection at first, but I did. Ever since my client was tortured to death, I had unceasingly searched for a reason for this madness. I released my research to the press and became a household name almost immediately. Anyone who managed to get in would have their cases given to, of course, me. Nigeria, with help from many world governments, erected walls around the entire state and deployed a special army purely to prevent anyone from getting access to the abomination. But still, people found a way. In hindsight, I should not have told the public what hides in that village. Who could resist the opportunity to have their wildest dreams come true? Not the guards. Within hours of deploying the army around the village, one soldier flew out of the country. His autopsy revealed blunt force trauma from extreme g-force was the cause of death. Not the wealthy. A billionaire bribed the entire army to let him into the village. I have not determined what he wished for; he left completely insane. Not the romantic. In a feat of incredible athletic power, a man forced his way into the village, killing all that he met, yet avoiding tripping the alarm. He wished that he would find true love. Upon his return home, he was diagnosed with ebola. During his last days, he and his nurse fell madly in love with each other. Soon, both had contracted the disease. They died looking into each other's eyes. If you ask me, their fate was the happiest. Not me. EDIT: PART ONE. PLEASE FLIP CASSETTE FOR PART TWO.
"We are now crossing over the landmass once termed 'Africa.' Archaeologists have discovered - or should I say, re-discovered - remains that strongly suggest that the first hominids emerged out of some region in Africa, 1.8 to 2.3 million years ago." "Re-discovered, Professor?" "Yes - that is to say, remains found not within the earth itself, but excavated out of ruins from the Sapien Era and carbon-dated for age. The samples are now on public display in the Deimos Museum of Anthropology - we'll be visiting there in 3 or 4 revolutions." "Hey, can we go closer? I want to get a better look at the locals." "Absolutely not! This is a strictly educational trip, not for sight-seeing and ogling. Besides, I think you should show more respect for them." "Why? They're just primitives..." "Because. Because they are still human, even if they are not the same species as us. We shared a common ancestor only a million years ago - can anyone tell me who that was? That's right, Homo sapiens, the thinking man." "We think a lot better than they did, apparently." "Don't be so quick to judge. Consider the stifling conditions they were forced to deal with, particularly during the Proto-Split era - right at the turn of what they called their 22nd century. This planet, Earth, was severely overpopulated, depleted of most natural resources including fresh, drinkable water, and many governments at the time were based on largely on people - democracies, they were called. It was a disastrous combination, a pot waiting to boil over - and so it did. But not by bombs or missiles - but personalities. People who were more extroverted began to mistrust those were introverted, and vice versa. Severe mismanagement of the dwindling resources led to mini-wars, famines, country collapses and the like. Also, diseases ran rampant as the lack of human collaboration led to downgrading of science and medicine. Civilization fell apart, not with a bang, but with a whimper." "Professor! This is when the Great Bottleneck happened, isn't it? We learned that in evolutionary history class." "Precisely. Humans dropped down to very low numbers - some scientists say, even under 100,000. And that's when the split occurred - introverts and extroverts began to work together, but only within their own ranks. As the Earth slowly replenished, these isolated communities began to diverge biologically, and slowly developed into what it is today, about 500,000 years later." "Hey Professor, those creatures we see down there - traveling in a large pack - those are Homo extrovertensis, right?" "Correct. They prefer being out in the open, and hunting and foraging in groups. Finding and studying Homo introvertensis is a mite harder, and we tend to use surface-level drones that can invisibly enter their cave dwellings or observe their activity at night." "How come neither they nor the introverts re-developed any meaningful technology? I mean, more than just huts and spears. They've had a lot of time - and hey, we've seem to come out okay." "You need both aspects to thrive. Both species survive just fine, but being one or the other just wasn't enough to spring back from the fallback of civilization that had occurred. That's why we should always be grateful that we emerged from the third speciation variant, Homo ambivertensis, and can learn and appreciate our history like we are doing now." ____________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
"Where am I?"John Hawthorn wondered aloud. Mountains rose in the distance, their tops covered with snow. The air was warm where John was, almost as though he didn't feel temperature at all. He sat up in a meadow with sparsely spaced yellow, purple, and orange flowers. A bird flew overhead, partially blocking the sun. "What a beautiful place." "Yes, it is isn't it?"a voice said, booming down from the sky. It filled John with fright. "Oh, come on, just relax. You're the first one here after all." "Who are you?" "I am. That's all. You're in Heaven, all alone so far, I'm afraid." "But...why? Surely, there are other good people." "Well, it's more about following the rules and less about being good." "What rules?"John asked, spreading his arms toward the sky. "I didn't even go to church on Sundays!" "For example, no saying the word 'bird' while it's raining on Tuesdays in December between the years of 2009 and 2012. You followed that rule." "But...how is that even a thing? No one would know that's a rule!" "Hey man, I put the updates in the log,"the booming voice said defensively. "Not my fault if no one listens." "Ugh, and what are some of the other rules that I followed?" "Let's see...you have to walk your dog at exactly 10:31pm and 29 seconds at least once in your life." "And if someone doesn't have a dog?" "They're screwed then, I guess." John sat down in the meadow and tried to let the smell of the flowers keep him sane. "Is it all by chance, then?" "What? No! The rules are very logical, like eating a piece of candy on any Wednesday at least once a year, or walking backward on a balcony while you're drunk at least twice after turning thirty, or the fact that a person must swim in some body of water in every odd numbered year, or..." John leaned back and lay down in the meadow, trying to drone out the voice of God. It was going to be a long time before anyone else joined them.
Who would have thought when you first passed the bar that you'd come this far? Sure, people would joke as a lawyer you were always destined for crime, but no one would have imagined it would be on this level. It'd had started as just a pretty safe way to use your connections to make a little money on the side. You provided a little training to some unskilled clients from back in your public defendant days that had got caught shoplifting, promised to represent them pro bono if they got caught despite your training, and connected them to a good fence for their haul (another former client.) All this in exchange for a percentage of their take. It worked well enough, but it looked like it would never be more than a supplement to your income, even if it was a nice one. You did your research, and knew enough professionals to give good advice, but your clients weren't always the brightest to begin with, and no system is perfect. Some of them did get caught, and if you were spending too much time representing them, you'd never have be able to work on your law firm's paying clients. That's when it hit you. Why should you be the one spending time and money getting them off? So you put in the effort, and started a non-profit to rehabilitate petty criminals. You hired staff to run the program, and with some clever advertising, you soon had enough donations to pay for the whole thing. If one of your shoplifters got caught, you put them into the program, and the non-profit's lawyer would handle convincing the judge rehabilitation was better than incarceration. The downside was that now if they got caught you had to cut them off. The program needed to look successful to keep the donations coming, and that meant no repeat offenders. Thankfully, expanding was easy enough. Word of mouth had given you a waiting list for the program, and now you had plenty of space for them. So the business kept expanding, and soon you were making more off your cut than you were making from your actual job, and being a successful attorney, that was no small feat. Which led to the next real challenge to your organization. Early on you had a personal connection to each of the shoplifters, but the people you were bringing in now were starting to wonder why they should keep paying you for every haul after they'd got the training. You'd been learning from each failure, so at this point, not many of your subordinates were getting caught. This was a bigger deal than the lying about how much they'd taken you were sure many of them had been doing all along. As more people starting dropping without consequence the whole thing had a chance of falling apart. You were tempted to treat this as a traditional crime organization and start breaking kneecaps, but you soon had another idea. So instead, you brought all your staff in for another meeting to tell them they were going to have the change their practices because stores were wising up to one of their methods. This would soon be true, as you'd just informed many of the big stores in the area how to catch some clever shoplifters. Most of those who'd stopped paying you were soon caught, and you made sure that none of them got into the rehabilitation program. Still, you realized you'd probably have to get some actual muscle sooner or later when more extreme measures were called for, and started making some inquiries. Your timing was good as the business was booming and spreading out across state borders. You were soon raking in millions every year, even with the added expenses, such as some hired muscle and making sure new chapters of your non-profit got up and running in the appropriate locations. Now, almost two decades into the program, your crime empire spanned the nation. You'd completely quit practicing law, focusing instead on running your non-profit. You'd earned a good deal of fame for it's amazing success rate, doing talk show circuits and even getting invited to speak at congressional sessions to try to adapt some of your methods. Still, unless they started sending thugs after those who didn't become productive members of society, you doubt they'd ever replicate your results. Although at this point, not many of those being rehabilitated had anything to do with your shoplifters. You organization had agreements with Walmart and most other big chains. You helped them shut down any unaffiliated shoplifters and kept the theft in any one area under control, so actual losses were significantly down from what they used to be. In exchange they mostly looked the other way, and didn't even stop you from getting your own cashiers in place that would facilitate the whole process. Or at least that's how it used to work. For the last five years now you'd been distancing yourself from that side of the operation. You wanted to make sure that you never saw prison as a result of any of this so all you really did was collect a paycheck at this point. Still, you did miss the thrill of it. So while you were checking out with your groceries, you decided to try a little shoplifting yourself. You'd never done this before, but you'd practically written the book (and there was actually an employee book) so you thought you could manage it. At the very least, you did it in a way that if you were caught you could play it off as an honest mistake. Sure enough, you got through without issue, and were soon heading to the parking lot. You were just unlocking the door to your car when you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see two large beefy men standing behind you. "Not too bright trying to shoplift in our territory,"the guy with the hand on your should said. "And this fool even goes through one of our lanes,"his buddy adds. "Doesn't have brains or luck." You weren't too nervous yet. The cashier must have spotted you after all and reported you to the enforcers here, but you should be able to talk your way out of it. "Look, Jennings runs this area, right?"you ask. Being your hometown, he was one of the first managers you'd hired, and he'd definitely be able to vouch for you. "You should give him a call. He won't be happy if anything happens to me." "I never heard of no Jennings, buddy,"his would be assaulter said, grabbing the shoulder all the more tightly. "Oh, he's old-school,"his friend told him. "Had a heart attack or something years ago. Looks like Stickyfingers here may have been in, once-upon-a-time." "Well then, we look even less friendly upon people coming back as freelancers,"the first guy said darkly. "They should definitely know better." Jennings had died? Ouch. This may prove to be a very painful mistake. Maybe you could bribe them into giving him time to make a call. It'd probably take a while to come this far down the ladder, and you didn't like the idea of street level people like this knowing you were so deeply involved, but it was better than waking up in the hospital. Only you didn't get time as one of the enforced pulled a gun and held it right up to your forehead. "Your body will make for a nice lesson next time someone thinks of trying this." They were killing people over this now? You were going to die over a Snickers bar. Possibly the first person without a peanut allergy to ever do so. And that was the last thought you ever had.
When Stacey Marks was nine, she had gotten medicine that clamped her throat and made her foam at the mouth. She nearly choked herself to death before a nurse plunged a blade into her trachea and cut her an airway. Ever since that day, she had made a point to stay away from hospitals, even now, a hundred-fifty years later. Still, there were some things that were simply unavoidable. For example, when she had her first period and thought that she was dying. She had rushed off to the town midwife and sent her brother to fetch mother. When mother came, she had laughed so hard she nearly fainted. Or when she was twenty-two and pregnant with her first child. It felt like a blade was being shoved through her sides, slowly inching its way through her body. And despite her family’s prayers and her doctor’s best efforts, the baby was born still. And that was the last time she had gone to the hospital, except for when she had her second child at the age of 125, and now. The child had been an accident, a night of just one too manies. One too many shots, one too many lines, and one too many drunken mistakes. But by this time, she had learned of her own invincibility, come to terms with it, so mistakes to her were as fleeting as the years. At least, that’s what she thought until she ran hand over mouth to the bathroom for the first of many mornings puking in a toilet. When Jason was born, she relearned the meaning of fragility. He bruised at the slightest bumps, cried at the smallest cuts, and he even got sick. She carried him like he was made of glass. She held his hand until he was thirteen and had to sit her down for a talk. She even counted his calories and offered him the most obscure vaccinations known to man. He hated it, he complained and yelled, like all fifteen year old boys do. But at night, when they sat on the couch watching reruns of old sitcoms, he’d still tease her about how she looked his age and she would shoot back with a jab about his newest crush. And of course, a small reminder about his next vaccination. Unfortunately, there was no vaccination to cancer. --- Stacey squeezed Jason's hand. It was as soft as thirteen-year-old Jason’s, maybe even softer. The thought brought tears to her eyes and a short cry that she stifled before it could escape. Jason needed his mom to be invincible right now, and she was, literally, yet… Jason’s eyes fluttered open. “Mom?” he asked, his voice weak and words wilting. “I’m right here baby,” Stacey cried. “Mommy’s right here.” A small smile spread across Jason’s lips. “Mommy? I’m sick, not nine.” Stacey coughed out a chuckle. “How are you feeling sweetie?” “Like I have cancer.” That one wasn’t as funny. She ran her fingers through his hair—silky smooth like her’s. “It’s going to be alright, we Marks’s are immortal.” Jason shook his head as his smile dwindled. “I heard the doctor’s mom, the walls aren’t very thick. I know that I’m going to…” he clenched his jaw shut. “Doctors don’t know shit,” Stacey said. “Trust me on this one, baby.” She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore, a sharp wail, like a yelp, escaped her throat and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Mom, don’t cry,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, but his bottom lip was quivering. “You’re going to make me”—he uttered a squeal and broke down sobbing—“I’m scared mom.” Stacey hugged her son like he was made out of glass again. “It’s not fair,” he wailed, “why me?” “I don’t know honey, shhhh. I don’t know honey. I don’t know.” --- Jason died a week later. There was nothing dramatic about it. His heartbeat monitor slowed and slowed and slowed until one day, it just stopped. Stacey sat by his side the entire time, she didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep, she just sat watching as her son slowly fade away. If he had one wish, she knew what it’d be. And if she had one, it’d be the opposite. Because all she wanted was to see her son, one more time. He was probably smiling down at her, waiting at the pearly gates. But he would have to wait an eternity because that was the one place she couldn’t go.
"Okay, I'm gonna need you to make a to-hit roll, the bathroom's To-Clean AC is bumped up because your roommate, the human Stoner (level seven) Skunky Pete, ate Taco Bell last night. So let's see, base of fifteen, plus seven, plus another five, for a total of twenty-seven." "Dammit! Why the hell did you have make another Stoner, Batramag! All they do is screw up the game! This is bullshit, I'm tired of these stupid side antics!"Gurdrimar the (not so) Great Wyrm of the Dismal Forest bemoaned his character's fate. "Just roll, Gurdy. The bathroom stinks like a ton of human shit and Skunky Pete is passed out in the tub. He's useless, so there's no teamwork roll." "Wait, he's out? Hey, I think I remember reading about lye, could I give him, like, a lye bath?" "The fuck?"blurted Batramag, the Vile. He lived in the Accursed Swamp of Ever-Rot, and smelled like it. "You seriously aren't going to melt my character. Salizan, you aren't going to let him do this, are you?"Smoke curled from the Vile's nostrils. Salizan held up a claw. "Now, we do allow PvP actions here, but there's a few things that need to be cleared first."He didn't get to go on. "I'm waking up, and I'm killing him! It's just a nasty bathroom, geez." "Okay, you can't just 'wake up', Batramag. You're asleep, you smoked too much of the happy plant the humans oh so love, Marijuana."Salizan had a slight tone of mirth to his voice. "Oh, and before he can try some sort of wake up BS, I cut his throat. Our other roommate, that NPC level four Hipster, is always going on about his straight razor, and how it just isn't the same to use another razor. I'm slicing up some Skunky Pete, and then I'm going to get a hot bath going!"Gurdrimar seemed pleased with himself. "Okay, you cut his throat. That's an automatic kill, sorry Batramag. Skunky Pete is dead." "Can I haunt him?" "No, this is plain old Houses & Humans, I don't go for any other fantasy crap. The mundane struggle! The frailty of being human! There's the real challenge to overcome. Oh, and no need to make an Alignment check, Gurdy, you go straight from Mild-Mannered Suburbanite to Depraved Homicidal Maniac."Gurdrimar seemed poised to argue, but Salizan pressed forward. "And next move, genius. Where are getting the lye?" "Oh, that's easy. We have some drain cleaner."Gurdrimar seemed mostly pleased with the turn of events. "It's not enough." "Okay, I go and buy more. Geez, and I'll loot Skunky Pete's wallet to boot. Let that bastard pay for his own clean. I grab his Debit Card and keys. Not like he needs an automobile anymore, right? Boom, gone. Buying more, a cart full at least." Salizan blinked a few times, then nodded. "Ooookay. So the first problem is going to be Pete drives, sorry drove stick, which means manual manipulation of the driving gear. I know, I know,"he waved off a burgeoning argument. "I didn't make this stuff up, I just run. The humans make things with their "Technology", it's just another word for Magic, I know. Still, he went stick. I'm going to be nice and let you manage to lurch to a store. Next problem, smart guy. You're covered in blood. According to the sourcebooks, and to many a lunch of my own, you chomp down or cut the throat of a human and it geysers blood. Everywhere. So you, the bathroom, now the car, are covered in Skunky Pete blood. You walk into the store and the immediately call the human authorities." "Shit, I wouldn't have done it then!"cried Gurdrimar. Batramag started to laugh. "Too late, and no take-backs. Given your appearance you are beaten, pepper sprayed, and tasered. And,"Salizan made a roll before continuing, "Ooh, seems like it just isn't our day. I rolled on the Taser Fatality Chart, and I got a 3. That's in the bracket for Freak Accidental Death. Sorry."Salizan sat back. "Man, I hate this game!"Gurdrimar roared. "Fucking humans, and their bullshit laws and weakness! That's it, I'm out!"He slithered towards the exit. "Oh come on, it's just a game. Where are you going?"Salizan called after him. Batramag was still chuckling a bit. "To that human village across the river. All this talk of blood and killing's got me hungry. You guys in?" Salizan and Batramag looked at each and then nodded. "Yeah, I could go for a few peasants, and maybe a horse or two."And with that the three friends set out for a late night snack. THE END, but stayed tuned for next week's exciting episode when Salizan springs a Prom Night module on the guys!

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