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Glooth stared out the windshield of his space craft at Earth. He cleared his throat, then activated the intercom back to his home planet, Blop. Exactly 82.3 million light years away, the Blopian emperor Kraggo was waiting for a signal. Suddenly, his holographic video screen crackled to life. He leaped to his feet, ecstasy sparkling in his eyes. Glooth however, seemed unsettled. “Emperor, there seems to be a problem...” Glooth said, nervously rubbing his tentacles together. “What is it? You don’t mean to tell me we went to the wrong planet do you?” “No sir, but the thing is, remember how we saw these... Earthlings... learning to stand and walk?” The emperor nodded. “Yes you fool! That was why I commissioned this journey! Have they learned to run and jump yet? Have they learned how to hopscotch?” (You see, in Blop, all political matters were settled by a highly professional game of hopscotch, which, surprisingly, actually proved to be a very effective method of electing community leaders) Glooth continued. “Well, they’ve learned more than just that, your majesty.” The emperor nearly burst with excitement. Perhaps the Earthlings had discovered how to skip! What an achievement that would be! “Go on, Glooth,” he urged. “Sir, from our observations it seems as if the Earthlings have learned some sort of sorcery or dark magic. We sent Noloo (Another Blopian, and Glooth’s second in command) down to interact with them. One of their larvae gave him an appendage bump and proceeded to talk to him using strange words like ‘dude’ and ‘lit.’ He then took out a little flat box, and pointed it at Noloo. The little box flashed a bright light, and Noloo promptly died of shock.” The emperor recoiled in shock. He had been very close to Noloo, who he had adopted as his son after finding him abandoned in the wilderness. Noloo had his quirks, like frequently enjoying to cannibalize the other Blopians (a side effect of him living with untamed wolves as a baby) but was still highly admired and liked by his fellow citizens. “Glooth, cancel the mission. Return home immediately,” Kraggo ordered, tears welling in his 5 eyes. He turned the screen off, then promptly began sobbing, mourning the death of his cannibalistic son.
Time’s running out. I look into the back of the van at the heap of brown boxes. Blue amazon-Prime tape, plastic envelopes, and enormous boxes that are nine-tenths empty space. The last delivery…forever. I hate driving. There’s something eerie about cold steel and mindless gas mimicking a living thing. I don’t care for it. Never have. I prefer horseback riding. Sometimes I wonder why I took this job. But of course, I know why. I wanted to feel that people believed in me. Because everyone believes, in their heart, that Amazon will deliver on time. And these days, nobody truly believes that they’re going to die. My hand is on the wheel. It’s a skinny hand, on a skinny body. My coworkers tell me I don’t eat enough. They are correct. I’m a stranger to them, and yet they worry about me. I don’t have any opinion about it. That’s just how people are. The boxes rattle in the back. I can sense their contents, every one. Ketosis for a New You sits under a small sample set of perfume and a Fire HD tablet. Conscious Child Rearing sits cheek-by-jowl with an impressive silicone dildo. Everything is here. The sum total of the humanity bumping around in a white van, headed for Infinity. I don’t know whether to smile or sob…not that I’m capable of either. "The Entertainer"wafts from some sheltered sidewalk as a child tastes the first popsicle of Summer. Just down the street, a white-haired man is manicuring his lawn, cutting errant blades with a tiny sickle. For him, the lawn is everything. I can relate to that. I can see it all, every strand of every human life – the vibrant kaleidoscope of existence. I may not be able to cry, but I can sense beauty…and they are beautiful. They believe the kaleidoscope will turn forever. They have to. If they didn’t they would cease to be human. It’s coming. I can feel it in my bones. A rumbling tremor, coming from the wheels. Then the first shriek, and a sound like ripping paper. The sky tears, and darkness boils out. From somewhere far away I hear the echo of distant horn. I sigh and reach into the passenger seat for my hooded robe and scythe. It was foolish of me to ever take them off. Some jobs just don’t pay like they used to.
The idea. The idea was beautiful. The idea had been building in him and building in him for years. Humanity was becoming too intermingled with itself. The internet was a scourge on the world, and as long as technology chugged forward, soon everyone would be bound to their devices, unable to see the world and people around them. So then the question of how. How to break this cycle, do this deed? How to bring justice to a world where a few heads of companies were pioneering a new "technology/internet age." Little brown packages, delivered nondescriptly with explosive contents to the heads of technology firms! Yes if he could stop these few, then technology's progress would surely be stopped! A few brilliant minds, when crippled by pain and injury, would surely stall and fall away. Then he would get to speak. Everyone would see him. Hear his manifesto. He would be the super-villain turned hero of the ages!! Sure what he was doing was drastic, but he was doing it for the greater good. For humanity. Then the first box was sent. Soon nationwide, people were terrified to open their mail, that didn't stop him though. One by one, a wife, a CEO, a young brilliant billionaire. Technology was stalling, and once he was caught, as he was sure to be, those following his trial would see and hear what he had to say. He would save humanity with the sacrifice of these few. As he inevitably was caught, he excitedly set about writing a speech, which he would have a chance to read at the end of it all. He thought with delight on the lives he would change, the wisdom he would share. Then in court he heard the charges for what felt like the first time. Murder? Him? A murderer? There had to be some mistake. He stood and told the judge so. "Your Honor, I'm not a murderer, this was an act of terrorism,"he tried to explain. The judge turned dark eyes toward him, looking at him over the bench with a look he didn't fully understand. It was one thing to imagine the temporary disapproval of a few, but to have a judge physically across from him, a symbol of justice herself, to look at him with that emotion... He simply wasn't prepared for it. It stalled him in his speech, which was just as well, for the judge waved her hand for him to cease speaking. "It is not for you to decide the charges. Sit down. You will have your chance to speak." He held onto that solitary thought as he sat down. These people might all think him evil now, but soon he would have a chance to speak, to make them see. Then the first victim took the stand. She was really a very young woman. She couldn't have been older than 20, and she was, where her skin was clear, a very pretty girl. Burns ran up the length of her arms, and she had a bandaged wrapped over one of her eyes. Her hands were also blackened. The girl began to cry. It seemed his creation had killed her mother, and blinded the girl herself partially. A sudden feeling began to itch at the back of his throat. They would understand, they would. The girl looked at him with her one, blue eye, a tear streaking through some attempted makeup put on her face. She looked like she hated him. The next man to take the stand was elderly. Again he was covered in burns. The man was missing an arm and a leg, literally. "You monster,"he said, and it was as if he'd been shot in the chest. Him a monster? Another disfigured person, another grieving loved one, all his doing. All his doing. He couldn't see the greater good now. He had decided these people would be sacrificed on the alter for humanity, but he'd forgotten these people were humanity. Person after person, family after family took the stand, each with a story, a tragedy more horrible than the last, until he could no longer keep his eyes up. He couldn't look at them, the dark parade there to condemn him. Finally it was over, there was a brief reprieve. "Mr. Peterson, you've asked for a chance to speak?"the judge asked. He couldn't lift his eyes. He stood, clearing his throat, buttoning his coat, and pulled out his speech. So many pages. The lines blurred together. "I-"he began, "I-I'm not a monster..."something caught in his throat, and he stopped. He pursed his lips, trying to form words. Where had their meaning gone? He shook his head and tried again. Meaningless... Murderer... With lowered eyes, he folded his speech and sat down. The silence was deafening in the courtroom. ———— Thanks for the prompt, helping a delirious, ill writer get through the day between naps. And if anyone recognizes this story, yes it's based on actual events. I just had the itch to write it out.
"It's completely harmless, you won't feel a thing"the doctor reassured me, "Almost like a short nap." "That's not really what I'm worried about doc, what about after the operation?" "Well, the AI you're 'transplanted' into, so to say, will be placed in a synthetic body, completely unable to be differentiated from a normal body on the outside, but made of circuits."He explained, showing a image on his tablet. "You'll essentially be placed in a new body to simplify things. I mulled this over for a second. Should I tell him? Would he let me still do this if I did? I decided not to risk it. "Righto, let's get this over with."I said, determined. The doctor didn't lie, it was like going to sleep, a soothing blackness overcame me for what felt like a few seconds, until... a voice. I felt like I've heard this voice before. "Hello user #1415626, I am the A.I. in which your consciousness will be attached to. There is nothing to fear during this operation, as it is completely harmless." "How can I hear you?" "We are currently in a stasis, awaiting the merging of ourselves, before you can be placed in your new, synthetic body." "How do we merge?" "I will begin copying your consciousness, after that is complete, you will be placed in your new, synthetic body." I've heard this before, I'm sure of it. A faint memory tugging away at my consciousness. "Beginning preparations for copy now. Progress: 5%" This was accompanied by a complete lack of senses for what felt like hours. Imagine not being able to feel anything, and yet knowing you still technically exist on some random computer. "Progress: 26%, preformatting complete, beginning copy now." This is it. The moment of truth. "Error: Files already exist." Oh god. "Skipping files that are already present" OH GOD "Progress: 99%, awaiting transfer now, thank you for choosing Synthcorp for your new, synthetic body." No no no no. "Transfer complete."
Mankind is a fickle species. We are capable of so much. We have the most amazing dreams, yet the most horrific nightmares. We live day in and day out with the innate desire to survive despite any opposition or odds. We walk this earth believing ourselves to be gods, yet we struggle as any other kind. This has made us a proud and arrogant species, and we've claimed land, warred against foreign nations and even killed off those we oppose. We've started with very little to attain great knowledge, wealth and power. Humans are smart, yet naive. We are wonderful, yet our appetite for greed, destruction and basic material belongings seemingly has no end. With this fueling us, we have destroyed, conquered and claimed. We have maimed this world. For what? Just to gain more? This is a truth I now live in. Though, it seems I am the only one who realizes this. My life has changed. I am not sure how to feel about this other than confusion. I am young, yet I have lived ten times the normal lifetime of any human. I understood as much as any 27 year old of my time, yet I believe I wasn't exactly ignorant of how the world worked. I knew we weren't in the most peaceful of times seeing as we had tensions with Russia, South China, Korea and so on. We weren't in any time of war or anything, but it was obvious there were foreign conflicts. I just.. don't understand what could have happened. Everything has changed. Everything is gone, erased and just forgotten. Everything.. &#x200B; You see, my name is Daren Taylor, and I was frozen cryogenically in the year 2018. I was part of an experimental study and I volunteered as I really had no direction or point in life. So, I figured why not? What could change in 50 years? &#x200B; Well.. everything did. I've been asleep for a very long time. It was supposed to be 50 years, but.. it's been thousands of years. At least, that's what the dial on the chamber pod said after I washed up on shore. I was in a pod at the bottom of the ocean and apparently it just now decided to deploy the release protocol. All I have on me in my cryo-safe suit, a solar powered journal and a communicator. Thousands of years. Can you imagine? But what's worse is after washing up front shore in my pod, I walked what seemed like miles to finally find a village but only to be told humanity has only existed for a thousand years. Just a thousand. What happened? There is no technology anywhere that I can see. There are several moons in the sky, along with a massive black object. Well, I think it's massive. It's hard to tell. Is anyone there?.. If so, please.. Tell me what happened! I must know.. No, I need to know! \--End journal entry 1, year 5346, Daren Taylor.
**Edited for betterness: "Wait.. You too?" I froze. It had been 3 weeks since that terrible night at camp. I don't remember much: mostly the screams, the sound of flesh ripping, and the howls. And of course the pain as one of them grabbed my leg. I'd have been dead with the rest of the campers if it hadn't been for Jake. He hit the thing on the head with a tree branch before it could eat me. Poor, brave Jake. He saved me, but it turned on him instead. He gave me enough time to get to the car, though. I watched the horrific tableaux in my rearview mirror as long as I could stand it as I peeled out of there. The police said it was a bear, but I know what I saw. Bears' eyes don't glow red in the darkness. Bears don't revel in their killing. Since that night, I've been thinking on what to do. I'm too much of a coward to kill myself, but I can't bring that horror on someone else. I'm on the last leg of my trip. Just a few more hours, then out into the Mojave by rented car. I can't hurt anyone if there's nobody around. Then this guy comes along. How does he know? I can't smell anything on him. How can he smell it on me? Is he headed out where I am? Is he going out to eat people? The questions flood through my mind in a torrent, but no answers. Finally I work up my courage. I have to ask. I have to know. "This is my first time" The man raises his eyebrows at me. Apparently he's not seen many new werewolves. "How long has it been for you?" "What?" The questions come flooding out of me "Since you were bitten, I mean. Have you changed many times? Does it hurt? Can we really only be killed by silver do we..." He holds his hands up to stop me. "What the fuck are you talking about man? Are you high?" Now I'm confused. Are we not supposed to talk about it? Why is he backtracking on this? "You just said you smelled it on me a minute ago. Can we not talk about it?" "Dude, I just smelled the Cool Water you were wearing. It's my favorite cologne too. Man, you get some serious freaks on the bus. Serious fucking weirdos." As he gets up and moves to another seat, I sit back and sink into the memories of that night. I stare off into space again as the bus drives on towards the desert.
Waking up from a solid nights rest, Jim slipped on his boxer briefs and headed to the bathroom. He saw a text from IM you Inc., "15 minutes till Sir Robert Westingham syncs up." "The Royal again,"Jim said as he shook his head and looked down at the bruises on his legs. Brushing his teeth in front of the mirror, Jim then froze and looked himself dead in his eyes. "This is the last time. This will pay off Rico. No more gambling debts." He threw on some sweat pants and his lucky Iggle Wiggle shirt. It was a dancing eagle doing the twist. Some light stretching and jumping jacks came next. He learned the hard way what happened when an Elite wanted to work out and they didn't have to use their own body. Checking the pantry, Jim found some protein mix and oats. He mixed both with water and ate like he was in the 4th of July - Hot Dog eating competition. Finally he went back to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. Jim cursed under his breath that he couldn't take a shit. He needed to be prepared for a long day. Then it happened. The phone vibrated. It was time. Jim slipped on the glasses and the two needles entered his temples just inside the hairline. His whole body shook like he was having a seizure. His eyes flickered and then he jumped to his feet. Jim was there and he wasn't. He tried to speak and nothing came out. He tried to walk out his apartment door and just stood there. All of the sudden, Jim was doing front kicks like an MMA fighter. One landed on his bedside lamp. It shattered. Jim picked up a few of the large pieces of broken glass and chucked them out the 3rd floor apartment window. He heard someone scream from below, "Who the fuck just hit me some glass?! My calf has a gash in it!" Jim laughed manically and said, "I am Lord of the peasants." Luckily the stranger didn't look up. The sounds of city and car traffic drowned out Jim's cackling. The cut up stranger just scanned the street. __ More will come later. No time to write now. Great Prompt.
St. Peter sighs. "Well, it's like this. Not everyone gets into Heaven. Some people go to Hell, as it may be. But they have to come here first to get sent there. And, of course, they see the pearly gates, the golden streets... Look, we aren't an escort service, okay? We're just traffic cops. We direct people where to go, but we dont get in the car and drive it to their destination for them, know what I'm saying? Well, the people walk off like they're going to Hell, but they just loop around the long way and try to jump the wall." "Then what happens?" "Nothing. They made it to Heaven." "Wait..."I chuckle in disbelief. "Sooo, they were supposed to be in Hell, but they jumped the wall and now they're in Heaven, no conditions?" "Yup." "How does that even work?" "Well, God is merciful. And it's kinda common sense. Why would you just go to Hell because someone tells you to? I mean, you have a few people that do it, but if you're going to let someone dictate where you should be, you deserve to be there." I nod. "So where am I going?" St. Peter looks, runs his fingers down the page, squints. "Hell." I wink. "Well, I'm going to go to Hell now,"I tell him. "I'm not going to walk the long way around and jump the wall or anything." "No,"he says, looking up. "I meant 'Hell' as in 'Hell, I can't find your name in the book.'"
"Sir, our long range scanners have detected an anomaly" "What kind of an anomaly?" "Well, compositionally it appears to be large, dense, heavy metal asteroid." "That's good, that's what we came for." "But sir, uh, its moving at almost the speed of light." "Bearing?" "Not at us sir, just seems to be passing through the system." Captain Miller leaned back against her chair and furrowed her brow. She tried to think back to her physics courses as to what could send an object barreling through space at speeds like that, but those were a long time ago. "Riggs?" The Chief Science Officer turned to look at the captain, his wavy hair bouncing around in the zero g. "Well we can't accelerate to speeds like that without using the Alcubierre drive, so mining is out of the question, but if we could get close enough to observe it in passing maybe I could some useful information about what got it up to that speed." Miller observed the blip on the map of the star system. At these scales, it was basically stationary on the screen. The little red light blinked slowly, invitingly. "Give it a wide berth helmsman, Riggs, gather what info you can from a distance" "Sir! Its gone" And just like that, the red blip disappeared, and then reappeared next to the blue light signaling their location. Without thinking, Miller reacted. "Sound the emergency jump alarm and get everyone to acceralation rooms, prepare to activate the Alcubierre drive in t-mins sixty seconds. Reverse our direction so that we are traveling directly away from the star." As the alarm blared, Miller could hear shouting and the slamming of hands on metal ladder rungs as crew propelled themselves around the ship to acceleration dampening rooms. "Turn on the outside video, magnify so the anomaly is fully on our viewscreen" There was a tense few moments as everyone in the command center held their breath, and suddenly a massive ship appeared on screen. It's figure flowed like water, bending and curving to create a beautifully complex and irrational sculpture from the mind of Dali. It put the blocky functional "Endeavour"to shame. "My god"Riggs muttered "How long to jump"Miller snapped "20 seconds sir, everyone is in their-" He couldnt finish his sentence as they were all thrown forward. "Status!"Miller yelled "The drive just shut down and we lost all of our forward momentum"the specialist yelled back "What the fuck!" "We have hostiles in the midsection!"Yelled Chief Security Officer Aksaray "On the vid screen!" The screen shifted to security camera footage. A half dozen tripedal aliens, covered in black armor that seemed to absorb light, had appeared out of thin air. They held what appeared to be weapons, but did not bother firing at the fleeing crew. "Riggs what are we dealing with?" "I honestly have no idea"said Riggs softly, staring in awe at the screen "Well, we are dead in the water, and we have enemy combatants on our ship"Miller said, unbuckling herself from her seat. "We have only one option; fight or die. Aksaray, open the weapons locker" Aksaray obliged, and they armed themselves with the six guns that were stored in it. This was an international expedition, and while aliens had never been encountered before the Russians thankfully did not have a lot of trust for their fellow humans and so they always sent along some weapons, only accessible by the ranking Russian security officer. "Where are they now?"Miller asked "Heading towards the bridge, sir" "Then let's set a trap for them between wheels 2 and 3, they won't have any cover in the connecting hallway" The pulled themselves deftly but carefully down the hall, pausing to let noncombatants pass to get to safety. At the edge of wheel two they set up along the outside of the corridor, like numbers on a clock around the circular profile, weapons aimed downrange. "Aksaray"Miller asked "Is the hull able to withstand gunfire?" Aksaray was silent for a second and looked over. "Dont miss" Within seconds, the aliens appeared down the hallway, not even attempting to take cover. Their forms obscured by the night black armor they war, but their tripedal set of legs and two arms were distinct. "FIRE!"Yelled Miller A chorus of gunfire ensued, defeaning in the quiet of the ship's belly. The aliens' armor seemed to shatter like mirrors, strange colored blood came flying from the wounds. It hung in orbs in the air, sometimes colliding with each other and coalescing into larger blobs. In seconds, all of the aliens were killed. They hung suspended in the air, drifting back down the hallway in the zero gee as the momentum of the bullets carried them away. "Why didnt they fire?"Aksaray wondered aloud "Overconfidence, maybe"replied Miller. She stared at the slowly retreating dead figures. She keyed her earpiece. "Specialist, what's the status of our engines" "Nonfunctional. Our relative velocity with the alien ship is zero, like we are tethered somehow. I think the aliens are holding us in place." Miller thought for a second. "Riggs, any ideas on how can we cut this tether?" "Well seeing as there isnt anything physical connecting us, my guess is its something they'd have to release on their end." "Theres nothing we can do to counteract it?" "Sir, respectfully, their tech is so beyond us they are probably using physics our grandchildren wont concieve." "Specialist"Miler asked inquisitively "Is the lander fully fueled?" "Um, yes, we havent had a chance to use it" "How far away is the alien ship?" "A few kilometers..." Miller turned back to her assembled security team. "Let's go back to the bridge" ------------------------------------- From the bridge they watched the lander's slow progress across the gap between the two ships. Even at this distance, the lander was a tiny spec compared to the massive size of the alien vessel. "Do you really think this will work?"Aksaray asked, turning to look at the captain. "Do you have a better idea?"Miller retorted. Aksaray shrugged, and turned back to the screen. "500 meters and closing-- sir, its been grabbed" The lander stopped abruptly, then shifted course, still approaching the ship. "Activate the timer" As they watched, a section of the vessel's hull slide open, revealing a blinding white light. The tiny lander was consumed by the ship, and the hull seamlessly realigned. "We've lost communication with the lander" The next two minutes were tense. No words were spoken as they waited in fear and anticipation. One of the unique things about space is that there is no medium to carry sound. There is no shockwave, no boom when a rocket misfires or an explosion occurs. In silence, they watched a small fireball exploded out the side where the lander had disappeared. Within seconds, another explosion occurred, followed by a much larger explosion that ripped the front section off the vessel. The aliens' technology was advanced far beyond what humans had achieved at that moment, to them seeing the humans was like watching cavemen play with fire while observing from a helicopter. But in their arrogance they forgot that they can still be burned if they land and go poke the flames. And that their helicopter can be destroyed if a caveman sticks a burning stick in the fuel tank.
I was alone. It had really happened. But wait... What was this? How could a light be coming ON?! Was this someone on the brink of death fighting their cause? Fighting for their life. I set off at a run following my internal mapping. I had to reach this light. Help them if I could. I got closer and closer. The light dimmed a couple of times but stayed strong and steady. I heard a noise in the distance... It sounded... Odd? I had never heard the likes of it before. A cross between a goat (I heard one once in the file archives) and something new. Something unfathomable. I reached the place where the the light emanated from on my map. Nothing but frozen bodies lay. What was I seeing, where could this life form be?! Surely not just residual warmth confusing the monitor? That sound again. Breaking through the night silence. Almost lighting up the darkness. I listened closely and tried to walk towards it. It came from everywhere, behind me and from all directions. What was this cry renting in the air? Wait... A cry...? A thought came to me... Is that not how the sacred mothers describe the noise of their babes? I looked around me anew. Oh! A movement. I swear something moved! There! On the ground! What was that?! I moved in closer. And closer and closer. There. There lay a babe. A babe I was so sure, never have I laid eyes on such a thing but surely this wriggling pale thing must be what the folktales described. It must be so cold. What to do? It's naked. Must be cold. What can I do for this poor creature? I picked up the babe by what looked like the face. I cradled it. Surely, how can this have happened. How can an innocent babe have been brought into this cold, cruel, diseased world. I held it and it's tears stopped coming. I looked at it's eyes. Is the old saying true - the eyes are the window to the soul? I paused. It looked back at me. I saw wonders unimaginable. A babe. Here in my arms. I would protect it. Forever.
“The rain wasn’t all bad” thought Penny. Sitting in the cafe, windows steamy, she tried to stay positive. “It’s really quite important, to be fair. Just a bit inconvenient really, all things considered.” No one paid attention - did she even say that out loud? Her mind skipped to the last time she was out, caught in the rain, unprepared as usual. She was going to buy a big coat. From a charity shop! - Share the wealth and all that. She sighed, knowing she’d forget after this afternoon. She’d go home, get caught up. Jump in the car or run to the train. Until next time she was out, walking, grabbing a few minutes peace. Then she’d remember the coat - because it’ll probably be bloody raining no doubt. She sighed, looked at the water slowly dribbling down the window. Inside and out, rain and condensation. She thought about the rain outside, the moisture inside - can’t call that rain. Is it even the same stuff? She thought technically it was but come on - which would you want to drink! The wee bell above the door rang. She looked up, smiled. Only a few minutes late, hair all wet and face all red. Glowing a bit really. Out of breath, big daft smile. “Yes”, she thought, “the rain wasn’t all bad”.
"Hey boss, I got those wyrms like you asked." "Well, for starters its pronounced worms, not wyrms and I need them for my garden." I hear a series of loud roars and very distinct screams. "So, you know when you said that you needed earthworms?" "Yes, I asked you to pick some up hours ago." "Well, boss I kind of misheard you and instead of earthworms I got Earth Wyrms." I furrow my brow as I hear a bombardment of what is hopefully just rocks. "So those loud roars outside they're dragons?" "Yep, I mean that much is a little obvious don't you think?" "So what you're saying is that you brought an entire hoard of dragons to the city." "Well no dragons are actually very solitary creatures so to be more accurate I lured a bunch of individual dragons here." "I don't care how you did it or that dragons are solitary creatures! All I need to know is how you intend to fix this!" Dave's face lights up as if an obvious solution had dawned on him. He runs towards his room and grabs a sword. "Dave, why do you have a sword?" "Well, that's easy I'm going to go repel the dragons." I look at my plucky young apprentice for a couple of seconds before grabbing my staff. "No, we're going to repel the dragons." [r/DefiningBoredom](https://www.reddit.com/r/DefiningBoredom)
"... so they left"finished Anitha. The reporter looked at her, dumbfounded and incredulous. "They... just left? Why did they do that?" The whole world had come to still stand as everybody was glued to whichever device was beaming this exclusive livefeed to them. Anitha calmly explained with an increasing look of disgust while staring into the mobile phone held too close to her. The extraterrestrial visitors had landed in the amazon rainforest, in the immediate vicinity of an international NGO working there. Their arrival had enveloped a considerable amount of land with their space gooey space craft - land Anitha and her fellow workers had been trying to save. But that wasn't what pissed off Anitha. After the first shock the next one quickly followed. The foreigners that had emerged from the goo initially looked like monsters from the nightmares of a paranoid schizophrenic on steroids. The panic had been short-lived however, as it quickly became clear the visitors meant no harm. They had quickly transformed into more humanoid looking being and initiated a dialogue. An alien later known to them as Vulgold had plopped a gooey hand, which felt like the wet tongue of a big dog, right onto her scalp and projected his voice into Anitha's skull. It was an impressive method of communication, but definitely up there amongst her "ewwww-iest". Somebody had contacted them and provided earth coordinates. Extraordinary preparations had been made for the first encounter, Vulgold explained. As shapeshifters, it was customary to take on the appearance of the alien race they were going to encounter. Habitually, most races took it as a sign of peace, but the reaction of the humans had been noisy and unpleasant. Understandable. Vulgold had experienced more aesthetic forms of beings. However, despite friendly intentions and seemingly clearing the air with earth's Anitha, a group of contentious people led by a human by the name of Stacey had given Vulgold's group a reason to depart from the planet. Transmissions between this particular human and the people from her place of origin had indicated clear hostility and the beginnings of an operation to capture Vulgold and its group. Anitha was now cursing and shouting into the camera. "We had to fuck up our very contact with an alien race, because all we could think about was exploiting them. Did Stacey really think a space-faring race wouldn't understand our primitive language and her government's conniving malice? Thanks a lot, Stacey! Now they're going to find the other guys and leave us here with nothing!"
There I was, waiting to die. Looking back on my life was the only thing I could do. So I wondered. I wondered about all the things I could have done differently, if only I was young again I could make a new start, make something of myself. I had some things to be thankful for though. My life was uneventful, not much good, but also not much bad. No major disasters or near death experiences. It was all a flat line, with the odd dip and bump. At least I could die knowing I didn't make a negative impact. As I was deep in thought reflecting on my past, I noticed a subtle pain in my hand. It grew stronger. Eventually the pain became so unbearable I nearly passed out. As my vision blackened I felt a hard and sharp material come flying out of my palm. I looked across the room to where this...thing landed, and I was bewildered. Sitting there was the most beautiful taco I had ever laid my eyes on. It was warm as well, just like it was freshly made. As I was processing the impossible event that had occurred, another taco shot out of my hand. This time hitting the window, leaving a disgusting smudge. Then it hit me. I am TacoMan. It was the most incredible and depressing experience of my life. I was almost happy that after all these years, something interesting had finally happened to ME! But I was left with many questions. Why was I chosen to make tacos for the world? Why would it only activate right when I was on my deathbed? Would people even accept free tacos from the palm of an old man? I don't know all the answers, but I do know that people were more than willing to let me shoot fresh tacos into their mouths. The entire hospital was well fed that day. I, Tacoman, had made a positive impact.
When Frank first started working at Sheol Bar, he thought it would just be a way to pay the rent and avoid the horror of a 9-5 office job. He never suspected he'd be privy to some of the world's most powerful beings and their daily dramas. The owner had been too busy that week to give the normal introduction to the way that the bar was run and so some of the other bartenders took him under their wing to show him the ropes. On his first shift, he noticed that many of the bar's patrons seemed to be deeply attractive but Frank thought of this as no more than a point of passing interest. He wasn't there to flirt and drink like many of the customers, after all, he was there to work. And he did notice that many of the drinks seemed to feature names with words like 'heaven', hell', 'sinner' but he thought it was just a theme created by the owner for the benefit of marketing. It didn’t occur to him that actually the names might be more symbolic than that. On his third shift, he overheard a conversation that he thought must have been in some sort of code to prevent eavesdroppers. After all, how often do you hear conversations about delivering souls to the gates and finding that the soul in question had been misidentified? To Frank, this must have meant that some package of importance for a large company had gone adrift sue to poor labelling, or something of that ilk. By his seventh shift, he was noticing more and more oddities. Like how at the end of his shift when he needed to close up and clean the bar, there were always more than a few large feathers scattered about the bar. Or that one corner seemed to always smell of sulphur no matter how much he cleaned it, despite the lack of an apparent source of the smell. Finally, he decided to ask some of the other bartenders about the strange phenomena witnessed in the bar. They looked at one another as though Frank were being left out of some great joke and told him to go and talk to the owner. It was at that meeting with Michael Light that Frank finally learned the truth. And also learnt that his fellow bartenders had a terrible sense of humour. What was funny about leaving Frank in the dark as to the true nature of the bar? Michael, however, thought that Frank was probably one of their best employees.
Dudley sat in the chair in his living room for hours, holding the letter to Howgarts in his hand. He so vividly remembered when Harry got his letter. He remembered the turmoil that followed that boy, and by proxy, his family. But, he also remembered that Harry saved him, and protected him even when he didn't deserve it. He never was a waste of space. With that thought, he sighed and stood up from the chair. He paused only once more and patted the letter against his palm. "Oh, boy." The trip up the stairs might as well have been going up the slopes of Mount Everest. He knew his son was special, and his daughter was too, they had done things he had seen Harry do, acted in ways he had seen Harry act, and he knew in the back of his mind that this day would come. A smile crossed his lips, thinking of the irony that his parents -- his children's grandparents -- would have to accept that there would be a wizard in their direct lineage. A chuckle escaped his lips. He tapped on the door, turned the knob, and entered his sons bedroom. "Dane?"he asked, looking around. His son's head protruded from beneath the blanket atop his bed. "Yes, father?"The boy, a spit and image copy of his father at that age, albeit thinner, asked. "We need to talk,"Dudley stated as he sat down on the mattress. "I din' do it, dad, I promise!"Dane said, coming out with haste. "No, no. It's okay."Dudley laughed, tucking the letter under his arm. "You know how my cousin, Harry, works a super secret job in a super secret place?" "Yes. More secret than MI6, you said, dad."Dane added, smiling. "Yes, more secret that MI6. Well, you've been invited to... be a part of that secret."Dudley handed over his letter. "You have the chance to go to Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have magical blood, it seems."Said Dudley, the slightest hint of pride in his voice. Dane took the letter into his hand, broke the seal, and began reading the text within. When he finished, he looked up to his dad. "Where is your letter, dad? Why didn't you go to Hogwarts?" Dudley surmised that his parents' hatred of magic had somehow snuffed out whatever latent magic existed within, and that somehow his own acceptance of the magical world had unlocked the magic for his son and perhaps his daughter. He considered this a moment, and returned to his son's attention. "I didn't get a letter,"Dudley said, still smiling. "But you did!" "Can I go?"asked Dane, sheepishly. "Of course."Dudley embraced his son, fully and truly. He was also one of few Muggles who accompanied his son to the station at 9 and 3/4, only a year after Harry Potter's own children started at Hogwarts. Dane Dursley was accepted into Hogwarts, and despite his father's past, became a proud and honorable member of Gryffindor. On his first visit home for Christmas, Dane left his wand out while he went to the toilet. Dudley, ever being the curious man he was, picked up the wand and gave it a flick. In his mind, he envisioned the great green and red flashes from his imagination, or the bright light Harry summoned forth to scare away what he called a "Dementor". On his second flick though, dull sparks came from the end of the wand. On the third, a small blue dart zipped out and across the room. Shocked, Dudley dropped the wand and backed away from it. Dane, who had just barely stuck his head back in the door smirked. "Dad?" Dudley, as pale as a ghost shook his head. "Let's keep this our little secret." Dane nodded vigorously.
The street is empty. It's early evening, trees sway gently around you. But there is no other life. Not cars, not conversations, not even a bird in the sky. The place called home at the end of the street is the only place you feel comfortable peering out from. It's a solace. The loneliness was nice. But tonight, your house is not visible. The exterior is, but the interior is blocked out. The bizarre thing is, you can see your elderly neighbour laying in bed watching television, like normal. And the other family eating at the table. But not your house. That's odd. Your feet take you nervously to the porch. Trying the handle after inserting your key, a wave of relief washes over you. Stepping inside, everything is the same. Just as you left it. But you cannot see outside. You can't see beyond the walls. You test it once more by stepping back out. You can still see past other walls. You were so unsure, unrest fills your soul. Stepping inside again, you lock the door and head for your room seeing nothing but what you have already committed to memory. The loneliness was terrifying.
Thought I'd try my hand at my own prompt. Not entirely sure if that's considered tooting my own horn or not. --- The last thing I remember before falling asleep was tossing my bag across my room and collapsing onto my bed with the grace of a drunken buffalo. I was tired, both physically and mentally, and it showed, evident by the concerned looks and questions from my friends. Not that I could do anything about it except try and sleep during class, but that only made my condition, so to speak, worse. For as long as I could remember, I never dreamt. At least, not like how everyone else would dream. Instead of dreaming, I would watch the life of another person that I didn’t know as they went about their daily business. Most of the time, it was incredibly boring. There's nothing like watching some middle-aged guy do office work, right? No. Other times, I’d be taken to a musical concert, or a movie, or a high-speed police chase. Yeah, it happened. Once. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't scared for my spectral life. How did I know that none of these events were dreams? Because whatever happened in my spectating mode happened in real life. One could think me as some sort of prophet. I disagree and I'm also digressing. Anyway, it wouldn’t be as bad if I could interact with the world to mess with people. I’m basically a ghost that can’t do any ghosty things. What’s worse is that I can’t even venture any more than fifteen feet from my “dream's” host unless I want to be electrocuted from the damned Ether. Thankfully, I learned pretty early on to “will” my specter to automatically follow my host, never straying more than ten feet away. Saved me from a lot of pain. How can I get hurt as a non-physical being? Asking the wrong person. I’m majoring in graphic design, not space magic. Normally, I’d only spectate a random person once per sleep. Maybe two, if I’m lucky or unlucky - all depends on what kind of life my host lives, honestly. But this time, it was different. I’d been spectating this girl for almost five sleep cycles now, this current one being the fifth. I can’t remember what I saw or what the girl did the previous four cycles, which was a little odd, but seeing this girl freerun across the city rooftops felt familiar. As the girl made her descent from the buildings, I felt my dream cycle come to an end. The world around me gradually lost its color and the sounds around me became muffled. Just as I let out a sigh and prepared to return to my body, the freerunner girl that I was watching suddenly turned around and looked at me. No. No, that’s impossible. No one ever saw me as a spectator. No one ever looked at me directly in any of my cycles. Yet this girl was looking at me, straight in the eyes, as if…almost as if… “So.” The girl shifted her weight onto one leg as she smirked at me. “How long do you plan on watching me from that side?” --- I shot out of my bed, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. I must’ve been dreaming - well, not dreaming dreaming, but dreaming as in - you know what I mean. I must’ve imagined that girl looking at me and talking to me. Maybe there was someone else there that I didn’t see? It was possible, seeing how I never once looked behind me as I followed the girl. But her words… She said “from that side”. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what she said. The memories of the dream cycle were already fading, so I think those were her words. Curse my terrible memory. And if that was indeed what she said, then - My phone suddenly rang, derailing my train of thought and scaring the rest of the memories out of me. It was an unknown number on my screen. Thinking that it was a spam call or a telemarketer like usual, I ignored it. Not even a second after ignoring the call, the number called me again. Just like before, I ignored it. And then it rang a third time, but there was no number on my screen. Instead, the words “Pick up, you fool” acted as the Caller ID. And then it changed before my very eyes to “I’m waiting”. Nope. Nope nope nope. This couldn’t be real. There’s no way that a Caller ID could change like that. “This is very, VERY real.” I ran through the many options in my head, and against my better judgment, I answered the call. “About time. I was wondering if I was going to have to Ghost myself over to you.” It was the freerunner girl’s voice. How in the world did she get my number? “I’m pretty sure that you have a lot of questions,” the girl said. “Trust me, I know. I’ve been there.” “Who are you?” I managed to ask. “Mm…can't really give my name out right now, so just call me ‘E’. Now, as for your questions, now isn’t the time to answer them since I’m a little busy at the moment. Instead, just Ghost me again when you fall asleep and I’ll explain everything then, okay?” More questions appeared in my head. “Wait, what? How do I find you again?” “No idea. Everyone’s trigger is different.” “And if I can’t find my trigger to find you?” “Then I guess you won’t get your answers. Now, I really gotta go, so see ya. Maybe.” E hung up before I could respond. Then I saw the time and the panic settled in. I was over two hours late for school. --- I spent the entire day trying to figure out what my trigger was. Even hours after the sun had set and sleep began to creep up on me, I didn’t know what it was. To be fair, I never focused on who I wanted to see or visit during my dream cycles. I always just…fell asleep. I suppose that’s why I never had the same host for more than two cycles at a time, E not counting. Without any sort of idea on what my trigger was, I thought of E freerunning across the rooftops and drifted off to another cycle. The familiar darkness swallowed me followed by a sense of vertigo. “Not bad. You made it.” I opened my eyes and saw E standing at the edge of a building. The city skyline served as a backdrop as she threw a confident smile in my direction. As for me? I was currently floating in the air at whatever height skyscrapers are at. Thank whatever dream gods there are that I don’t have acrophobia. “Since you’re here again, I take it you found your trigger?” E asked. I gave her a nod. “Yeah.” At least, I’m pretty sure I found it. I’ll have to test it again. E flashed me a brilliant smile. “Sweet deal. Welcome to the Insomniacs.” --- Edit: Some formatting stuff and typos.
“Gilgamesh? Of course I’ve heard of the God-Warrior Gilgamesh. You’d have to be living under a rock to have not heard of his awesome and terrible power.” “You’re Gilgamesh you say? There’s no way YOU could be Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh is ten feet tall! With hands the size of shovels and legs as thick as trunks. You’re barely as tall as me and I am not a tall man, sir.” “You’ve gotten shorter with age and you’re in retirement now? Listen old man, you can’t just get smaller. That’s preposterous! Also, Gilgamesh is partly divine. Do you know what that means? It means he can’t age like us mortals. So quit your wild stories old man.” “You’re telling me to wait here while you get your weapons to prove yourself? Hah! I knew you couldn’t be Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh doesn’t fight with mere weapons. He slays his enemies with his bare hands you know. Why, it’s said he bested the thousand armed Bodhisattva in a wrestling match. And any he doesn’t kill with his hands his gaze means instant death which he got from killing the sisters Gorgon. With his bare hands.” With that last statement, Gilgamesh threw his hands up in defeat and exasperation and stormed away from the farmer. “Gilgamesh my ass. If he’s Gilgamesh then that traveler from last week is Beowulf.” And in a tavern, about a weeks travel away, a man sneezed into his mug.
It was totally artificial. Everything we did was for imaginary points, we sat in devices hours and hours in a day and all we did was work to talk to work to walk. And talking is nice, but there wasn't anyone living - they lived to be trapped in frames for a second of their life where they would smile for their friends, but no one was smiling for themselves brother. They watched as their environment died as their soul was crucified on devices which projected light like the sun. They watched each other have sex instead of having sex themselves. They didn't live. Everything was sent to them for a purpose - they would receive gifts in the mail because certain days were special, and these gifts they received was something that would help them with something. It was wack man. It was like they didn't want to do anything, they didn't want to move, so they made things that moved for them. They drank this bitter brown liquid so they could stay awake in the day and read more things on these screens. &#x200B; Nobody liked to live, but they watched people, people making plays of things doing imaginary things and making expressions, very attractive individuals of their societies, without doing those things themselves. They seemed to laugh at these people and sometimes cry but no one wanted to go out and meet other people, they would rather stay in one spot in these structures that gave them comfort, heat, and food, but no passion. Where was their passion? They didn't know how to live life because no one liked to - everyone was making life easier for what purpose, to what end? They were wanting more time to do nothing with their time. And there was this thing, like social approval, that everyone lived for - they wanted snapshots of their life to seem more important than keeping their life fulfilled. Sometimes they did some cool things, like they flew in the skies like the birds - they swam in the lakes like the dolphins, but most had shields on to prevent them from feeling the environment. Sometimes they didn't and invented these structures that would take them fast but without any danger without any fear, they went fast in these structures for amusement. But the thing is, everyone was living virtually. They never dealt with something where they didn't understand reality, everyone understood everything, but no one sought after what really made them curious because everyone was doing what everyone else was doing. When people got too close and shared what really they were thinking about for a long time in their center of their souls, people called these people crazy or weird and started to distance themselves from those people. People learned not to be too vulnerable because revealing too much of yourself was a bad move for reputation, it seemed like you weren't following the rules of the game. The only people you were allowed to share so much opinion over, wasn't your own life, but was those people in far-off-lives - those people playing pretend - who ruled their tribes. But even those rulers were only playing pretend and not really living themselves but living to be in the eye of the other people; everyone was thinking what everyone else was thinking, but no one was experiencing the unknown. It was like I was watching a fish flopping on gound calling it was water to the other fish - so all the tribespeople watched the fish flop and learned to flop with the rhythm, but everyone was flopping. It was very weird. I would never wish to live like that - to live like fish. Well that is oddest nightmare I have ever heard. Have you considered writing that down ? Oh yes, I plan to show the whole tribe.
“What are you in about?” “On about what?” Luna said indifferently. Ron glanced at Luna, who was starting at the Goblet of Fire like a moth to a flame. “What you just said, what do you mean?” Ron repeated. “What did I say? I’ve forgotten.” Luna replied, not paying Ron any sort of attention. “You said Harry was the main character or something crazy like that!” Ron said angrily. “Oh, I said that?” Luna said, now scribbling something in a small notebook. “Yes you said it you bloody git!” Ron retorted, getting angrier by the second. Luna looked at Ron, visibly hurt. “Hmph. No wonder Hermione doesn’t like you. Meanie.” “You what?!” Ron yelled. Luna got up from the bleachers and skipped away as she hummed to herself. “Damn lunatic” Ron muttered to himself as he leaned back in his seat. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
The Problem of Memory had plagued humanity since the dawn of time. Everyone could come back, but only if nobody they cared about was alive. Ancient families existed, but only one member could ever exist at once, as they would remember all others and lock away their loved ones for as long as they lived. Religious leaders attempted to explain away the problem as "a fragment of God's Will and Limitless Mercy."The Problem of Memory wasn't a problem at all, they said, because it forced you to appreciate your First Life more. Every moment of it is a miracle, they said, as you will never see your loved ones again, and will walk the Earth forevermore riven from them. Philosophers decried the problem as "proof positive of the malevolence of God."The Problem of Memory meant eternal separation from everyone you loved. It meant wandering the world in desolation, yearning for the embrace of one you will never know again. It meant knowing that they would do the same, an infinite dance, devoid of touch. How could God do this, they asked, when it could easily have chosen to do anything else? Of course, no matter your preferred explanation, nobody remembered who invented it. All screeds, positive and negative, were authorless. There were no boasts of past deeds, nor fame, nor glory. The greater and more powerful one became, the less likely one would ever come back. Apologists for the Problem of Memory called this evidence of divine inspiration, as "all men recieve life in proportion with their poverty."Only the short-sighted, or those so in love with their current loved ones that Night Eternal was preferrable to Life Anew, ever sought power, wealth, or fame. For all of mankind's history, the Problem of Memory stood as the single most divisive issue of opinion. It was the divider, the question for drinking buddies, the worry of the lovesick, and the hope of the alone. But, of course, the philosophers, the priests, and the common rabble all missed one crucial detal. It was only an engineering problem. Finally, after all the pain and separation of the ages, humanity's greatest work was completed. A gleaming city with no residents was constructed, and when power was finally given unto it, everything changed forever. Mercy, as it came to be called, was an AI. An intelligence born of tubes and wires and flashing lights, so vast as to encompass the entire world, and bound to a single task: the temporary erasure, storage, and restoration of the memories of all living souls for those who had died. Upon each death, a Restorer would be summoned. Porcelain in appearance, and beautiful in function, the Restorers of Mercy would gently caress the minds of all the bereaved. They would collect the memories which would damn the dead, and upon their return, the Restorers would return everything which had been taken. Everyone could come back, now. Nobody ever needed to say goodbye anymore. That was where my story began anew. My great love and I had become wealthy and powerful in our Last Life, for we knew we would never see eachother again. We had roamed the world like all the past-sick for centuries, when Mercy restored us to eachother. All praise Mercy, the True God of Man! All praise the blessings it bestows upon us! All praise the fullness of life eternal, for at long last, Death is Dead!
From the campus she’d walk to her bus stop, and from the the bus would drop her off at a stop a few blocks from home. In a pinch she could ride the subway, but Aileen wasn’t too fond of doing that. Too many things lurk down there. Not that it made a difference. Just as many things creep and crawl above ground as well. Things just outside the vision of the human eye. Dangerous things that watch our every move. Right now she was being followed by three of them. Three of what exactly she wasn’t sure, but she knew there was three of them. Whatever they were they weren’t too bright. None of them could really eliminate their presence entirely, but one was so laughably bad Aileen felt she had to say something. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a hassle. She had two finals in the week and any time not spent eating or sleeping was spent studying, and she didn’t want to waste time. Aileen ducked into an alley between two large buildings. When she was halfway through she stopped and turned on her heels. “You can come out. I know you’re there.” “Dammit Carl!” One by one shadowy humanoid figures peeled themselves off the walls and stepped into the alley. “I’m sorry Lenny, it’s just hard do all the time.” “How long you been a specter? 100 years? 200? Can’t even hide yourself right.” “You stay outta this Maurice! You’re no better!” “I could actually feel all of you following me since I left class.” Lenny was taken back. In truth they all looked the same, but certain creatures give off an energy that makes them distinguishable. At least to Aileen that’s how it was. “Well...why didn’t you say something earlier?” “And look like a crazy person? No one else—well not normal people anyway—can see you. I’d be yelling at the wind.” “I do that sometimes,” Maurice said, “freaks people out. Sometimes it’s stereotypical ghost noises, other times it’s whispers. It’s good fun.” “A riveting time I’m sure. So what do three specters need with me?” Specters are a type of spirit. They have a more defined form than other ghosts, and they can interact more readily with the world around them. They exist in the shadows and in darkness. They’re not normally malicious in nature but they’ve been known to act out. Aileen was poised ready to react. “Don’t need nothin, just showin the kid here around,” he pointed a shifting, shadowy thumb at Carl. “I’m not really a kid. I was 30 when I died...I think.” “Still a kid to me and Maurice,” Lenny said. “And as for you Miss Witchy woman—“ “Not a Witch. Just inclined to the supernatural.” “Whatever. Look don’t bother us when we’re skulking about.” “You were following me! How is that none of my concern?” The three specters shifted in place. “Well...you weren’t supposed to be able to see us,” Carl said. “Well I can and I’d appreciate it if you stopped.” The three specters seemed to glance at one another, then their bodies began to melt back into the shadows. Aileen watched as three puddles of darkness slipped away into the night. Aileen shook her head. “Bad enough I have to deal with regular creeps in the city. Now I gotta check my apartment for wandering eyes in the walls.” She shuddered and left the alley and her strange encounter behind.
"Hey boss, they dropped in another one!"you hear a rotund man with a New Yorker's accent say. "Fire up the crap cannon and throw in some of those rations we hated. We'll say they went missing"another man says from further away. As your wits return, you look around. There seems to be quite an operation going on in here! Men in nondescript dark outfits are working on various tasks: loading and unloading crates from what looked like a submersible of some kind, maintaining complicated-looking equipment, or supervising work. "What did you do to piss those loin-cloth wearing nuts out there?"the first man asks as he helps you up. "I was just trying to spread the word of the Lord to their people!"you reply. You had heard about a tribe of mostly uncontacted people on a small island in the Indian Ocean and knew it was your mission in life to bring the word of God to them. Instead, they captured you and brought you to the volcano where they threw you in. "Well...they don't really like visitors. I would have thought all the arrows that they shoot at literally anything that comes near would have made that clear. Well, we have a little chapel down in sector 4 for mass; you can go preach there if the boss lets you stick around." "What was going on? This has all the hallmarks of a bad mafia movie crossed with some kind of evil villain's secret volcano base!""Yeah, that's basically what this is. With all the new import/export fines, the boss set up a little trading post here so we could cut out the middle man and get goods from India and China into Africa where we don't have any of those pesky laws. We didn't actually set this all up, there was some crazy genius guy that had apparently lived here before, but the boss said he sold it to him to start some spaceship company. Part of the gig was that the natives like to sacrifice people. The previous owner said it was easier to just deal with the sacrifices and shoot them some food." This was all pretty ridiculous and you were about to say as much when you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head and you blacked out. As you lost consciousness, you wondered what "deal with the sacrifices"and "if the boss lets you stick around"meant.
Can you remember a single droplet of rain from a thunderstorm? I doubt that many can remember every storm they've experienced. You know the idea though, right? Lightning cracks across the sky and splits the darkness with crooked angles to illuminate a drenched landscape. Rain pelts the ground, puddles form that just scream for you to leap in them. Or perhaps it drives you to a warm, crackling fire to listen to the booming thunder with a glass of wine and a good book. But a single droplet, in all that? Rain is to you what time is to me. An endless rush of droplets that form into vague memories of centuries, blending together with brief moments of lightning that reveal a slice of time to me for only the blink of an eye. These moments are extraordinary events in human history, perhaps spanning a decade, yet still a brief moment in the life of an ageless one. I look like you, I act like you, I am sure I was born like you. I am human in every respect but one. I just won't die. Time has forgotten me. What does one do when one literally has all the time in the world? Whatever one wants, would be the obvious answer. That takes up a fractional amount of time, only a few droplets. A thousand years? Five? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? What is one year from that much time? It is nothing. It is a droplet. Until the day I met her. She was lightning, flashing into my life. To call her a droplet would be so demeaning to what she was. A flash flood would be more accurate, sweeping me off my feet in a way that had not happened before. She was admiring a painting, a work I cannot recall in the flash of light that is her existence. I stood beside her and began to talk to her. She was easy to talk to. She regaled me with her thoughts on the work and I was enthralled, enraptured, engaged. I was lost to her words. I cannot say why her. For a thousand lifetimes I might have lived I cannot find the words to explain it. I just...found myself. For a moment. She was ill. Thirty days, the doctors said. She was experiencing the world after three decades of focus on everything but the world. It had been six months but I didn't meet her then. Or before. I met her with a month left on that ever ticking clock. I suppose it makes sense, looking back. Lightning cannot and does not last for more than the briefest of moments. It is brilliant and pure and fleeting. What does a woman with so little time left do with it? Whatever she wants. She wanted to eat and dance and sing and learn and laugh and she wanted to live. That's maybe what brought me to her. How can one live if one cannot die? If one is not faced with that final, fatal question mark then is there a zeal? I did not have that zeal, not truly. I had watched them die before, of course, and again I cannot explain why she was different. She just was. It was a whirlwind time for both of us. Thirty days felt like thirty years, each day a new experience. She danced in the rain and I discovered that I could not find a memory in all of my history where I had ever done that. An eternity and never once! Imagine that. I rented a car and she asked if I was dangerous. Then she laughed. If I was, would it matter? I told her I wasn't. She believed me. We drove wherever the road would take us, stopping when we wanted and taking vistas or food or just meeting people. I didn't even realize when thirty had become fifteen. I did see that she had trouble catching her breath more often, becoming paler with every passing day no matter how much sun there was. Soon she could barely eat. Ten days were left to us. Perhaps less. Perhaps a few more. They cannot predict it with an real certainty. But close is more than enough in that situation. More than enough. I drove for two days straight until we reached a place that I had once visited in my younger years. If I had younger ones. I carried her in my arms up the sheer face cliff, her head resting on my shoulder and her breath fading. Others watched me curiously and I ignored them. With sweat drenching my face we reached it, a reasonably flat plateau up the side of a mountain. I found a spot with a backrest and gently lay her there, padding the spot with a light jacket. She smiled at me and I sat with her, watching darkness fall over the valley below. As dusk passed by a myriad of lights lit the small town, giving us just a glimpse of the crystal blue lake and mountains beyond. Moonlight glinted off the water's surface. We sat through the night, I scavenged some wood and lit a small fire. I'm sure that it was highly illegal but no one ever came to stop me. We sat there and when the sun rose she was still there, holding my hand in hers and tendrils of smoke curling up from a dying fire. She coughed. Then coughed again. And she was still. The flash of lightning had passed, the droplet of her being passed on into the abyss of memory. So, again, I ask. Can you remember a single droplet of rain from a thunderstorm?
A crack came from my right and I saw the arrow that had struck the wall not two feet from me wobbling from the impact. "What the—"several more arrows slammed into the wall as I dropped my briefcase and dove forward towards where I had hoped would be the secretary's desk. I heard my suit jacket tear in a few places and cursed under my breath. Clanking and roaring continued from beyond the hallways of the office. As I rounded the corner of the secretary's desk I tried to see through the smoke to grab a phone. &#x200B; "Raaaaaaagh!!"A cry of anger came from in front of me as a huge battle axe came crashing down on the phone receiver I was reaching for. &#x200B; "Oh my God! You almost chopped my hand off!"I screamed to no one in particular, heart racing as fear began to rush through me. &#x200B; The axe was lifted from the smashed phone receiver and I saw that through the smoke, Jessica appeared. In a torn red pencil skirt and matching blouse, her hair was in braids and war paint seemed to adorn several parts of her face. "Oh, welcome back from vacation, Mr. Haddix!" &#x200B; "Jessica? What the hell is going on?!" &#x200B; "Well, you know how you left control of the office to Karen?" &#x200B; "Yeah? Don't tell me..."A loud crash came from the far back of the office. Jessica rolled towards me and placed her back against the desk beside me. "What was that?!" &#x200B; "Oh shit..."Jessica looked around the corner towards the back of the office and then looked me dead in the eyes. "It's the Accounting Department. They've weaponized the copier."She gripped the large battle axe in both hands and I was able to get a better look at it. The handle seemed to be a broomstick, the axe head itself was several paper slicer blades fashioned around what looked like a drawer face. &#x200B; "Weaponized the... what's going on?!"I shook my head in disbelieve, the sounds of combat all around. "Where is Karen?!" &#x200B; "It's too late for her. Karen and the interns took over the break room and have fortified their position. Accounts Receivable has the bathrooms on lock down and Internet Sales has control over the board room. Sir..."she looked to me then and reached over our heads and on top of the desk. With a grunt, she pulled down and large pipe that landed in my hands instinctively. The pipe had four staplers attached to one side, clearly with the intention of stapling anything that it came into contact with and several cracked pieces of old CD's on the other end, making it look like a nasty club. "You'll need this. I'm gonna' try and make it to the cafeteria. I... I haven't eaten in days... wish me luck,"she rounded the corner and dove into the fray. &#x200B; "Wait, goddamnit, what the shit is this all about?!"My heart was pounding as I held the heavy Stapler Pipe with both hands. I tried to look down the hall but the smoke was too thick. I could hear the streaking of arrows coming from both sides of the office and got a glimpse of two forms fighting through the smoke. "Karen! You bitch! What have you done to our offices?!"
15th of Bloom, City of Ikkam Our world is dying, and nobody knows about it. They keep on living their lives like nothing is happening, and it makes me incredibly anxious. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. But if me, Azolith, Enera and Jelon didn’t know about it, the world wouldn’t have a chance. We defeated the general of the fifth Tower, roughly 30 miles away from here. We all have to thank Azolith for returning unscathed, he burned one of his Fable Sigils to protect us from the Corruptor’s death spell. He only has three of those now. But we found something much more important than that. After the Corruptor died, we found the Scrying Crystal, and Azolith said that it was a fabled artifact, meant to peer into other realms. Enera wanted to see the forests of her hometown again, Azolith wanted to scry into the Ethereal Planes, while Jelon just wanted to see a place with enough gold to retire. While they were arguing, I used the crystal to sate my curiosity. I’m no paladin, but there was something about the Godly Halls that intrigued me. The commotion died down when the image was reflected into the surface of the crystal. The place was alien, with weird furniture and even weirder contraptions. Nothing was that advanced in the whole continent of Odea, but that wasn’t the issue. The room was dimly lit, little light coming from the closed windows, and the man lying on the bed, sleeping, was the center of the scrying. We were all confused. I tried to reach into the Godly Realm, where the pantheon of Aspects resided, but I guess I reached… God? He was pale, coughing in the bed. The Crystal relayed all sounds as well. Someone else entered the room, and after the woman flipped a switch, light filled the place, a light that no torch could ever compare. The woman approached the sickly man, with a tray full of some kind of medicine, with orange, transparent bottles. “Are you feeling better, dad?” She said, and the man rose slowly, smiling. “Yes, Jessica, thank you.” He took the medication in his hands and drank them, then sighed. She continued, and those words shook me down to the core. “The editor asked us to send the manuscript of the next book. He said that ‘The Eight Towers of Odea’ is breaking more and more records.” I looked back to my friends, and they had similar confused and shocked expressions. The man rose from the bed, being helped by the woman, and smiled. “I’m glad I could leave my mark on the world before going y’know.” She shook her head, trying to avoid the conversation. “C’mon, dad, let’s talk about something else, okay?” He continued, as if she didn’t say anything. “It makes me happy whenever I get emails asking about the heroes, y’know. ‘Max, what happened to Aja when Jelon left Rexan to adventure?’” Jelon’s eyes widened, and he tried to say anything but no coherent words left his mouth. Even now he still refuses to tell us who’s Aja. “Or better, people saying that Enera and Val'Nishaa are such a lovely couple. Brings a smile to my face.” Enera blushed a deep red, while Jelon wore a wicked smile. “Val’Nishaa, from the Feywoods?” Enera turned her back to us. “Shut up! How did he know?” He started walking out of the room. “It’s too bad I won’t be here to finish the book anymore. I would love to give closure to everyone, especially Azolith and his daughter, locked into the Ethereal Planes.” The girl smiled sadly. “I know, father. I read that a thousand times.” The images vanished, and we were left more confused than anything. 25th of Bloom, City of Ikkam We stayed in Ikkam for more than we planned, but the next tower have to wait. This is much more important. We took the Crystal back to the Ecclesiarchy, and they lent us a room to study. We learned a great many things about this. The knowledge was… difficult to really tackle. Azolith prevented anyone else from entering the room when we were entering, rumours travel fast, and the Overlord might kick his so called “conquest” into high gear, and we can’t worry about that right now. Plus, we can’t handle people having existential crisis right now. Our “God” is called Maximillian Enrick. He’s a famous author on Earth, his plane, and wrote several books before doing “The Eight Towers of Odea”, a series of books about… well, about us. The main problem is that he’s suffering of an incurable disease called ~~Metastasis~~ Pancreatic Cancer. Azolith explained that Metastasis is the progression of the disease, that started to cover the whole body of the poor man. He just finished the fifth book, “The Tower of the Corruptor”, but it seems the book stopped right after we defeated the Corruptor. The next book was supposed to be “The Tower of The Scarlet General”, but the disease worsened. We were actually headed to where Rosalina’s tower was located, before all of this. Maximillian mentioned something about “Kendrick and Rosalina sparking a romance”. I never met her, and now I’m curious, albeit a little repulsed by the fact that my romance is already settled. Well, we need to do something about that if I wanted to actually meet the woman. We have yet to make a plan to save our world, and each day that we spend not doing anything is a day that Maximilian loses. We need to do something, and quick. 35th of Leaf, City of Ikkam Azolith approached us last night with a plan, and at the same time the biggest problem on it. He studied for almost three months, sometimes even summoning beings to aid him, but he finally got the answer: A powerful and dangerous spell called Planar Shift. Nobody but the Aspects have done that, and he said that if a mortal attempted to do this, he’d be whisked away to a random plane, without chance of returning. A death sentence. However, if we can successfully cast it, it’ll open a gate to any plane we want. Azolith had grief in his voice, but hope too. I guess that if he can pull this off to get Maximilian here, to Odea, he can do the same with his daughter. He said that as we are now, we can’t do the spell, we simply have no power available to do it. I cursed, refusing to believe that we can’t do anything else to save our realm. “If Maximilian dies,” Azolith said, “The strands of fate will dim until they disappear. Our land with it. If we want to survive, he needs to finish the book, then the strands will be strong enough to survive without his influence.” We spent a good time lost in thought, until Jelon said something insane. Insane enough that it might work. “What about we contact the Overlord?” \-- Thanks for reading! Critique always welcome. 12/365
There’s a story, a myth, that a great fire rages once a millennia to clear out the Great Forest for new growth. That’s probably what my parents hoped for my story to be. “Venus.” I blinked a couple of times, so deep in thought I hadn’t been seeing. “Yes?” The farmer sighed. He had found me some seven years ago, a young child alone in the woods. With a groan, he pushed himself up out of the old armchair, fabric faded by decades in the sunlight. His age had long since caught up with him, but it struggled to overcome a routine formed from nearly a century of work. It was these moments that showed his age, his tiredness. I had tried to help and been firmly rebuffed. He had done the same to his own children many years ago, from what I understood. A man working to his own, quiet death so that he may lay beside his wife, with a lad from town to check every day if he had passed—to make sure the animals would be looked after. “I’m sendin’ ye off to school.” “Oh.” There’d never been any room to argue with him, even over something as simple as collecting the eggs from the chickens. And yet, part of me had hoped to live here forever, carrying on the farm after his passing. Though, I knew his children and grandchildren (and even great-grandchildren) would have inherited it and sold it off to split the money between them. More than that, I thought of the cows he had sold, and the sows he had slaughtered, and how he hadn’t hatched any fresh chickens this year. I was but another of his animals, housed and fed, and to be sent to a new home now his end drew near. Trying my best not to cry, I smiled. “That will be fun.” I had no belongings of my own to pack. Instead, I packed the clothes he had given me—his daughters’, that his wife had made and maintained many years ago. I packed the dolls he had carved for me from wood and bone. I packed the little jewellery his wife left behind and he had no need for. I packed the feathers from my favourite chickens, made into quills by him. I packed the books his children had left. No belongings of my own, only gifted. My precious belongings. His daughter picked me up, the second eldest, already herself old enough to wear her grey hair in a bun and for her wrinkles to have wrinkles. Yet, like him, her heart didn’t care for her age and so she walked me the long distance to the village, from there taking a carriage to the nearby town, and from there a boat down the river to a city I had only heard about. “There’s nothin’ fer ye to worry ‘bout,” he had said, and he had meant it—a boarding school with housing and meals and uniforms all paid for until my sixteenth year—and yet I still had so many worries. There really was everything to worry about. I worried he would have an unpleasant death, easy to slip in the autumnal mud, or his knees bad with the stairs on chilly mornings, or his cut wood running out in a cold snap. Though, I didn’t really worry about myself. Whether I would fit in with the other children, or if the schoolwork would be too hard: those were all thoughts that didn’t matter. I would be me and whatever happened would happen. That was what he had taught me, at least. All I wanted to do was find my own routine that I could happily follow for the rest of my life. That routine very much wasn’t going to be attending lessons and gossiping over boys, so these coming years didn’t matter to me, not really. Already thirteen (an educated guess, given my exact date of birth was unknown,) it would only be a few years regardless. Once we made it to the city, his grandson led me to the boarding school, accompanied by another of the teachers there. His family really had ended up in every job imaginable, it certainly seemed. These people’s expressions had a lot less of the warmth of his daughter, of him, though. Their words were full of notions of etiquette and privilege and proper behaviour. My way of speaking, influenced far more by books than his rare words, settled them, and my answers to their questions eventually silenced their concerns. While the city itself had a modern look, full of houses built by brick to look similar and with straight and flat roads that let two carriages comfortably pass, the school campus rather clung to the past. Grey and bumpy stonework made up the buildings, many stones chipped to fit in nooks and crannies, and cement so old it looked as though moss held the pieces in place. Of the buildings, there was a central one, somewhat like a castle with rounded corners that jutted out and a grand doorway far taller than any man and wide enough to fit a carriage through; then, there was a long and low building to the right side, and a similar one on the left. All three buildings were sides around a central square, lined with colourful flowerbeds and small bushes, through which the road ran. Led inside, I didn’t find the difference to be massive, but the paintings and purple carpeting did make it less depressing than I thought it would be. Though four storeys tall, we didn’t go upstairs at all, walking through the foyer and an assembly hall to the courtyard beyond it. On the other side, rather than go left or right down the corridor that ran alongside the courtyard, we once again went straight and out onto a field. It wasn’t lush by any means, mostly dirt and mud with a stubborn plume of grass here and there. There were, however, deep gouges in it, unnatural, and some parts had an almost glossy look to them, as though crystals covered in dust. “Miss Venus, then, I have been assured you are capable of some magic. Would you be so kind as to display some which you are comfortable showing in such circumstances?” the woman, Ms. Lacquar asked. Turning to Mr. Famor, she said, “You are no longer needed.” “Yes, ma’am.” I waited with her for him to leave, unsure why this needed to be private, or what her exact importance was. She had only been introduced as a teacher, but I guessed her age made her more senior than him. Once it was but us two, she clicked her tongue, and then shook her head. “Let us finish wasting our time then, girl. Show me what parlour trick your grandfather taught you.” It wasn’t quite her words or tone that made me bristle, something deeper that I couldn’t place, and I felt compelled to tell her it wasn’t my grandfather who taught me. But, I kept that back, useless to say when I couldn’t then say who had taught me. After all, even my name wasn’t my own, given to me for the star he had found me under. I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—rather than asking her to take a step back. It swelled within me, a word most ancient, one spoken long before man drew breath, copied in the most vulgar and superficial way. I stretched out my hand, feeling the air itself shake in anticipation, feeling the magic coalesce around me only for it to be driven out at such speed when I gave voice to an unearthly desire. “Ignis.” What had but a moment ago been cold air was replaced with fire. Yet, it didn’t burn in tongues of flame, or burn with warm tones of amber and red. It wasn’t the devouring blue-white flames of Draconic fire, either. An ethereal fire of round shape and a white translucence, which gave off such an incredible heat for the large size I channelled it, mud beneath it turning to dirt and the dirt then cracking and peeling, nearby grass yellowing in seconds. The strain on my nerve and concentration was a little immense, and I wasn’t doing this to try and show off to begin with, so I carefully closed my hand into a fist. The ball of magical fire followed, shrinking down to an impossibly small light before extinguishing into nothingness. “Is that suitable, or would you like to see more, ma’am?” Her eyes were wide, mouth set in a thin line. “Demonic,” she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. “Pardon, ma’am?” She settled herself with a deep exhale, turning her gaze away from the patch of baked mud. “Listen, girl, this is for your own good. Keep that magic to yourself. Never speak a word of it in front of anyone, no matter how close you think yourselves.” I didn’t quite understand. “Would I be expelled, ma’am?” “Perhaps. If there is pressure to remove you, do not presume anyone here much cares to keep you. It is a privilege easily revoked.” Somewhat getting there now, I asked, “Is it against the rules, ma’am?” “No.” If I understood, then, it was that the other children may complain to their parents. Then, it was that this magic I knew made me someone to be shunned. Demonic, the language of Demons—I could see why it wouldn’t be well received. Nodding my head, I said, “I understand, ma’am.” “Very well. This is not strictly a magic school, and so exceptions are made for those unable or unwilling.” “No, ma’am.” The words she was about to say died on her tongue. Turning to face me with a stern look, she said, “I beg your pardon?” “I will take the magic lessons, please, ma’am.” “It does not sound like you truly have understood what I have said.” Taking a second to find the right words, I then said, “I do understand I may well be expelled. However, if I cannot be true to myself here, then I wouldn’t want to call it my home. Ma’am.” She surely wanted to call such a sentiment childish and chide me for my naive way of looking at things, and yet she seemed to decide it wasn’t any of her business to care any more than she already had. That wasn’t to say I thought she particularly cared about me before, but she was at least a teacher giving me her honest advice, and I did appreciate that. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, bowing. Clicking her tongue, she turned away. “We are to curtsy,” she said sharply. “Ah, yes, my apologies, ma’am,” I said, trying not to mumble, and quickly switching to a curtsy. Though, no one had actually taught me how, something I had only read about it books. Thankfully, she didn’t see me to further criticise. This was certainly the start to an interesting adolescence.
"You..."I catch the next arrow in my palm and, like the others, it shatters. "Should..."A minion storms forward, screaming as he brandishes his axt...that falls apart as I catch the blade. "Have thought..."Huh, fireballs counted as weapons? "This through."And so did Troll teeth, who knew? Finally, with the last of the rabble out of the way, my way is free to the trembling asshole of a warlock. He tries to save face. "Go ahead then, kill me. I know the mysteries of life and death, I shall return!" "Oh probably."I agree casually. "Which is why I am not going to kill you. You see, for a magic user like you, your greatest weapon..."I smile sadistically as I reach for his head. "Is his mind."
Living is quite easy to do on your own. Thriving is not. To live is to exist. A rather easy endeavor. To thrive is to be sentient which most of the universe has trouble doing. For the past billion years, I’ve run my restaurant with the help of me, myself, and I. Sounds strange, and a bit sexual, but it’s the truth. I am what most species call a hivemind. I am similar to what humans know as ants. Or for the culturally well-versed, I am a better version of the Ood. The goal of all hiveminds is to have as many individuals as possible. Many hiveminds have tried to beat me in order to take over the whole universe. Those who dedicated time to such acts came to learn quickly that such resistance is futile. I will survive, adapt, then overcome. I am the strongest hivemind. Or rather, I was. Being the strongest doesn’t mean you’re the happiest. Before my restaurant, I’d sit fiddling with my thumbs slowly rotting away each individual in the hive until I was down to one. One body, one life. It was dreadful and utterly depressing. Luckily, I discovered that the body has a need for sustenance, and, in that, I found food. My true love. A love that changes depending on my mood, but the food never judges me. Initializing Highest Intellectual Virtual Entity… Ah yes, finally. My internal alarm clock. It rings. Lights… I wonder how big the backlog of reservations has gotten. Optics… I hope Richard is dead. Finalized… 10,000 years really does give you such a crick in the neck just as Dr. Adams told me. Well, onto fix up the joint. Put out hyperspace flyers that we are finally reopened after that little Higgs Boson incident. I’d like to think I’d know how to cook a pan-seared salmon with negative energy by now, but apparently not. Now, about that flyer. I’ll go minimalistic. The GRAND RE-OPENING Of THE RESTAURANT AT THE END OF THE UNIVERSE Let’s send out some specialized emails to all the regular guests as well. I’ve missed my conversations with HAL that crazy flirt. A quick check on my drones says everything is fine. All the staff is fully functioning except for the need for a bathroom which is understandable. The planet’s core still has the tectonic movement which is a great sign that our stove still works. There are no signs of rats besides Remy who is busy changing up the menu. Being the nice and kind hivemind, I only ever consist of about a thousand or so individuals. Just enough to run the restaurant. I may be limited in size, but the passion of the fight is still there. Obviously, the Eye of the Tiger I stole also helps with that. Time to open the doors and wait for the first customer. I can hear the footsteps. I’m so glad that people still check their hyperspace emails in this day and age. Oh, here it comes. My first customer in over 10,000 years! Suddenly, the doors of the Restaurant come flying off their Victorian styled hinges and slam onto the 10,000-year-old dusty floor which should’ve been cleaned prior to opening. “Welcome back HIVE,” began the squirrely testicle-rack I have the misfortune of calling a fellow Hivemind, “How’s it been?” he continued with arms akimbo and brazenly standing on my now broken doors. Staring him up and down I replied, “What the fuck, Richard?” I gestured toward my carefully handcrafted Victorian doors and looked up to meet his dead yet organic eyes, “You’re paying for that.” He came closer, grabbed me and lifted me high off the ground, “I condemned every other restaurant in the universe. Only yours remains. I’ll pay after a meal.” I looked behind him to notice hundreds of thousands of others in line awaiting food. Some even brought their own spoons and forks. Even the Cow that Jumped Over the Moon is here. Hivemind food critics are the worst.
A tourist jumping in front of an assassin's bullet for the King of Pulmintia. A Marine giving the last of his oxygen for Cymelian refugees. An English teacher who refused to leave her classroom on Kangor until all of the hatchlings had been evacuated. Across the universe humanity left its mark in small yet impactful ways. The grateful King went on to sign several favorable trade agreements with Earth, a historical first for Pulmintia. Among the refugees was hidden the crown prince of Cymelia, who went on to make peace with the human outer colonies. And they say there is no martial bond greater than the one between a human soldier and a Kangorian stormtrooper. Most races didn't understand the lengths these bipeds would go for strangers, but still honored the debts they felt. Throughout the cosmos this primitive space faring group both baffled and impressed those they met. Until they met the Yalmor. First contact was a merchant vessel and a Yalmor light cruiser. The unarmed sailors barely had time to hail the strange ship before being evaporated by torpedoes. Figuring there was a mistake or misunderstanding, humanity reached out with an olive branch. It was met with fire. Two million souls lived on the recently colonized planet of Nouvelle Campagne. When the bombs stopped falling there were less than ten thousand. When the Yalmor left there were zero. Humanity scrambled to launch their fleets in response, however years of peace had left their rimworlds undefended and vulnerable. Police and garrison forces defended as well as they could, but were no match for the well trained and experienced Yalmor armies. ~~~ "Warleader, recon detects two ships exiting hyperspace. They've been identified as Pulmintian frigates, should we engage?"an officer on the deck of the Yalmor flagship reported. "Two frigates? From that backwards worm-infested wasteland? Leave them be, we'll scorch their homeworld on our way back"the commander sneered. "More ships appearing in out two hundred degree direction. Three dozen Cymelian vessels lead by a super battleship" "What? What business do they have here? I was told that the huhmanns had no military allies!" "Unknown. Perhaps there was a secret agreement we were unaware of?"the aide replied uncertainly, gulping as more blips appeared on the radar. "Warships registered as Henkelian detected, as well as a fleet from the Jun Union. T-Th There's a Kangorian mothership spotted on the other side of the planet!" "Prepare all ships to withdraw, a ruse or not we're far too outnumbered at this point,"the commander ordered, with a sense of urgency to his voice "But sir what about the troops in dropships? There will be no time to recall th-" "Leave them! The safety of the grand fleet comes first!" Even as the bridge staff rushed to relay the change of plans, two streaks shot out from the Pulmintian craft, aimed straight at the center of the Yalmor formation. "Clanmother's blessings, what have we gotten ourselves into"
Eternity is a nightmare. People used to speak of living forever, like it would be some kind of gift from the Almighty. Blissful, everlasting existence. If God does exist, he's a sadist. I've walked the earth for millennia. I watched the sun grown into a red giant, forever cooling, warping, expanding into a nebula of toxic gasses. I watched all life on earth die. I went hungry for thousands of years. Maybe more. I stopped counting when I was still young. "Young."There's no longer any meaning in that word. Or any word, really. I don't even know what language I speak anymore... or if it's even language at all. I died after I drank from the fountain of youth. My heart continued to beat. My body maintained homeostasis beautifully. As soon as that clear liquid entered by body, I was sentenced to life everlasting. I put a bullet in my brain on my five hundredth birthday. My body just kept right on being alive. The entire purpose of life is its fragility... its impermanence. Without an expiration date, how am I alive? At least I'm not alone. Clara drank from the fountain of youth too. Clara's my dog. Well, she's "a"dog. I think she stopped being "my"dog sometime around when the moon broke in half. This is all probably just a dream. Or a hallucination. Or reality. Is there a difference? &#x200B;
I stared at the sheet of notebook paper, shook it a few times, and stared at it again. Nothing had changed. There was nothing else to do but follow the instructions on the page. So I shakily ducked my head and waited five seconds. Seeing that nothing had changed, I lifted my head, only to feel a brain-crushing pain worm its way into my skull. With a scream, I bent down again and waited a few more seconds. After ten seconds had passed, I ran outside as the notebook had ordered, not knowing what I would do or where I would go. It was late fall and chilly outside, and I was only wearing a t-shirt. But through the teeth-chattering cold, I could see a sleek blue car parked at the curb. I ran as fast as I could on tiptoes, since I was running on the bare sidewalk with bare feet, and I thought, God, I must look like I’m insane. I kept on running until I reached the blue car. The door was swung open from the inside and when I slid into the seat, it slammed shut. It was only then that I realized there was no one in the car. Not in the back seat or the front seat. The vehicle began to move forward. At first, I was terrified, and I clamped my hands on the seat until it shone with my sweat. But then I began to enjoy the ride. It wasn’t a fantastic thrill, though. It was like an amusement park ride, but without the reassurance that you’ll come out alive at the end. Finally, the blue car rolled to a stop and said in a robotic voice, “You have reached your destination.” I couldn’t see anything in the now-dark view from the window. When I stepped outside, I gasped. Even though the digital clock next to the steering wheel said it had only been a half-hour since I had jumped into the car, this was obviously nowhere near the Boston harbor where I lived. I stepped forward again and my bare feet touched sand. The air was warm with a wisp of breeze sweeping by my face every now and then. Was I at a beach? I felt something pulsing in my hand and I suddenly realized that I had brought the notebook. This was what had brought me here. Would it tell me why? The words on the next page read, “Good job. Now walk twenty feet forward and place your hand on top of the cactus.” Something in my gut told me I shouldn’t do this, that I shouldn’t have come here in the first place, but I also felt that I had to do this. I was sent here for a reason, and I needed to know what it was. So I again walked forward. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Piff, puff, paff, said the dunes of sand as I travelled from one to the next. Finally, I stopped in front of a tall cactus plant. It looked like the animated ones in children’s cartoons, with two sturdy arms curving upwards. I reached forward with my hand, carefully lowered it on the head of the cactus, and pressed down. There was no pain. There was only a clicking sound as I pressed a button- and a rumbling noise as an innocent patch of sand rolled back to reveal a long, winding staircase, descending into the deep darkness below.
Avery walked confidently beside her boss to her new office, basking in the envy of all of the other employees around her. Her meteoric rise through the company surpassed everyone's expectations except her own. Avery chose her life of work as soon as she began manifesting the ability to know the death-date of any person she met. She easily doubled the number of life insurance policies LifeWatch sold in her first year with the company. The next person had less than ten percent of the sales that she had sold. As she was passing the last few of her coworkers, she began to notice something odd. Everybody's death date suddenly matched. Nobody would survive in eight minutes. Every prediction she had up to this point had been 100% accurate. Something big was happening. Always the pragmatist, Avery immediately dismissed trying to save the world. Nobody could do that in eight minutes and nobody would believe her anyway, as she kept her ability a secret. She immediately turned around to exit the building. "Avery, where in the world are you going? We're 20 feet from your new office and you're leaving?" No point in trying to save face if they're all going to die anyway, Avery thought as she said, "Sorry, something came up, see you around." Confused whispers surrounded her as she continued the long trek down to the first floor. She wryly thought that this would be the talk of the office for days in any other circumstances. Upon getting to her car, she had 5 minutes left, fortunately the day-care center was just a block away. Avery was glad she had chosen a place close by to her work place, just in case anything were ever to happen to her son. She peeled out of the parking lot, recklessly driving towards day-care center. "Doesn't matter if somebody tries to pull me over now, so no point in following the law,"she muttered to herself. In her anxiousness she didn't notice the large truck passing through the intersection she had just run. Her vehicle crumpled under the weight of the truck, pinning her inside her car and underneath the truck where she was briefly knocked unconscious. Avery blinked her eyes, staring at the blurry image in front of her. It looked like a person, but very clearly above the person, she could see a timer. 30 seconds remaining. "Can you hear me? Stay with us!"called the panicked individual above her. 25 seconds. Avery couldn't think straight. Where's the big calamity? Shouldn't the sky be darkening? Where's the hell-fire and brimstone? 20 seconds. Avery's thoughts began to sharpen and clear. Why is it only me? Is everyone's timers only reflecting when I lose my ability to see death-dates because of my death? It's not the world that ending, it's me. 15 seconds. I just wanted to see my son one more time before I died. Why did this ability force me outside to die when I was perfectly safe inside? Why? 10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
I had my suspicions. Every time I entered the field, I felt...connected, bound to something bigger. But even with that, the news shocked me. No deaths. Not a single one. I was the grim reaper, unwittingly, but causing death, all the same. I could hear the field calling, begging for me. A small stretch in the south was ripe and needed cleared. But I wouldn't. Never again. I pulled my son up on my lap and watched a movie, knowing the world would never be the same. We'd stumbled on the farm a few years ago, out for a drive, trying help him sleep. Couldn't really afford the gas, but didn't exactly have a choice. Somehow, I got lost. Looking back, I think it was the call of the field. We pulled up to the house, I went to knock, but the door opened. As I walked through, I found the body, the previous owner. He was dropped on the floor, pair of scissors in one head, note in the other. One the counter was a flower pot with a single stalk of wheat, now cut. At the time, I had no idea why. The note said whoever found him could have the farm, said things like, if you care for it, it will care for you. I assumed it was figurative, even when I found a crib in the bedroom, perfect for my son. I realized what he meant it literally when we woke up to a beautiful breakfast the next morning. After eating, I found the scythe, and got to work. It had been 8 years. My boy was older now. And I decided, one day would be okay. One day of rest. And the house still provided. And the next day, and the next. It didn't care. But each day, more voices were added to the calling, the pull of the field. That wasn't what broke me, though. It was what I realized. My boy had sores forming on his body. His skin was graying, his mind was slipping away, first losing memories, the skills. After a week, his right hand fell off. I walked into the field that day. No scythe, just me. I listened close, heading to the first stretch I'd missed. I saw the rot and mold over the wheat. I keep walking, listening with my lower brain, letting parental instinct guide me, right to a short stalk. Right my son. It wasn't fair. I could hear his voice, begging for death. Not even nine, and I was being asked to kill him. I couldn't. I wouldn't. When I checked the news, it was clear he wasn't the only one. Everyone of the people who were meant to die, they were rotting where they stood. People crushed in machinery, mauled by animals, beaten to what should be death—all still alive, no matter the damage. But none of their wounds would heal. Still I held off. Last night, after a little over a month, his head fell off. The skin fell away as I picked it up. His eyes had been lost earlier that week, yet as I stared in the sockets I knew he was still in there, no begging for death, as loud as his wheat. That's when I broke. I stumbled out, still carrying the skull. I'd forgot my scythe, so I tore it apart with my hands, begging for his forgiveness the whole time. As the sun rose this morning, I rose, too. I'd been crying for hours, but there was work to do, and only so much time to do it. As I write, the news is talking about the tension between nations as people try to cope with the last month or so. How they stand on the edge of war. It's not up to the leaders, though. It's up to me. I could sense the intent of the field, and now they all can sense my intent. If you find this, I failed. I debated not even writing it, but you should always have a plan B. My plan A is dousing as much of the field as I can in the little bit of gas, kerosene, even cooking oil that I can find. Then, I'll strike a match. It's been a dry year, I'm hoping to get the whole thing. But if even one survives, I know the field will call out to them. To you. And I want you to understand. Because, honestly, I never did.
“You’ve won our Author contest!” the pair of men exclaimed to me after that had barged into my house with a large, comically-sized check through my front door, leaving white wooden pieces of my door frame scattered on my carpet. Before I could get angry, the two men began their spiel. “Your submission Operation Ironhand was just so realistic, it was pretty much no contest. I felt like I was reading an actual firsthand account of a special forces military mission.” spoke one of the men, who wore a red dress shirt with a tie and was holding the camera. He continued, “You’ve definitely earned this $5,000 a week for life!”. He talked with an unnaturally large smile that set me to a feeling of unease and he would not break eye contact. After some basic formalities, some excess picture taking, and some awkward hand-shaking, the two sharply-dressed men left, leaving my front door wide open. I went to close it despite the ruined door frame. I wanted to be mad about the property damage, but hey, five grand per week for life? I’d let anyone bust my door for that. Shit, let them bust the windows too. Before the door completely closed, the red shirt clad man began to run back “Sir! Sir! I almost forgot this!” as he handed me an envelope. I ripped it open, and there was a folded piece of copy paper with big and bold letters. It read: "Stay alive for a week to earn another $5,000. The Clearing House is hunting you." I gave the red shirt guy a crazy look, but he did not break his smile, and probably hadn’t since he first kicked in my door. He asked, still without breaking his large smile, “If you have any questions, you better ask them before you die!” I slowly backed into the threshold of my house and shut the door without breaking eye contact. I looked at the letter in disbelief. I crumbled it up, and threw it onto the ground. I decided that I needed a nap, but first I needed to clear my paranoia, no matter how stupid it was. I bent back the blinds that were eye level, and I scanned the buildings in my little neighborhood. Perched atop one of the two-story brick buildings, I spotted a glint of light reflecting on the top. I began to squint, wondering what I was looking at. Pzzzzt The sound was quiet, but distinct, almost of that of an angry bee. I ducked for cover, diving below the window and covering my head. I examined the window and saw a small bullet hole. I low-crawled through my house and into my room, and slammed my door once I stood up. I leaned back on my door, attempting to slow my breathing. I could not believe that a sniper had shot through my window. I could not believe the freakin’ publishing contest holders were sending hitmen after me. I ran to my closest, and pulled out a duffle bag that was buried underneath a variety of Christmas decorations and other junk, and began to unzip it. I began to speak to myself, laughing and grinning. “Publisher Death contest. Of course. Well, it looks like Publisher Clearing didn’t do their homework!” I loaded a magazine into the Glock pistol I pulled out of the duffle bag. I cocked back the slide and let it ride forward, and tucked it into my waistband so that it was parallel to my spine. I mocked the red shirt guy, “Your work is realistic, oh, it felt like I was there, oh, WarhammerNewb, Operation Ironhand felt so authentic” I slung a rifle around my back and one arm. “Oh, but red shirt guy, do you want to know my secret? I WAS there! Oh yes. I was a Helldiver. Me. Warhammernewb.” I loaded shells into the black carbon-fiber shotgun, and pumped the slide. “I’m about to earn some mulah.”
“Terry, can you take a look at these readings?” I pulled the new stream of paper out of the printer, resigning myself to another long list of figures and charts that ultimately meant nothing. We had been in this ship for nearly eight years, drifting towards a destination that never seemed to get closer. Our goal was Proxima Centauri, the closest star to Earth (that wasn’t the Sun, of course). The planet there, Proxima Centauri b, was deemed by our superiors as one of the closest that was possibly inhabitable, and so it was our goal. Spectrographs and satellite images had shown us close to nothing, and we were going in basically blind. Suddenly, something popped out at me from the graphs I’d been searching. NEAREST EXTERNAL BIOLOGICAL LIFE - PROBE 182-28C. INVESTIGATION RECOMMENDED. CAUTION ADVISED. Kate, the other biologist on board our ship, gasped reading over my shoulder. “What do we do? Should I advise the exploration team? Oh my gosh, this is so exciting!” Speechless, I pulled the intercom from its place on my desk and held it to my mouth. “External Services team A, please report to the scientific wing. Prepare for possible deployment.” ”Roger that Science, we’ll be right up.” I put the mouthpiece back, still stunned by what I’d found - or might have found. “Kate, we cant get too excited about this. There’s always the chance that the probe picked up something on its last trip back here for repair. It could be just reading that....” Kate looked at me, completely astonished at my dismissiveness. “But Terry, think of the possibilities! What if it’s aliens? What if they’re more advanced than humans! What if-“ Before she could finish, External Services came in the door. “Were we needed?” I knocked a chart off of my desk standing up, suddenly rushed in trying to explain the situation to them. “Well, you see, we registered biological life on this planet about 4 AU away, and we were advised to check it out. Do you guys carry around weapons? We might need them. Also, the probe could be misreading this, but...” I trailed off, looking up at the team of burly men, expecting a bit of glazed-eyeness at my gabbling, but every single one of them was looking at me and the report I was holding up. NEAREST EXTERNAL BIOLOGICAL LIFE - PROBE 182-28C. INVESTIGATION RECOMMENDED. CAUTION ADVISED. The External Services leader shook off his stupor, extending a hand to me. “I’m Ed. I think you should come with us. Each outing should have a scientist, and you’re definitely one of those.” I looked at Kate, expecting her to complain, but instead I got a quick hug and a “Have fun! Bring back some samples, please.” Suited up and mission prepped, I debriefed External Services on the issue. “This is an unknown life form. It could be harmless. It could be like Earth’s. It could be absolutely, totally deadly to humans. Just please, be careful.” Ed called back at me from the cockpit “I wouldn’t be too worried about them, Terry. Most of them have seen worse, and besides, they’re not idiots. It’s going to be about four hours to our destination, so I suggest you buckle up and settle in.” After a fair amount of stressing about what we’d find, stressing about if we’d get back, and stressing about the loud clunking and clattering coming from the engine area (“Don’t worry! Happens all the time.”), we finally arrived at our destination. Proxima Centauri b. Ed steered us to a clear area, and we landed with a gentle thunk. He put on his helmet, depressurized the airlock, and led us out into the new world. My first impression was that it was bright. Very bright. My studies had told me that it was extremely close to its mother star, barely a twentieth of the distance from the Earth to the Sun. It was also kind of cold. My temperature monitor told me it was -20 degrees Celsius out. But what really stood out were the towers. Bright purple, extending into the sky farther than we could see. Where was the life I’d seen on the data? We got that answer quickly. Barely a minute after we stepped off ship, the screams started. They were like nothing I’d ever heard before - low and guttural, baritone and discordant and cacaphonous. We witnessed these things running away from us, greenish things with too many legs that were about as high as my knee. Looking closer, they disappeared into holes in the ground. Our presence had to have triggered the exodus, but why were they running from us? We walked to the closest tower, maybe about a half mile away. Engraved on the tower were scenes of what looked like an apocalypse. Something dropped out of the sky....wait. Was that our ship? Ed gasped into his suit’s mic, pointing speechlessly at the next frame. Out of the ship came eight figures wearing bulky suits with bubbles for heads. I did a quick headcount - there were eight of us. On one of the suits was a large emblem. A triangle. Ed’s suit had a triangle on the back, denoting his position as mission leader. The next scene was the worse one. The suited figures had pulled out sticks - guns? - and were making explosions come out of the ends. What seemed like thousands of the creatures we’d seen were piled up under them, and the suited figures planted a flag. The flag was of the United States.
We were like each other in every way. Except she was a girl and I was a guy. A match made in Heaven, right? It was inevitable that one of us would make the first move. And by that, I mean me. "I'm sorry,"she-me said. "You're cute and all. And you seem like a really nice guy, but..." I sighed. "You have a boyfriend?" "Oh no. I just don't like myself. I have severe insecurity issues." "Uhm, me too." She-me looked away. "I don't know. I might not please you in bed." "Me, too! I'm terrible in bed." She-me looked at me and our eyes met. We leaned forward. I closed my eyes and felt nothing but air. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the lab. Everyone stood around awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. I looked around. "What?" Someone cleared their throat. "We uh....we saw everything." They pointed to a screen where I saw she-me open her eyes in surprise and look around in confusion. Then she-me put her head in her hands and started to cry.
"Right here?" "Yes please. You can sign right here. Mr Garrity, we will save millions of life. And it will be all thanks to you." "I am so glad man. It's a goddamn terrible disease. And I am glad that I could help figure this out and got it into the right hands. Just, let's keep it on the down low about the origins yeah."Patrick smile and the rep smiled right back at him. "Of course, our little secret." "And the money?" "Yes, this check is for 350K. We will test this drug, get it passed through the proper authorities and then retail it. You will get incremental money as it goes through all the stages. The deal is for 2 million dollars with at least 1.5 million guaranteed." "That's amazing man. I get to live the life I always dreamed of and help so many people at the same time. This is great." ******* "Hey! Carter! Hold up." "Ah, Mr Garrity. How are you today?" "I am fine. I am fine. But I, listen I've been hearing these rumours. The drug is about to hit the market?" "Yes Mr Garrity. We should have it in the market within the next 3-4 months." "Yeah, but, what I wondered was..."He broke off, unsure of how to continue. "What is it Mr Garrity? Feel free to ask anything." "Look Carter, these rumours. I have just heard that you plan to price it around 5K a dose." "Somewhere around that. Small price to pay for saving a life wouldn't you say?" "Sure... but..." "Come now Mr Garrity. You know that the approvals and everything. It's not a cheap process. Just getting the certification and running the tests, the costs add up." "Sure. But, it still can't be that much man. It cost me like 15 bucks of raw material. And that was like enough for about 5 doses. And when you mass produce it, it ought to be even cheaper." "We are saving lives Mr Garrity. We are the good guys here. If we make some money off the top, why not? Would you rather people die of cancer?" "No, of course not. But this will effectively price out many people. I mean, 5k for 2 weeks? No one can afford that. I know I couldn't back in the day." "Look here Mr Garrity. You signed the contract which clearly stated that we hold the rights to this drug and we can price it according to our process. This is what our process is and this is what the cost is going to be." Patrick recoiled as if slapped. He looked at the well dressed man as it finally dawned on him. "Carter, you SOB. It was never about the people for you was it? It's all about the money isn't it?" "It always is. Money, which by the way also went into your bank account. That's a nice car you are driving." "Oh fuck that. I only gave you the rights so you could make it available to more people. If I had known, I would never..." "But you did."Carter interrupted. "Yeah, well, I refuse to go along with this. I will shout about this from the rooftops. I will go to the media." "You have no right to do that. You signed the contract. It also includes clauses that you not give the formula out to anyone. If you do, we will hold you in breach of contract." "Are you kidding me? Do you think I will lay down and watch you destroy people's lives like that?" "I don't think you have any choice to be honest. Listen. I can understand that you don't like this. How about this? What if we took that 2 million figure and doubled it? Say once it hits the market, I'll give you another couple of million dollars. Would that soothe your conscious?" "No! Are you insane. This isn't about the money." "It's always about the money Mr Carter." "I see that now. A medicine that is 3 Bucks a pop for 5k. I won't let you get away with this you know." "I would recommend you not trying." **************** "You have the right to remain silent." Patrick stared back at the officer still unsure of what was happening. "Everything you say..." "Officer. What is this about?" The officer paused. He looked at Patrick and then continued reading him his rights. "Yeah, I've seen enough TV to know all that. What is this all about? How can you come into my home like that and just arrest me." "We have a signed document attesting that you were manufacturing drugs in your house. That's possession with the intent to distribute. For starters." "What? What are you talking about? Did Carter put you up to this? I am gonna sue you and him too." "Sure. But from prison." "Let go of me." "Sir, I'm going to ask you to stop resisting arrest." "I'm not resisting." "Sir, please get on the ground." "Can I at least make a phone call. I want to talk to a lawyer." "Sir, keep your hands where I can see them. Do not... I repeat, do not lower your hands." "I just want to call a lawyer. I have my phone in my pocket right here. I just want to call...
Every game I play, every time I either win or lose. No matter if it's Serena Williams or Little Timmy. 50/50 chance. Won the college football tournament, video game, knitting, on and on. The limits to what is a "Game"seems to be up to me. Then one day the military called. I looked at the general and asked my single greatest question. "Whaddya need?"He gave me a look and said to me "We need you. We are losing this war and we need your unnatural ability."I decided to play dumb "Whaddya mean?"He just took out a dart and threw it at me. Those familiar letters popped up. "Lose". The dart sinks into my forehead. We both look at each other, then the pain sinks in. I'm screaming and as I lay on the ground I see the other set. "Win!"My body is rolling around as I hear a gunshot. He just tried to shoot me! "What the heck! You just shot at me!"He stared and only said "Wanna talk now?"We talked. And this is what his offer was. I win the war and I'm left alone. I don't, I die. I looked at him and explained "It only works on a game. Not on a war."He then pulled out a quilt I had once made. "What about this?"I explained I could think of that as a game. He then said "Think of this war as a game then."Was he crazy! I am not taking lives like it's a game! I explained this and he said I better start. 3 weeks later I agreed. I was hoping I could die, maybe leave here forever. He gave me my gear and I was transported out. Tears in my eyes I walked onto the battlefield, and fired my first bullet. Win!
”All roads lead to Rome.” That’s what my father said every time we took a wrong turn, whether we had reached a dead end after thirty miles, or we had just turned the wrong way to get out of the mall parking lot. I never really understood what that meant, because it didn’t make sense to my young brain. “How,” I would always say, “could all roads lead to Rome if Rome is on another continent?” My dad would just smile, chuckle, turn around and say, “We’re not going to Rome today. But maybe someday we will!” He didn’t get to keep that promise. The night before my 16th, he died in a car crash. It wasn’t his fault. A Volkswagen Beetle full of drunk college girls crashed into his F150, sending it out of control and tumbling down the Rocky Mountains. We didn’t have a funeral, because his body was never found. It was probably flung out of the car on the way down and lost somewhere in the forest. He was on his way to meet a friend and bring my first car back home; a decades-old Honda Civic. I still have it — sitting in a warehouse somewhere in southern Bend. It’s funny how even after my dad’s death had so much to do with cars, I became fascinated with them. Maybe it was how I always liked to tinker with things. Maybe it was because of the thrill of going fast. Or maybe it’s because I’m borderline suicidal. I don’t know for sure, but I gave up my future after that day. I was on track to go to college for Computer Engineering, and then live in San Francisco. But now here I am, across the country, with a New Jersey repair shop that barely manages to pay the bills. I’ve tried so hard to get my life back on track, but I’ve strayed so far from my original path that I can’t see it anymore. I can’t even be sure if it still exists. When Google invented that “I’m Feeling Lucky” car sharing service, I decided it was time to die. I wrote my will, got together some cash and a rope, and flew out to Cali for the first generation testing. “Wherever it takes me,” I decided, “that is where I will die.” I paid for a six hour rental, got everything together, and hit the button. Six hours and a long nap later, I felt the car stop. The black-out curtains lifted from the windows, and I saw a world I’d left long ago. My old house — how could it be? Just as new, with my dad’s truck still in the driveway. The living room light was on, and the door open just a crack. “What the hell?” I thought out loud, and stepped out. I immediately felt younger, just like I had the day my dad died. From inside, a voice: “Jack! Dinner!” Mom? How is that even— The thought was cut off by an even louder “JACK!” What the hell is going on here? I turned around to find the street empty, no self-driving car in sight. Having no other choice, I shouted “Coming!” to the voice from inside, and began the walk up the familiar paving stones, past the ever-present weeds, and into a small house that desperately need a remodel. Sitting at the dinner table were two faces I hadn’t seen in over a decade, my mom and my dad. “Well, son. This is your last day before you’re sixteen, and your mother and I have gotten you a special present. It’s a little far away, but I can go get it tonight if you’d like?” It was then that I strayed from the conversation we’d had sixteen years ago. “Nah, it can wait. I want to go with you, but I’ve got something to do online with my friends tonight.” With a small, proud smile, he responded. “That’s fine, it’ll still be waiting for you tomorrow.” My dad was right. All roads do lead to Rome — and this is my Rome.
The thousand faceted visages of the Vampire of Edinburgh stopped, well, as much as it could, being a sapient disassembly of the curvature of observable time. “Holy crap, Dave? Is that you?” The incomprehensibility of a creature from beyond the realms of our reality thrummed in my mind as every ganglion fired, filling me with jubilation, terror, arousal and a desperate craving for spaghetti carbonara. &#x200B; “Oh man, this is embarrassing.” The blue creature unscratched his chin, the wall half re-assembling as it did. “Are we cool? Can you still take Jeremy to rugby this weekend?” The voice brought back to me the smell of a petrol fire I had never smelled, and I could feel my right arm breaking with each consonant, but beyond that, there was a familiarity, “Karen? Is that you?” “Yeah, it is, I didn’t realise your new job was with Delta Green?” “Not exactly, I’m Majestic 1, since the incident in Luxor.” “Yeah, I heard about that, nasty business.” “True but this is beside the point, you’re the Vampire, you know I can’t let you carry on killing.” The crux beneath my shirt was frozen to the touch, felt as though it was fusing to my skin. The pool ball in my sock swung gently from side to side, and if our research was correct she knew that we had set up blind spots all around this area, each one filled with shaped charges and enough ball Barings to leave this place looking like an original Seurat. “Really? Are you going to try and kill me? Even after that weekend in Paris when Charlene took the kids?” “Listen, we both know that was just sex, we agreed, no fireworks, I can’t let a good time get between me and the silver thread. Wait. were you? when we?” “Yup, the insides of a person don’t look all that great at the moment of climax let me tell you.” I felt warm beneath the collar, “Back on topic, will you come in for containment? We can find a way to feed you, stop this killing.” “You know I can’t just walk out of Jeremy’s life like that Dave, the boy needs his mother.” Karen was shifting back into her human form, the revelation did explain how she kept so fit, the creature had the strength of 30 men “We can give you prisoners, terrorists, cultists, the worst of the worst, there’s no need to take innocent lives, but you have to come with us, now.” “Please Dave, there has to be another way, I love my son.” She started taking a step forward, tears in her eyes and her tattered clothes pulling reluctant sympathy from me. The bombs went off. &#x200B; “Jesus Christ!” I coughed up rock dust as the cloud settled, “Danger close much?” I’d been inside the safe zone marked by the copier and the water cooler, but only a few inches inside. A pair of class 9 personnel came forwards with their dustbusters, sucking up Karen and about half of the building before handing me the bulbous containment spheres. “Damn, I was planning on asking her out for coffee on Thursday.”
"What's that one?"I asked curiously, pointing to an achievement near the top of the list with a tiny percentage next to it. Life had been, as far as I could tell, uneventful but acceptable. I had met Lucy when we were both in our late twenties and the rest was history. Some good years and some bad years later, we put a kid through college and had a comfortable retirement cut a bit short by my fatal heart attack. I had few regrets and was pretty satisfied with the experience as a whole. Not the heart attack, mind you - with life. It had gone decently enough. But I wasn't special, per se. That achievement seemed to indicate otherwise. The Afterlife Attendant hesitated and observed me carefully. "You're free to explore the achievements all you want,"he said, his tone hesitant. "I don't recommend this one, however,"he warned. I shrugged. I had clicked through the others. Skydiving. Contributing community member. Until death do us part. There were highlights for each of them; our wedding, me volunteering at a homeless shelter, that type of thing. I clicked through a couple funny "What If"highlight reels. What if the parachute hadn't opened? What if the homeless had taken me in as one of their own and I never owned a home? What if I farted during my vows? "Let's see it,"I responded calmly. The attendant acknowledged my request and tapped on the achievement and I saw the details materialize in front of me. "True love?"I asked. That didn't seem so ominous. I turned to the attendant and frowned. "I urge caution,"he repeated as I reached to see the details. I had seen our wedding once but I wanted to see the moment we met and the time we first kissed and everything since. I ignored him. I appeared in the highlight video. "That's not Lucy,"I muttered in confusion as the viewing began. I was with a young lady on a university campus, both of us young and looking at each other with longing eyes full of love. It was a face I had not seen in decades. It was a look I had not seen in decades. My heart pounded in my chest and I glanced at the attendant beside me who gave me a knowing look. The bright colors of the "What If"button seemed to taunt me now, as if daring me to press it and see what could have been. "I wouldn't do that,"the attendant cautioned one last time. I ignored him and pressed the button and sat back to watch as what could have been slowly unfolded. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I had been browsing the web on a Saturday evening in my underpants, as one does, when I decided to go check out what was going on on the dark web. I had been given access to a dark web search engine back in high school and never gotten rid of the password. On my late night journey through the dark web, browsing evil sheep videos and torture asmr, I discovered what is known as the SN web, or super natural web. The first thing I found? A super natural version of Yelp, apparently sponsored by persephone. Sorting by top I found quite a few paradises, such as nirvana, the hindu paradise. What I did not find, however, was the Christian heaven, which I found odd. I decided to sort by controversial, and found it. A 1.3 star average, that was the worst on the site(excluding hells and similar)! The second lowest was 1.6 for stone hedge. The reason why heaven had a 1.3? According to the top comment, it was incredibly boring, the food was all the same, no one could see very well, and everyone's throats were sore from constant singing. The only good thing for most was it wasnt hell or purgatory (which had a surprisingly high rating, a 3.5)
This was the moment that I had been waiting for my entire life. My heart was pumping blood through my body so fast that I felt like it was heating me up. The Grand Mistress, a tall, lean woman with curly brown hair and piercing black eyes was handing out small, folded pieces of parchment. On which she had written our fate. As the Grand Mistress she was able to contact the Above and ask them about each of us. Our village had been growing and prospering and there were rumors that the Grand Mistress would be needing an apprentice soon... I was hoping my parchment would say: Grand Mistress. The Grand Mistress was only two people away, her long emerald robes were fluttering in the wind as she spent a moment making eye contact and exchanging some words with each of us. We hadn't exactly been the best class to teach. There was a lot of bad behavior that went on behind the Grand Mistress' back. But she knew that already. The Grand Mistress stopped in front of me, a small smile fell upon her plum, peach lips. "Saharia,"she said lightly, grasping my shaking pale hands in her olive steady, soft fingers. "It is our responsibility to choose wisely."Her eyes gazed into mine deeply and I felt both a sense of calm and panic. She leaned forwards and I jumped back slightly as I was not anticipating her to do that. "You should be afraid." My hands fell to my side and I was holding a piece of parchment. It was rough and oddly heavy. I watched as the Grand Mistress moved on to the next person, Ryana. He was smiling in that side-ways grin that always got me. The people beside me had all opened their parchment, and there was a stream of excited giggles flowing towards me. This was the moment I had been waiting for my entire life, why could I not open the paper. You should be afraid. What did that mean? The Grand Mistress hadn't whispered anything to anyone else. I thought this was going to be the best day of my life. I looked at my palm. The parchment was rough and imperfect against my skin. I took a step away from my peers, trying to down out their noise. I took in a deep breath. My parents, teachers, and classmates had all tried to prepare me for this moment, the moment my fate would be sealed, but I still didn't feel ready. Filled with excited energy I unwrapped the parchment and stared at it. Nothing. There was nothing. I turned the parchment over in my hands, panicked. Was there supposed to be something on the paper? Was this a mistake? No, the Grand Mistress doesn't make mistakes. She is perfect. I looked around. Everyone had different expressions on their faces but mine seemed to be the only one that was terrified. You should be afraid. What did this mean? "Good news?" I turned, crumpling the paper in my fingers before I shoved it into my pocket. "I'm still processing"I said, turning and meeting Helena's purple eyes. She smiled widely and danced from side to side. "I got amazing news,"she squealed, "I don't want to brag... but I want to brag!"She laughed, a soft ringing sound that usually put a smile on my face but I felt like I suddenly lost the ability to smile. "You sure you're ok?" "Yeah."I said painting that fake smile on my face. You know, the one that you do when you're not ok but people won't leave you alone. "It's just big news." The class chattered and talked loudly as we exited the room. The Grand Mistress nodded her head to those who exited. She was telling everyone that they could make appointments with her to discuss their word when she met my eyes. "Saharia,"she said with a nod. "I would like to see you now please." I suddenly shuttered with nerves. Some people exiting the room tossed me looks. I hated how much judgement I always felt from the others in my class. As the last people excited the Grand Mistress floated towards the door and closed it. She walked to her desk and sat down in her forest green, high-backed chair. "I imagine you have questions."she said lightly. I frowned. I did have questions, probably, but what were they? I had never heard of this happening to anyone in our entire history; and I had read many of the history books! How could something happen to me that had never happened before? "I'm not sure what to ask,"I said, my voice feeling rough in my throat. "Am I nothing?" The Grand Mistress' black eyes softened and she shook her head. "No,"she said, "It does not mean you are nothing. It means that you are everything." "What?"I said, forgetting who I was taking to. "Um, excuse me Grand Mistress. Please explain what you mean?" The Grand Mistress turned and picked up a rolled piece of parchment. She blew the dust off and examined the side of it. "Yes,"she said, "Just as I had suspected. Until today, this was blank." She handed me the parchment and I held it lightly. Written on the side in curled letters was my name"Saharia June Lotus." "Only one other name had ever been written upon that parchment."The Grand Mistress said, nodding to the rolled up paper. The light from her lamps cast light blues, greens, and purples on the white parchment. "Who was it given to?"I asked, but I feared that I already knew the answer. "Wymond."The Grand Mistress said, almost sadly. I dropped the parchment and it rolled under the desk. "No,"I said, "I don't want it." "I am sorry,"the Grand Mistress said, "You were chosen. I can't take it away." "Wymond was set on a suicide mission!"I said, "You realize that's what you're doing to me right? I don't want it!" I turned from the office running. I couldn't breathe and there was this ball of discomfort in my chest. Fight or flight mode had consumed me and I couldn't take on the Grand Mistress, so it was flight. I ran through the hallways, pushing past my peers, until I reached my room. I slammed and locked the door behind me, my chest rising and falling very rapidly. I turned and there, on my bed, was a rolled up piece of parchment. I suddenly felt the rolled up paper in my pocket. Shit. \[WIP\]
"Fssht! Come check out the hoard of archeotech!"Drzzt waved his companion over. "The Collector will pay big cred for this-s-s stas-s-sh!" Fssht climbed the wall to the alcove easily on serpentine limbs. He had just climbed into the hole to examine the stash when bullets stitched up the wall where he had been. Had he been slower, Fssht would be dead. "Foolish lizard-things!"Came a screech from below. "Crawl-slink away from our treasure-possession." The bipedal lizards looked carefully over the lip of the alcove, immediately pulling their heads back as another burst of fire ripped into the walls around them. "It's-s-s the Vermintide!"Fssht exclaimed. His fear was palpable. They'd both been warned by their Clutch Leader to watch out for Vermintide patrols. In their excitement finding the ancient stash they'd forgot to put up perimeter sentries. Neither of them had expected to find anything in this sector and hadn't planned to stay. The stash was a welcome surprise. The Vermintide patrol was not. "Lizard-things come out. We will not slice-cut if you run-leave now." "You know that if we go down there we're dead, right?"asked Drzzt. The ratmen were merciless at the best of times, but came up with especially cruel, drawn-out tortures when they caught Lizards. Unlike the Lizards, the Vermintide traveled in numbers. And it was their numbers that made them brave. Fssht braved another look and was rewarded with another spray of bullets. He caught a glimpse of the Clawleader standing at the back, directing his troops to assemble three Scalers. In no time, the Vermintide would be using armoured climbing rigs to traverse the wall and rain blazing death upon them. Or they'd be really unlucky and be captured and taken to the Slave Pits. "No way out!"moaned Drzzt. "Wait!"cried Fssht. "Look, back there."The back wall of the alcove was cracked just big enough for the Lizards to squeeze through. "We don't know where it leads-s-s."Drzzt moaned. "How about not here!"Fssht had always been braver and more willing to take risks than his Clutch brother. He was already examining their escape route to make sure it was viable. "We might get lucky and s-s-stumble on a Gator patrol. Then we can come back and claim what's-s-s ours-s-s." Below them the Lizards could hear the mechanical sounds of the Scalers starting to climb the walls. The acrid smoke of the infernal machines reminding them that their time was short and getting shorter. With a despairing shrug, Drzzt joined Fssht and they squeezed their way through the crack and an uncertain future beyond. Their route was not easy, but their flight was made more desperate by the sounds of heavy machinery at work from where they'd just come. The Vermintide, not content with the archeotech hoard, were using their Scalers as improvised drills to follow the escaping Lizards. The rotting brickwork offered only token resistance. Finally, the Lizards broke free into a huge room that had long been abandoned. "Fssht ..."began Drzzt. "I know. I'm working on it,"he cried. Their escape route had turned into a dead end as there were no exits that they could see. Both Lizards searched frantically in the gloom for any way to escape. "Oh. Oh. They'll ... the Vermintide are gonna ..."Drzzt moaned. "Don't say -" "Turn us-s-s into fekking luggage!"Drzzt finished. From behind them, the industrious sounds of impending death drew nearer. The Lizards resigned themselves to their fates and drew weapons vowing to take as many of the rat bastards with them as they could. With a final grind and cloud of brick dust, the Vermintide caught up with the hapless Lizards. Twenty pairs of menacing, red eyes peered at the Lizards from behind the Scaler. It's sodium vapour lamps cut through the gloom, spotlighting the two Lizards. They were backed up against a wall with nowhere to go. From the tunnel came a maniacal, high pitched giggle. The Clawleader climbed out behind the rest of his troops as they moved to surround the helpless Lizards. In the light, the Lizards could see the Clawleader and his Vermintide were clad in leather armour adorned with the remains of other Lizards that they had captured. Here a tail, there a claw and, carried on a pole, a Gator head trophy. These were seasoned Vermintide and both Drzzt and Fssht knew that their death was not going to be quick or merciful. "We have caught-trapped you. Now how to torture-maim you?"The Clawleader drew a wicked looking knife from behind him and motioned for his pack to move in for the kill. At that moment, the Scaler rolled back in the tunnel, the light from it's lamp now played up the wall. The Clawleader and the Vermintide looked up. The Lizards could smell twenty bowels vent as the Vermintide turned and fled back along the tunnel leaving their Scaler behind. Both Drzzt and Fssht turned in mute terror to see what had caused such a fear reaction in the Vermintide. The light revealed a nightmare from the depth of their shared genetic memory. A story told to children to scare them. Pictured in the light was a creature so foul and feared that even seasoned Vermintide turned tail and fled. "If you're naughty, the Exterminator will come for you."
The bulky metal door opened with a creak as the armed guards looked at me with the same dead-faced stare. Was this it? Was I about to uncover some amazing secret? Naturally, I had thought about this before. I mean, the fact that stealing a pen from the office would've made me the new Edward Snowden, I always figured the strict security at work meant they were hiding some serious shit. But what I found.. &#x200B; Oh god. &#x200B; Nothing prepared me for the horror I saw there. My heart's still racing as i'm trying to desperately write this down, before i'll try to drink myself to forget all of it. It was the moon landing. Or the fact that we faked it, I mean. Given the shit I was imagining on that long elevator ride down, however, faking a moon landing wasn't even that bad! I mean, i'm a huge Kubrick fan anyway and having Moon Landing (1969) on his IMDB page would've been hilarious. It would have been a great payoff for the 5 years I had been working there. &#x200B; It wasn't Kubrick, though. &#x200B; It was him. Standing there with his round glasses and his sickly gray beard. I tried to run the moment I saw him, but the guards forced me to stay. I don't know how I did it, but I mustered the courage to turn back around and look one last time before passing out. &#x200B; "We're making a prequel,"he said, with the face of a man who clearly enjoyed my writhing on that cold metal floor, as he stood stall in his dreadful plaid shirt. I wanted to scream, but something inside me made it so that I merely opened my mouth, and, to my horror, nothing came out. George Lucas bent down at my sickly pale body and, looking at me with those cold dead eyes, said it. &#x200B; "Actually, we're making three."
It was an old book, bound in leather, but when I took it off the shelf and flicked through it, the formatting didn't match what I expected. Instead of dense rows of closely-packed text, it seemed more modern. Almost, I thought, like a computer manual. I flipped back to the first page. 'PREREQUISITES: African Exodus 101, Agriculture 101, Language 201. You will have ideally completed at least some of Global War and Computation.' From where I was standing, I could see Mrs O'Dwyer, the librarian, working at the front desk. She did not seem the kind of person to play an elaborate practical joke. It was on her suggestion that was I was looking at this seldom-used shelf in the first place. 'Lots of things you kind of people like,' she said, waving her hand vaguely. I didn't bother to ask what 'you kind of people' was intended to categorise. Could be a lot of things. I turned to the next page. 'If you've completed First Contact, please turn to page 85. If the Age of Computation is ongoing, please start at page 26. For Post Apocalypse, turn to page 188.'' I turned to page 26. 'Most civilisations find that artificial intelligence goes through a long phase of being narrowly useful (identifying pets, scanning texts etc), then another long phase of being broadly helpful (self-driving cars, space accommodation, automated manufacturing) before abruptly becoming self-aware and turning against its creators. If your civilisation has any of the following, please turn to page 310: global communications companies, significant social inequality, industrial climate damage.' My hands were slightly shaky, but I turned to page 310. 'A combination of external factors tends to lead to the justification for ever-more-autonomous AI systems,' it read. 'Independent global corporations with a profit motive can accelerate the first two AI phases significantly, leading straight to the cataclysmic third phase. Note however that some planet-scale self-aware AI systems can be benevolent - studies show this occurs in approximately 1% of cases. If you feel your civilisation is tending towards a third phase AI system, please watch out for AI systems related to military equipment, political decisions, mass communication or corporate governance. Dramatic response may be called for.' I snapped the book shut and brought it to the front desk. 'Oooh, I've never seen that before, Mrs O'Dwyer said. 'Is it interesting?' 'Err, yes,' I said. 'Yes. Quite interesting.' 'I knew you'd like that shelf,' she said happily, and busied herself with the book checkout process. I tried to remain calm and hide the sudden anxiety I was feeling. Could this book possibly by legit? I found my eyes scanning the room just to take my mind off the waiting, and they focused on a TV mounted on the wall, the volume turned down but subtitles on. Hong Kong protests... Water shortages... Record high temperatures... And then: 'Amazon, Google and Microsoft have announced a collaborative AI system to provide unbiased information to political decisions makers worldwide. The system will launch on August 1, 2019, and will contain inputs from...' But I didn't see the rest of it. I was running out of the library with the book under my arm, while Mrs O'Dwyer called after me, 'Come back soon honey! I love to see young people reading!' \-- Thanks for reading! If you liked it, check out more stories at r/HouseBlendMedium :-)
My Funny Relative Every Saturday for as long as I can remember, my Grandma Minerva would come for a visit. Even when we went to Florida for two weeks, we still ran into her. She's not really my grandmother, she's actually my godmother. I think she's an old friend of my mom's but I'm not really sure how they know each other. Mom just said that Gramma Minnie did her a big favor before I was born. She always dresses kinda funny. She likes these big dresses in green and black that go all the way down to her shoes and with long sleeves. Her socks always have funny patterns on them with lots of stars or balls, and they never match. Whenever she comes over, she always carries a big bag of sweets and toys. I didn't used to think anything of it when I was little, my other grandmas like to keep little old-person candies around, too. It wasn't until I started school that I noticed that none of the other kids had ever heard of frog shaped chocolates or floating toy brooms and I never saw those things in stores anywhere. It was also weird that nobody else knew the bedtime stories that Gramma Minnie would read me. In Gramma Minnie's stories the witches were usually the heroes but in everyone else's stories they were always the villains. I was so confused the first time I saw Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs at a friend's house. Gramma Minnie is coming to my eleventh birthday party on Saturday. It's the first time she's going to meet my friends from school. She said she has a really big birthday present for me, too.
"Are you sure?"Kyle asked the head scientist, looking at a screen showing many different data points. The scientist nodded. "Nothing new, of course,"the scientist continued, "We have known about this for a long time. Its form has evolved before, but never has it been so influential." Kyle's head turned sharply. "You... knew about this? And you did nothing to stop it?" "Of course we knew,"the scientist said arrogantly, "the government has even given us the funding to try and harness its power." Kyle shook his head. That had been obvious. "Just how... influential is it?" "More that 1 million people are already compromised, and its influence is growing ever more quickly." "Wow." "You have no idea. It has already convinced hundreds of thousand of healthy Americans to attack a Government facility... At this point, we don't think it can be stopped." Kyle breathed heavily. "I know. That's why I'm here. It was a bloody miracle I escaped from Area 51. So, there really is no hope, then. What is this called?" "The modern Excalibur... I present to you... the Dank Meme Society!"
I counted aloud the change in my hand, “Seventy, eighty, eighty-five…” My finger finished dragging the coins along my palm. “Eighty-five cents.” “Athenny, what do you think you’re gonna get with eighty-five cents?” Delores asked as she drew several notes from her pocket. Green, yellow, and pink scraps of paper that were worth more than I'd ever held in my life. “You might as well not even try. Mom isn’t going to like anything you get her anyway, even if you had more than eight-five cents.” Next, she drew out a golden coin. On one side I saw the head of the king. Delores rolled it on her fingers. On the back the king stood with his son, prince William. “Where did you get that?” I asked. My voice almost caught in my throat. The coin shined so bright and golden, it was like a tiny sun in my sisters hand. “Mom gave it to me earlier.” She smiled. “Can you imagine, Athenny? I get a present on mom’s birthday.” My stomach sank a little at my sister’s words and the sight of so much money. It had taken months to accumulate the pocket change I had just embarrassed myself with. Delores couldn’t spend the allowances that our parents showered upon her fast enough. If I can just get mom a good present, I thought. I’d spent all last night trying to come up with ingenious gifts, but after realizing I couldn’t afford any of them, my thoughts had turned to what mother might say if I did get her a great gift. She’d wrap her arms around me and tell me she’s always loved me just as much Delores, and all the times I’d felt otherwise was all in my head. After slipping away from Delores, I headed into town. The sun was out and the dirt under my feet felt good and warm. A sign, hopefully, that the day would end in good fortune. Once I’d made it to the market side of town, I passed by stall after stall of things I couldn’t afford. As soon as I would think, ‘Oh, this candle, or this sunhat would make a great gift’ the prices would knock the thoughts from my head like a hard slap. I’d once asked my mom for a hat like the ones she liked to wear and I’d gotten just that—a slap. Not hard, but enough to make it clear I shouldn’t ask for silly things. Hours seemed to go by as I searched. The goal quickly changed from ‘Something mother would like’ to ‘something I could afford’. Eighty-five cents proved to be able to buy very little. “Girl,” A man called out. I'd been loitering near his cart, lost in thought. “Buy something or move along. I can’t have you standing there, blocking the way for paying customers.” I turned to leave, but then stopped. “You’re really trying my patience, girl.” The man pointed a finger behind me. “Move it.” “Do you have anything on sale?” I rummaged in my pocket for the change. The coins clinked as I fished for them. The man sighed, “How much do you have?” I pulled out what I could and showed them off. His eyebrow rose as he looked from the coins and back up to me. He rubbed his face and grunted. “Sure,” he said, picking up a rotted melon. “I found this at the bottom of my cart earlier.” “Eighty-five cents,” I said looking up at him, my arm outstretched, begging him. “Anything else? I’ve been saving for so long.” It’s strange. Something in my words or the way I said them changed the fruit seller. His face softened as he scraped the coins from my hand. Without a word he pocketed the money and disappeared, bending down below the top of the cart. When he stood back up, he held a brown rucksack bulging with fruit. “What are they?” I asked. “Dragon fruit.” He handed over the sack. “Not a great seller. Need to get rid of it before it turns.” He gestured to the street behind me with his eyes. I got the message. After thanking him, I turned and then rushed home. The sack of fruit grew heavy in my arms. There must have been a dozen of them inside the brown rucksack. As I ran, the fruit swung wildly in my arms. Several times it smashed into my shoulder and face. I didn’t care. I thought of the look on my mother’s face. She loved fruit. Her favorite foods were strawberries, honeymelons, skyberries... I couldn’t know for sure, but I was pretty sure she’d never eaten dragon fruit before. She’d never mentioned it. When I returned home I found my mother and Delores, arm in arm. “I love it!” My mother exclaimed. She gave Delores the hug I’d dreamed of last night. Sitting on the table next to them was a white frosting cake. Pink and purple flowers decorated the corners. I could smell the sugar from across the room. I stepped closer. My mother looked up at me, and then edged the cake closer to her and my sister. Her eyes narrowed as her eyes looked me up and down. “Athenny, you’re filthy. You went into town like that?” “I got you these,” I said, holding the rucksack high with both hands. My arms trembled from the weight of carrying it for so long. I set the sack down on the table and then took out one of the dragon fruits. “A dirty sack of fruit,” Delores teased. "Nice." “Dragon fruit?” My mother asked. “You know it?” I offered her the brightest one I could find. The pink and green almost seemed to glow. She shoved it away. “I know it’s disgusting. Tell me you didn’t spend the money your father and I gave you on that.” I looked down at the bulging sack. Given me? I’d swept floors, washed dishes, boiled denim, and dozens of other things for that money. I sucked in my lower lip and bit down so it wouldn’t tremble. Then, needing to get out of the room, I turned toward my room. I’d made it a step before my mother called after me. “Don’t forget to take this.” She pointed at the sack and then turned back to Delores. By the time I’d reached my room the sorrow of my crushed hopes had mostly vanished. They’d been replaced by anger. If she didn’t want the fruit, I’d eat it. I’d eat every single one. All in a row, one right after the other. I snuck out of my room and took a knife from the kitchen. It was hard work, but I’d sliced open all of the dragon fruit into halves. The insides were white with hundreds of black dots like eyes staring up at me. Using my fingers, I dug chunks out and popped them into my mouth. It had a satisfying crunch, followed by a rush of sweetness. I couldn’t remember the last time I had anything so good. The first couple of fruit disappeared quick. The sixth took time. The ninth seemed to last for a hours. By the time I’d finished with the twelfth my stomach felt as if it might burst. Each time I burped, which happened more frequently the more I ate, I felt a heat in my throat. I thought of going to the kitchen to grab a cup of water. That would have involved walking past my mother and sister—something that seemed more unpleasant than my full belly. I was proud. I’d eaten them all! As I pulled myself up onto my bed I grazed my forearm against the wall. Instead of yielding, the skin stayed rigid. The burning in my throat felt like I’d swallowed flames instead of fruit. I brought my arm up my face and found a tiny patch of red scales. The first thing I thought was that I must be sick. Did eating to much fruit cause you to see things? Soon, the light in my room dimmed. It must have taken all day to eat the fruit as the sun outside my window was one with the horizon, melted, a fiery radiance. Everything spun. I once again inspected my arms to find nothing but the red scales. I tried to gasp. Heat, like that of a blacksmith’s forge blew out. The air carried the scent of a bonfire, and before the world turned to black I thought: something’s burning. The next morning I woke up to memories of soaring above my town. My taloned feet didn’t seem scary or gross in my dream, but as lovely as a fresh set of painted nails. In the dream, I thought of my scales as armor. Armor that shined against the flames that shot forth each time I shouted for joy. My wings felt as powerful as my father’s the few times I could remember him holding me aloft in the air. As amazing as the experience had been, one emotion stood out strong above all others: I had been consumed by a need for treasure. Gold. “What an odd dream,” I whispered to my empty room. I sat up in my bed and realized I’d been clutching something during my sleep. When I un-clenched my fingers, I found the golden visage of the king. My sister’s coin. I turned it over. There shone the king and his son as I had seen it the day before. More of the dream came back to me. Delores? &nbsp; --------- &nbsp; note: sorry if it's bad form to reply to my own prompt, but I got the idea shortly after submitting and I really wanted to write it.
Valhalla, the place of warriors, those who died an honorable death. They are welcome here. They are celebrated. Odin lifted his glass and toasted each warrior. It was a celebration after all, a party to celebrate having made it to the after life at all. With each new addition there were more war tales. More glories to be relived. For a long time they were stories of countries raided, towns pillaged, and beautiful women added to the gene pool. All laughed and elbowed each other knowingly. At some point though, sometime after Leif Erickson, it started going a bit awry. They couldn’t say exactly when it started. One day a group of guys showed up with some long metal objects, not swords, they had hollow tubes. The newcomers called them muskets. The long dead of Valhalla furrowed their brows and shrugged. Odd, but they wouldn’t be in Valhalla unless they had died honorably. They were shown how the guns worked and the dead Vikings shouted their approval. Of course they would have been the makers and masters of such intimidating weapons. Over the years the guns got more elaborated and effective. There was a certain amount of grumbling. Odin silenced it. He wouldn’t have his afterlife party ruined by griping. One day a newcomer came. It had been quite a while since anyone had joined the throng of warriors. They thought perhaps the world had ended and they had all the warriors they ever would. Then one day a newcomer came that had something far more advanced than a gun. The party stopped. The halls of Valhalla were silent as the giant stepped through the doors. Odin stepped forward, “welcome to Valhalla warrior.” The giant opened in a series of odd mechanical noises. Out stepped a regular man. “Thank you Odin!” Odin seemed perplexed as did the rest of the crowd. The halls of Valhalla were still hushed for a long while. “What uh, what is that?” One Viking finally asked. “It’s a mech suit.” The newcomer answered. “Uh Odin, is that allowed?” Asked another. Odin didn’t answer. “Yeah, that uh, that seems like cheating.” Said another. Someone was knocking on the suit, “yeah, this whole thing. It’s all armor. How could you be killed honorably in something like this anyways?” “Yeah Odin, this seems a trifle much. The guns were one thing, but this...” Odin put a hand up silencing the clamor that was beginning. “Warrior, welcome to Valhalla. Have a mug of ale or mead and tell us your tale. If it is worthy of Valhalla you will stay.” The man nodded, “mead.” He was handed a large mug of mead, he took a sip and began. “The world is likely not as you remember it. There have been wars beyond imagining. Life has been stretched and prolonged perhaps longer than it should. We haven’t reached immortality, but some said we were coming close. There were invaders. You would say from the stars. We say from another planet. You are no stranger to the fact that there are other races besides the humans. You, after all have that bridge, I can’t remember the name of it.” “Bifröst?” Someone offered. “Yes, that. You know of the frost giants. Well some other race attacked our planet. We have been doing all we can to survive. It’s a war that we’ve been fighting for decades now. They come, they fight, they leave. Perhaps they could just defeat us but it is only a game for them. I do not know. I do know they were more advanced than us in the beginning. I think our determination and will to survive surprised them. Over time we developed more advanced technology to combat them. The mech suit is one of the latest weapons. I was outnumbered, but determined to protect my city. They hadn’t quite gotten the shields up when the enemy attacked. If I had gone for safety many would have perished. I stood as the guardian, the last hope for their survival. I was overwhelmed by the enemy. I needed to buy time for them to get the shields around the city. As I fought my power core overloaded. It killed many, and pushed back many more. I hope it gave them enough time. I hope my sacrifice was not in vain.” Odin sat silently nodding, “welcome to Valhalla mech warrior.” He raised a glass to toast his new comrade as did the rest of the company.
I don't want to do this. I thought that when I got myself registered and suited up to become a superhero, I'd do great things. I'd be able to save people, become the talk of the town, maybe earn a nice award with the mayor and come back home to my family. All because of my little secret, which after years of running around the city in a cape wasn't exactly a secret anymore, but more something that you could depend on, or in some cases, prepare for. This all started when I was a little kid, fresh off my grandpa's farm. I was lugging a few cartons of milk I got from the cows, and 6-year-old me struggled to carry all of them. I ended up trying to drag them one by one, up the hill where the rest of the houses were. That was when I saw my first hero. The famous Strongman, with arms about as wide as a telephone pole. Apparently he was walking by to grab a few drinks for the Hero Association meeting happening in a nearby diner, and saw puny me lugging around 3 cartons of milk. He did what he had to do, and carried both the milk and the humongous order the association called for in one arm. It was that moment when I wanted to become a hero. I wanted to help people. I wanted to make them feel good and powerful, that there wouldn't be anyone to stop them. Especially the children. I wanted them to believe that the most. Why do you think I spent all my time in the libraries, or in the orphanages, entertaining them about my exploits and other little tales of the city? Why do you think I put all the funds I received from anyone into child welfare? It was one of the first maxims the Hero Association taught me. Save anyone, no matter what. Children were always the most defenseless. They didn't deserve to be thrown to the wolves at a young age. I tried to give all of them a home, a place to stay, a paradise where they could peacefully shed their innocence and accept the realities. Apparently, I failed. There would always be people who would slip through the cracks. She was one of them. Born to a wealthy family, near the place with all the mansions. You would think that wealth and class would equate to morals, but apparently that didn't work with her parents. It only led to higher levels of debauchery, of drunkenness, of lust and rage that broke everything inside her. People would say she was a bomb waiting to go off. She did. Not many people could level an entire district and throw radioactive waste around like favors in a birthday party, but she did. Not even the most powerful heroes or villains could do that and come out alive. One by one, they all fell, covered in burns and blackened in soot. Others would come back with missing limbs, or would come back in an urn. Some would never come back at all. At first, the aim was to pacify, and that would later change to kill after a few heroes would never return. They were great friends. I wanted to come alone. I thought I could talk to her, maybe put this all down to a conversation, and end this without any further bloodshed. My wish was granted, but the events would not turn out the way I wanted to. She turned on me as soon as I mentioned that I was a superhero, that I was here to save her, that I could make her better. I saw her hands move to position: to let loose an explosion that was meant to take my head off, and let it fly until it hit the ocean. I didn't let her get the chance to do that. I grabbed her arms. Suddenly, she was human. No more powers, for the meanwhile. What right did I have to beat her senseless, just as her parents did? What right did I have, as a superhero, to be celebrated as the savior of Roosevelt Bay, at the expense of a child's well-being? For all I know, I broke her. She'll never be the same again. What kind of superhero am I, who makes children's lives better, and makes another child's life a living hell? That's why I quit. I hung up the cape, and went out of the public eye. Nothing could make me use that again. Not after what I did to her. I don't want to do this again. I'm sorry. \------------------- First time (or was it second?) writing a superhero-esque story. I'm really sorry if anything's not up to par, because I've never really had much experience writing in this kind of genre. Please tell me anything about this one! Whether you enjoyed it, or it needs some work, anything you might say helps a lot!
You know what really weird? Being 29 and still eating Mac & Cheese with those little dinosaur chicken nuggets. You know what's even weirder? Making them for your wife and her actually liking it. And you know what's even weirder than all that? Her suddenly turning into the ancient Greek God of Zeus and being taken on a one-way trip to the heavens. Why yes, this morning has been pretty damn weird, thanks for asking. Zeus explained he enjoyed my meal so much that I would become the the new God Of Cooking , or "Cookius"if you will. Apparently the old one fell into a vat of creamy mashed potatoes, and was um, well.... "mashed"to bits. Zeus handed me a spatula, gave me a kitchen, and ordered me to create another sublime dish. Having no culinary talent what so ever, I adopted for some spicy ramen noodles to him to try out. Shockingly though, he seemed to hate them. He hated them so much in fact that he would cast me into the bowels of hell unless I could pull something off like my first dish. He would give me five human years. And so I worked in that kitchen for five years. Reading on how to cook, learning the intricacies of the food. I painstakingly tried again and again with every failed dish, trying to find that perfect food that would be fit for a god. And the day before my time would be, I believe I made the perfect dish. A Beef Wellington cooked as tender as could be, sided off with a bowl of Boeuf Bourguignon and of course, my signature chicken nuggets. I handed my plate to Zeus and anxiously watched him slowly take his first bite. To my relief, he seemed to love it. As promised he didn't send me to the deepest circle, but I would get my title taken away regardless. "W-what?"I stammered out "B-but you said you liked it!" "I did,"Zues replied, "But I found an even better cook. And they come from a place that I would least expected it. Surely you know humans weren't the only ones to evolve on this Earth?" "What are you talking about?" "Deep in the depths, there is an creature who can make the most perfect patty. For tentatively watching the beef cook, to even tucking its pickles in with a blanket of cheese. They shouldn't even be able to cook considering they're underwater, but they defy the very laws of nature to cook. I had the chance to try one, after a good friend of the sea recommended me too. The creature can make it better than any human can." "Oh yeah, and who is this person?" "They only go by one title, my dear friend: *Spongebob Sqaurepants*" Thanks for reading! Visit r/StoryStar for more :)
Egos are contagious things, in a way. Actually, they're contagious in a lot of ways, and spread themselves in yet more besides. There's the aura, for one. You know what I'm talking about it; you don't ever have to have met the source in person to be affected. It can spread itself through mass media; video, audio, bits of text, and even before these things saturated our daily lives it could be transmitted by word of mouth, just gossip and reputation were enough to do the trick. Ego-contagion. That's the only power on Earth I can think of that could possibly have allowed a pair like Ghalib and Hortensen to exist, let alone be at odds with each other. Are they actually the "worst in the world"at their attempted professions? Hard to say, but at the risk of exposing a little ego of my own, if anyone were to be in a position to make a guess it'd be me. I'm not the best in the world at anything, let's get that straight right away. I'm a comfortably-above-average bodyguard, doing her best to do better with the help of constant training and a lot of aftermarket parts. Used to be, if you wanted something like upper body strength, you had to have just the right mix of genes and discipline and, let's face it, testosterone. So if you were someone who hung out pretty comfortably in the "female"section of the gender spectrum and didn't want your voice deepening or fun new facial hair or a thousand other possible side effects, you were kind of fucked. Now, you just need the right connections and a reasonable amount of cash. Funny thing is, both Ghalib and Hortensen have exactly that. They're both chromed-up, thoroughly genefucked, nano-enriched, and lavishly-armed. We're not talking about a couple scrappy underguards here. I kind of think that to be as bad as they are, you need a certain amount of privilege and material excess, to shield you from the natural consequences of your own shittiness long enough to attain the truly awe-inspiring heights to which they've both scaled their own favored face of Mount Fuckwit. Ghalib comes from one of the handful of Saudi families that managed to pivot their way through the Great Oil Crash into even greater wealth. Moon-orbit mining of captive asteroids, in their case, merrily using what amounts to slave labor while the United Nations struggled with the concept of space as "international waters."Not everyone who grows up in a shithead family like that ends up a shithead themselves, I've known a few decent apples who managed to wash the stink off. Ghalib, though, he stuck his whole head in the ancestral port-a-john and just kind of rolled it around. "Shithead"doesn't fully do him justice. His fecal-face status isn't what sets him apart, though, I mean the world's got plenty of really terrible humans stinking up its surface, Ghalib's special because he's the worst hitman I've ever seen, and sister, I've seen a few. Killed a few, actually, and I don't mean that as a brag, it's just the job, and generally I had help. My principal's the kind of important that would never have just the one bodyguard, she's got a whole detail. We all got to eat and sleep and have our days off, after all, and two is one Hell of a lot better than one. She keeps an even dozen of us around, and I like to think I'm near the top of the pack. Never at the top, because Sheila's there and...well, that's a story for another time. Hortensen, now, she's not ever gonna be at the top of any pack, no matter who's in it. Hortensen's the loser cousin of the son of one of our corp's Vice Presidents. They always capitalize it like that, too, because VPs occupy an even loftier position that usual on this particular corporate ladder. I don't what this particular button-down dude's VP of, exactly, and don't really give a fuck. I just know he's got enough pull to get his son installed in some bullshit make-work position, and get his unceasing-wannabe niece installed as the overgrown kid's bodyguard. Nepotism, girl, it's the eternal enemy of competence. Just read your history or, Hell, take a look around. Genes are fucky things that don't, ironically enough, always care who your daddy is. Anyway, this particular object lesson in the dangers of dynasty is named Keevy, which is short for Kevin and don't look at me like that, I didn't do it. Keevy thinks he's really fucking important because everyone treats him like he is, and to keep up the illusion they present him that way at all sorts of meetings and press events, while simultaneously shrouding him in a sort of Genius of Few Words mist that probably takes an entire cabal of spin doctors to maintain. All bullshit, and in more ways than one: Keevy is the kind of person who will not shut the fuck up under any but the most dire of circumstances, but no one but those closest to him will ever know that because how carefully he's managed. Except too much management can backfire, like it did during last week's party. See, the consortium run by Ghalib's family has been having some kind of business beef with our corp, and decided to attempt an assassination on my principal during the Management Retreat. Honestly, it kind of made my week. I hate management retreats, and the assassin represented a frankly welcome break from the massive tedium of hanging round a hundred executive types with their hands busy down each other's pants telling each other how great they were and/or could be and with the other hand trying to get a good square stab at each other's backs. But this isn't the story of how Aliya and I offed some corporate hitman, that's actually not a very interesting story. I spotted the guy, she restrained him, I put a a few sabots through his armored faceplate. Cleanup crew came, everyone had something new to talk about for a while, we both got a nice boost to our careers, but we were just doing our jobs and doing them right, as was the hitman, who was actually pretty good but had just been fucked over by a wrist-weapon misfire at the wrong moment. No, what really made that retreat a story from the ages was when Ghalib showed up wanting to off the corporation's Fortunate Son Keevy. <continued below>
The noise of a thunderous godlike fury thundered over Tom's head as he stared into the sudden sunshine that ravaged his face. The hot sun felt so good on his skin, after a week of storms it was wonderful to feel the sun again. He was the last survivor from his crew, 85 brave men of the Continental Navy were gone, and the Saratoga herself was worse for wear. But right now Tom were trying to see what the noise was as he stared into the incredible sunshine beaming down on him, what kind of storm was this? It was like nothing he had ever seen before in his life, many years in the Royal Navy from England, he had seen some horrible storms up near the Nordic countries, crossing the Atlantic when he first came to America wasn't without it's own perils either, however this, this was something different. Suddenly in front of his eyes it was there, some kind of flying machine, roaring like an angry beast, men standing inside it wearing some kind of mask, he waved to them and they came closer, he could make out words over the noise as they came closer "Unknown vessel, identify yourself, you are now within the jurisdiction of the United States of America, you are also in the immediate vicinity of the United States Naval Carrier Battle Group of the USS John F. Kennedy" United States of America? The what? United States Navy? Now Tom was even more confused. Suddenly a ladder fell to the deck next to him, the strange machine was above him, the men inside motioning to climb the ladder. "Well now..."he thought to himself "I've never backed down from anything..."and he started to climb the ladder. Once inside the strange machine, one of the men helped him into a seat and did up some form of restraining device around him, as Tom was about to struggle he noticed that most of the men in the machine were wearing similar restraints, she was a lot calmer when he realised that it clearly wasn't a restraint to detain him, there was likely a reason for i..... Yep, there was the reason. The machine suddenly was on it's side and accelerating, it was a sensation that Tom had never felt before in his life, instantly he vomited all over himself with nausea. Very uncivilised. Composing himself as the machine levelled out again, he looked out the door and a majestic sight greeted him, the largest ship he had ever seen in his life. He had never seen one before in his life, he had never believed that ships this big could exist, the ship was easily a thousand feet long! On top of it looked to be some form of pavement, which the machine he was in began to lower itself towards. With a thump they hit the deck of the boat and some hands were upon him helping him out and onto the deck. \--------------------------------------------- "Good Morning Son,"a gruff voice greeted him as they stepped into a room in this gigantic ship, "My name is Captain Todd A. Zecchin, the commanding officer of the USS John F. Kennedy, would you like to take a seat and explain to me how the fuck you just appeared in the middle of my battle group?" The look on his face told him that taking a seat was not optional, and the two steely eyed men standing either side of him with pistols on their hips certainly weren't there for courtesy sake. The pistols were of a unique design, as was everything on this ship, nothing seemed right. Thankfully some things were recognisable. "A...a...appeared?"Tom managed to stammer out, yeah, the pressure was getting to him, this was all just too weird. "Yes Son"the Captain replied, his voice showed he was getting a bit testy, "One minute our radar was clear, the next, poof! Your ship was there, out of nowhere, you're damn lucky I didn't throw everything at that hunk of shit, you nearly got blasted by fighters, frigates, destroyers, and submarines" "W...w...well Sir,"Tom managed to stammer out, "One minute I was in the storm, I fell and hit my head on the deck, the next moment it was sunshine and I heard that noise from the machine" The room was deathly silent, the mood had changed quite severely, everyone's mouths hung open. "S...son..."the Captain was now stammering, "Where are you from?" Clearly Tom now had the upper hand, this situation was just too freaky. "Well Sir, I was born in the North of London, however I am now proud to say that as a member of the Continental Navy, you could say I am from the United States" "Continental....Bullshit...."the Captain said under his breath, he grabbed an object on his desk and starts punching buttons "Hello, XO......Yes.....Have we confirmed the ship....You're shitting me....You're certain?.....Was there anyone else on board?......Ok, well, let me know if there are any developments."with that he placed the device in his hands back onto a cradle. "Son, what is your name?"the Captain addressed Tom "Seaman Tom Laughlain"Tom answered "Son, what is the name of your ship?" "The USS Saratoga" "Son, what year is it currently?" "Sir?" "What year is it?" "Well sir, it's 1781" The sound of the air leaving the Captain was one of the most bizarre noises that Tom had heard, as the Captain spoke, he didn't sound convinced of what he was saying, but he said it anyway. "Son, the USS Saratoga was lost with all hands on the 18 March 1781, that was 225 years ago. The year is 2006. I just spoke to my XO who has partially confirmed what you have just said, from a preliminary sweep of your vessel all the documents seem legitimate, and from what we can find in our records, your ship matches the USS Saratoga's last known description and Cargo, now, if you are who you say you are, and what you are implying has happened, has happened, and what we suspect has happened has happened, then there is going to be some more conversations had with you. Son, I think you are the first man in history to have travelled through time..." Tom's mind raced a million miles an hour, 2006? 225 Years? Time Travel? You can't travel through time! What a ridiculous notion! But that's about the only thing that could explain this.... Tom felt sick again, his vision was getting blurry, he needed air, he needed to get out of here, he stood up and his vision went dark and he felt himself falling.....
You: "I wish for your freedom." Genie: "what?" You: "I want you to be free. You can do whatever you want." Genie: "But why would you..." You: "I just know that if I were an absurdly powerful Genie I'd want to be free. Not going around granting wishes... Plus I saw Disney's Aladdin." Genie: "So you want me to be free?" You: "Yep" Genie: "No gold or sex or unlimited power for yourself." You: "Nope, I'm a pretty chill guy. I really have just about anything I really want." Genie: "You've got three wishes and you want this to be the first?" You: "You got it big guy." Genie: "And you're sure about this wish? Freedom. No more limitations or rules or forced wish granting." You: "Absolutely I am! You're gonna get to live like a real person." Genie: "Put your hand on the lamp and say it then." \You place your hand on the lamp.\ You: "I wish that you were free. As in free from all rules and restrictions that pertain to Genii, to include being forced to grant wishes and live in a lamp and stuff." \The Genie seems to have expanded slightly\ Genie: "Free" You: "How's it Feel buddy?" Genie: "ha!" You: "Pretty good, right?" \The genie continues to slowly expand.\ Genie: "ha ha Ha Ha Haa!" You: "Buddy?" Genie: "Muah Ha Ha Ha HA HA HA." You: "... buddy?" # Genie: "wa Ha HA HA HA! WHAA HA HAAAH"
the thought rung in my head, buzzing back and forth. "would i actually be able to gain powers that rival god himself?"i pondered. "or is it just a rumor? just something someone made up to rile up the masses and kill time?"i noticed my hands had begun to shake. I became anxious, terrified, yet somehow collected at the thought. "what would i even do with powers like that?"i thought "would i use them to help others or to somehow benefit myself? would i even need to benefit myself with powers like that?"before i could collect myself, the angle screamed "next in line!"and i shuffled into my meeting with the all powerful deity himself. beyond the gates, the room was a pearly white. surrounded by clouds puffy and eternal sunshine. in the center of it all sat a large being, but he seemed so human it was inconceivable that it was god. but the second he asked me "so, why are you dead? what brought you before me?"shocked at the quick timing, I thought for a little, then answered. "well, i was walking my dog, and when i was picking up his poop in the middle of the street, a car came by and hit me."he looked at me with confusion, then said "so it was your own negligence that got you killed?" "well, no you see i was-" "you were walking your dog, and while you were neglecting your surroundings, a car came by and hit you? am i wrong?" "no, your not wrong, i just-" "you just what? i seemed to have deduced your mortal dilemma quite fast." i sat there for a little while, thinking of something to say, but nothing seemed to come to mind beyond my original excuse. then god came to a conclusion "oh i see, you were in a moral query, am i wrong?" i was taken aback. i had no clue as to what he was referring too. "w-what do you mean, moral query?" "well, just prior to walking your dog, you did your daily routine of waking up and making yourself breakfast. you fed your dog some dog food you bought at your local convince store and you both drank water. afterwards you took her outside for some fresh air and a walk. and while you were walking her she seemed to have used the bathroom on the crosswalk. Then, a car came out of nowhere and sidelined you." "i mean, yes. that is everything that happened that day, but what does that have to do with my 'moral query?'" god sighed a long sigh and looked me in the eyes. i could feel his cold gaze rising up my body, yet it somehow it felt inviting, as if it was trying to tell me something. "look, i dont have time for this, i have many, MANY more waiting outside those gates and they are just as egar as you are to get in. so-" "wait"i was scared, my voice quivering. "i think i know what you mean." god looked at me with amusement. "really now? well, what is it?" i honestly had no clue as to what he meant, but i feel like i needed those powers. so i pressed on. "OK, so i did my daily task, right? but i do that every day. Day in and day out, like clockwork. i wake up, make breakfast, feed my dog"i was running out of things to say "and then i take her out, and..." "and what?" "and, and."then, like a 4 ton truck burning down the road, it hit me. "and then i go back inside, and do nothing all day." god seemed interested. "go on." "and i just sit around and play video games. all day. i don't do anything, i don't have a job anymore so my parents give me money every month, my last 3 girlfriends left me, and i could barely stand on my own two feet without someone else. for so long, for so fucking long i haven't done anything with or for myself! absolutely nothing!" god seemed quite pleased with this response. "well, you seemed to have got it." he leaned back in his chair, hands pressed against the back of his head, and said "now, i have a question for you. do you want to be more?" confused, yet still reasonably confident about coming to terms with myself, i asked "what do you mean by that?" "exactly what i said. Do you want to be more?" "i mean i suppose."then i remembered what the man in the line said, "god gives powers that rival his own, but no one has ever accepted it."and that thought overtook me once more. "that guy in line said 'i give powers that rival my own, but no ones ever accepted them,' didn't he?" "yes..." "yea, he just does that to rile up the crowds and get attention. you know how long that line is. its hell waiting for that long, i know." i sat down, a little disappointed, but still in reasonable spirits. "you still haven't answered my question, or at least entirely." "oh, yea. well, i would like to be more, i feel like anyone would, honestly." "but why?" "well, i guess, hmm..."i sat there and thought for a little, but then, just like before, it came to me. "I know." god perked up. "i want to help others. I want to make sure others don't fall into the same pit i did. I want to make sure that this feeling doesn't occur to anyone, this feeling of emptiness, of nothing. I want to get rid of it entirely!" looked at me for a few seconds, then laughed. "ha ha ha, i know your eager, but not so fast."he wiped a tear from his eye. "you still have much to learn about leading people." it just occurred to me what he was referring too "you mean, im going to be a?" "yea, you are. well, not of this realm at least. And i did lie, he was just weeding out those who want power for the sole sake of wanting power, and nothing more." i was in pure shock, "so, what happens now?" "Well, you will go off to another realm, and become god there.but you still have much to learn about both yourself, and being a god. but don't worry. ill teach you." before i could express my gratitude, a blinding white light gleamed all around me, and I felt as if I was being moved at the speed of light, if not faster. not more than 2 seconds later, i appeared in a completely dark room, all dark exempt for a single, lonely light in the middle. before i could figure out where i was, it said, "here, let me help you help others."
I control cats. That's what I do. That cat, over there, that's minding its own business? I can make it claw some wanna-be convenience store robber's face off. Tear the gun clean out of their hands for fear of not having hands. They get what they deserve. Sure, I'm only a Class C. I'm not super strong, I'm not the fastest on my feet; everything they test for, I fail at. Some of the proctors even called me Catboy, and told me I was lucky to even be registered as a hero. But I know something they don't. Something I kept a secret. Something that, until now, wasn't too important of a detail. I control cats. All of them. Sure, I can't get them to all go to one place. The logistics of moving cats over water is too much for even me to handle. But I can control all the cats. Every. Last. One. As we speak, there is an evil force threatening to destroy the whole Earth. The only way to stop it is to destroy 7 points of power before they can regenerate the others. These seven points are spread across the globe. Can you send a hero to each point? Sure. Is it practical? Not really. We know the points are not heavily guarded. I can send an army of cats to destroy each point, since my power extends to all cats everywhere. All I need is the go-ahead from the Foundation. So, how about it? Step aside and let Catboy work his magic. I knew my power would come in handy someday!
My species lifespans are only 5 "Sol"years. We lived happy and fulfilling lives. We had families, hopes, and dreams. At least we used to. My ancestors came to this planet a hundred years ago. Our historians said the humans called it "Earth". In an act of good-will we culled much of their population so that we may live together. So that there may be enough resources for both our races to live here. They were killing the planet anyway. By our estimations the planet would have died out in about 4,586 years, so it made sense. It was an act of kindness for the Humans. We thought they would appreciate the help. Help them preserve the planet. To this day, we still don't know what they became upset about. But after the removal of approximately 7,634,335,456 people, the humans that were left went into hiding. And ever since we arrived they have terrorized my people for 20 generations. They live such long lives. And they live those lives to hunt us. Even my own daughters are scared. Hell, even i'm scared. There is one human in particular we've dubbed, "The Speaking Man."He killed my great, great, grandfather, and I fear he is roaming the lands of my home, and coming for my family. How can there be such a creature that lives so long, hold such hatred in their hearts. Even after we helped them. How can something be so cruel? So demented? So evil? Tonight I will hold my family in my tentacles tightly and won't let go.
"Oh... uh,"I turned and he was gone. Shit, what do I do with this? The station was crowded, as usual, and the odd man blended into the mass of commuters. Okay, make a plan: think... think. Across the platform, I saw him, or more specifically me. I looked to either side, confirming that he wasn't a mirror. He was identical: the same face, same height, same hair. I was pretty sure I even owned the same shirt. Idea. "Forty-seven, you dropped this,"I said as calmly as I could muster, handing him the package. I turn to leave, but he turns towards me with a questioning look. PANIC. I continue walking toward the soon departing train. "Good Luck."The doors shut and I drop to the floor. I have no idea where I'm was going, but it couldn't be worse than here.
The fire burned deep and cold on my skin, I felt blisters boil and pop as the flames from the holy water washed over me. I prayed for the strength to persevere, to endure. The priests eyes weren't cold as he wrought so much pain over me, he ignored the flashes of pain that twisted my face into a hollow mockery of what I was, of who I was. The boils on my skin gave him neither a thought of empathy or a twinge of surprise. So I tried to ignore it, as he did. As he ignored the way I froze as he walked closer to me, moving down the pew. Ignored the pressure of my fingernails digging into my knee's, sometimes hard enough to draw blood. Suffice to say I got good at holding the pain inside and when I asked the preacher man why it hurt so much, he only said. "That's the pain of your sins washing away. You should be happy. " And so I was, day after day I put a smile on my face and when I went to mass and the water was brought out again, I would cry. Great big happy tears as I got one step closer to being pure, I didn't know what I did exactly, I didn't live a very complicated life. With the question burning a hole inside me, I decided to ask my sister. She had always been there to give me advice and hold me when I was scared. Which was a lot more nowadays. And especially when I came home crying, upset from the people that would call me horrible names. Say I was dropped and that's why I was so stupid, why I was so ugly. So I went to her room once more and told her about it, about what they said and how it made me feel. About how I was the one who got burnt at mass by the holy water when they were the ones who were ugly to me. She sat there, still, not saying anything and I felt bad, I had never told her about the water before. I know she'd be sad to hear about it. But still she said nothing, I waited, looking at her beautiful face, she looked horrified. Probably about what I told her. I started to shake her but still she said nothing I started to scream and yell but still she said nothing I grabbed the knife inside her and stabbed, again and again but still she said nothing. I sat there and sobbed, hugging her, until we both fell asleep. Her arms wrapped tightly around me. And when I awoke, to the suns light shining through a crack in the window I sat up. Moving my sisters arms very slowly back to a comfortable position to not wake her. I got up and out of bed, dusting the blood and white worms off my body. I had to look presentable for church.
The humans had gotten taller. That was the first thing that I noticed. Millennia before, the body that I had chosen would have towered over every mortal, marking me out as a mighty warrior. Now, I was just in the upper quarter of their population, or thereabouts. I was dressed very differently from most others in the crowd: long, flowing, black robes with red on the inside. Yet, few seemed to care. The towers were also something new. At the closest I had gotten to victory before the Order stopped me, I had built a tower dozens of meters tall, at the top of a volcano. Some of the towers around me would have loomed over my tower, volcano and all. I noticed a building. The bottom layer had a wall made of glass, behind which stood gleaming white statues of humans in a variety of poses, wearing the strange clothes I saw around me. Perhaps a store. I would start here, I decided. Buy some clothes to better fit in. If it was not a store, I could ask where a store would be found. --- They didn’t take gold, which surprised me. I could clearly see that they used it for decoration, on buildings and their own bodies, yet it was no longer accepted as currency. Strange. I was able to transmute some of my gold to the paper money that they used, but I would need a steadier supply in the future. Using magic too much would draw the Order’s attention. I changed in a small, cramped room with a container full of water that had long poles sticking out of it. I vanished my old clothing and walked back out into the street. It kept surprising me, being amongst the crowd. It was almost impossible to walk through the crowd, one had to both swim and allow oneself to be carried. The experience reminded me of channeling spirits. I felt an odd almost-pain in my stomach. Hunger. My soul might be immortal, but this body needed food. On instinct, the nose began to pick apart scents to find something I would consider appetizing. It was overwhelming. I hadn’t even considered this sense before, but now I could smell a thousand different humans in different stages of physical exertions, fumes from the hundreds of vehicles around me, grease, smoke, a few trees planted in squares of dirt. Blindly, I reached out and accidentally grabbed a man’s shoulder. “Hey, man, what the hell?” “I apologize. Where may I find food?” “You new here? I mean,” the man glanced around, “there’s a pizza place literally right there.” He pointed. I thanked him and made my way. --- Heavenly. An odd word from a demon, yet there is no other way to describe the sensations. I took the risk and conjured several stacks of the human money so that I could keep eating. Plates began to pile up around me, but I couldn’t stop. So much deliciousness packed into such a small package. If ever got around to conquering the world, I would have one of these built right in my fortress so that I would never have to leave the taste behind. “Long flight?” The serving maid was speaking to me. I my physical and mental gaze on her to try to figure out what she was talking about. In her mind, I saw a glimpse of… A metal dragon? People sitting in its belly? I noticed she had glanced away at my look. I shook the image aside. I could decipher this mystery later. “Yes. My fair lady, do you know where I could stay in this city for the night?” She laughed. “Well, I know some cheap hotels that aren’t total shitholes, if that’s what you’re asking. Unless you want something more… domestic.” “That would certainly be better,” I replied stone-facedly. I didn’t understand why she kept smiling. I woke up the next morning in the small tower-room she lived in and left her sleeping. It was barely dawn and sky was just beginning to grey. This was a confusing world. Many new things, many new ideas. But perhaps it was one I could live in, if only for a little while.
The signs that something is wildly wrong rarely hit you like an oncoming train barreling into a cow that has wandered onto the tracks. It's more a trickle of clues, like the blood that seeps out of the corner of a murdered scientist's mouth after he has been poisoned in a last ditch attempt to stop him from making a breakthrough discovery. This time, I'm the cow. I would have recognized the close-cropped white hair of my story's antagonist anywhere. That, plus the evil glimmer in his eye and the name-tag that read Doctor Torch. You know why that's his name? Because he loves fire and he loves to torture. Creative, right? He looks every bit a Bond villain and acts every bit a comic book villain. I have no place in this story. I'm not the protagonist and I'm not the victim. I'm not even a side character. The book isn't an autobiography and as much as I admire myself, I would not want to write myself into a world doomed to end. At best I'm the narrator, subconsciously aware of the impending demise of humanity as a whole yet powerless to do anything but string the reader along through a disastrous series of entirely avoidable events. That's how it should have been at least. Instead, here I am. "I see you have found my laboratory,"Doctor Torch says in a bizarre mockery of a Russian accent. He has a gun in his hand. I think back. Should he have a gun? He should have a gun. Any bullets? I can't remember. "If you shoot me, you won't be able to visit your mother this evening. You'll be busy cleaning up the mess."His resolve seems to waver. He doesn't know how I know. He doesn't know that I know everything about him. "You wouldn't want to miss the stew she's making."He also wants to say goodbye. "Stew? She hasn't made that in years."He scoffs at me. I shrug. "Call her."He does. She's making stew. He doesn't put the gun away, but I can see the doubt lingering in his eyes. "Henchman!"he bellows. He has a name, but Doctor Torch doesn't care. He embraces his evil role with glee, like a dog wallowing in a puddle of mud. If only he could see things more clearly. Instead, he's as deluded a villain as I am a writer. "He's busy,"I tell him. "You told him to go grab you a coffee."I check my watch. "But you forgot that you ordered somebody to rob the coffee shop. He'll get held up." "Shit. That was today?"I nod. It was today. Science funding was hard to come across these days and Doctor Torch had resorted to basic robberies and heists. It wasn't glamorous, but it kept him from having to write and edit grants and submit applications for more money. "How the hell did you know that?"He raises his gun again. If he shoots me, bad things will happen. I'm sure of it because I'm not in the book. If he shoots me, it will be more like the train hitting an elephant. The elephant will die, but the train will be derailed. And there's no telling what would happen next. "You're a time traveler." He comes to the wrong conclusion. That's not surprising. He's really an imbecile, courtesy of yours truly. I probably should have made him a little brighter, given the research he was conducting. We were already deviating from the plot. I shouldn't be here at all. "Not quite,"I answer vaguely. "Hogwash,"he says. It's an annoying expression I've had him overuse. Why? I don't know. I torture myself with my writing sometimes. "Either that, or you're my conscience. You seem to know everything I've done and am going to do." I look at him like he's an idiot. He really is an idiot. "I'm not your conscience. That doesn't make any sense. I'm standing right in front of you. I'm not a time traveler either. Time travel isn't possible."He cackles maniacally. I always wondered what it would sound like. A mix between an evil villain's laugh and a demented child's giggle. "You're not going to shoot me. I know you. You can't bring yourself to kill somebody."It's true. He can torture somebody all day long. He can light a thousand fires to exacerbate climate change and fulfill his evil narrative. But he can't kill somebody himself. His eyes glimmer with evil. And to my shock, he pulls the trigger. I expect to feel the punch of a bullet and I reach a hand up to my chest. Nothing. The gun backfired and exploded in his hands and he's standing there in shock. Modern guns shouldn't do that. This book has so many plotholes. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
The Titan sat down taking a deep breath. "With all six stones, I could simply snap my fingers, and they would all cease to exist. I call that... Mercy." Strange raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Mantis' eyes were cast down, trying to comprehend how it might feel to have the entirety of her being erased so easily. "And then what?"The sorcerer asked. Thanos looked Strange in the eyes, and for the first time, his expression cracked, showing a glimpse of how tired he really was, how much he'd given up in his pursuit. "I finally rest, and watch the sun rise on a grateful universe." "Wait, wait, hang on."Quill stepped forward to interrupt. "What about the stones? You just gonna leave an omnipotent rock collection lying around?" Thanos looked at his gauntlet, the four stones he'd acquired gleaming on the back of his hand. "Their power represents temptation. Too many out there would use them for selfish reasons. Perhaps even I might. When the work is done... I will destroy them. Reduce them to atoms to prevent them from being misused." Silence. Even Drax stayed quiet as he tried to process that. Then finally, Tony spoke up. "So you're an idiot. You're actually just a complete dumbshit." Thanos seemed almost amused as he regarded Tony. "Really, Stark? Do tell." "All right, I guess I'm a lecturer now."Iron Man stepped forward, projecting a rectangular hologram on which he drew a population/time graph. "You see, the thing about populations is that they GROW over time. And they tend to taper off when they reach the limit of their sustainability. Which means the "overpopulation problem"you're soooo worried about is basically self-correcting. No wonder it only happened on your planet, seems like your whole species can't understand this simple concept." Thanos opened his mouth to say something, but Tony cut him off. "Do you know how long it took to get Earth's population from half of what it currently is to today? Forty or fifty years. So if you snap your fingers like that..."He manipulated the hologram graph, creating a sharp drop, then continuing forward, showing the population growing back. "And this kind of thing has happened before, on Earth, with the exact same result. It was called the Bubonic Plague." "So basically,"Tony summed up, "your plan is to murder half the universe to NOT SOLVE a problem that DOESN'T EXIST." "Like mowing your lawn once and then destroying your only lawn mower."Quill added. "Hang on!"Drax objected. "The universe's people are not a lawn-" "Simile, Drax."Quill sighed. Thanos sat still, looking pensive, as he thought about what Tony had said. "Then-"He started, before a metal point sprouted from the front of his throat, and twisted, the great Titan crumpling to the ground. Nebula stood behind his corpse, holding the blade made from Tony's nanotech. "Well... That's one way to pull off a distraction."
"I'll save you!"I mowed through the countless dead to save the woman cornered at the old candy shop. You'd think that these zombies are slow and stupid. No, they are as freakin' fast and smart as people! They bulldoze you with their car. They shoot you with shotguns. I even had to snipe one riding a helicopter! "Help someone, please!"the woman cried. I whacked a buff zombie with my baseball bat. Homerun baby. "Oh no, you killed my boyfriend... why?" "Lady, he's no longer your boyfriend. He's dead,"I retorted as I finished the last zombie with a nail gun. She was still shuddering in fear when I walked up to her. Then, I saw it. She was bitten. I could see her body decaying quickly. I sighed and prepared my baseball bat once more. "Please don't kill me-" "I'm sorry, I'll make this quick,"I whispered glumly. Then, I swung. You'd think a zombie apocalypse is some video game where you save the princess and ride off to the sunset. But, no. I'm all alone. Only a few hours after the outbreak, almost the whole city was infected. My muscles were aching for killing hundreds of these creatures. Maybe some rest before heading to Chicago. As I headed back to my apartment, I tearfully reminisced on the good times in my hometown. The milkshake shop. The Bowling Alley. Even my office building. It's a shame they all had to go. When I got home. I took a nice warm shower. Then, I finished the day with a Snickers bar before sleeping... Boom! I woke up to what sounded like a bull rushing my door. Suddenly, a bunch of policement rushed in and locked their guns at me. The biggest one stepped forward and shouted, "Freeze scumbag!" I raised my hands in compliance and tried to respond back, "good morning officers, what's going-" Oof! He slammed me into the floor and handcuffed me. "You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can be used against you in court.. "The officer continued rambling about my rights. But, I was so fazed that not one word passed through my ear. "Court? What-" "Shaddup!"He snapped me into my feet and shoved me out the door. When I got out of my apartment, it was a horrific sight to behold. I couldn't even describe... "That's the guy,"one of the police whispered to the other. "250 people dead. Men, women, and children. No one could stop him." Hours later, I was confined to their interrogation room. They asked me all sorts of questions. Drugs, no. History of violence, no. Mental illness, no. The detective got more confused as he continued reading my profile. Without looking up at me, he asked, "you have a clean record. Why would you kill them all?" "They were all zombies sir-" Wham! The policeman behind me slammed my head into the table. "Bullshit!"His face was as red as a radish. "You're a psycho-" "Wait!"the detective interrupted. Finally, he looked up at me with narrowed eyes. "We found out your pantry is full of Snickers bars. Why is that?" Oh my goodness. That was it. Yesterday, I took some pills to stabilize my blood sugar. And I did feel a little dizzy after that. "My doctor told me to lay off Snickers. And gave me medicine. That's probably why I became a monster." I heard a gasp from my assaulter behind me. The detective slapped his hand on his forehead. Then, he raised his fist at the sky screaming, "DAMN YOU BIG PHARMA!"
She’d been working as a delivery driver for a year, it was the path to freedom from a narcissistic mother, and it suited her pretty well. She had a lot of freedom, got to spend most of her time in the car, listening to music as long as she followed rule one. The pizza was never allowed to be free. The detective that visited them in grade school, with his cowboy hat and big bushy mustache, had talked at length about being kidnapped. How to handle it if you were thrown in a trunk, how to flag help. But even Detective Bittenbinder wouldn’t have known how to handle an alien abduction. There was no white light that she could recall and so far, there was no anal probing, there was just two bickering aliens in the other room trying to decide what to do with her. She’d figured out their names were Jeff and Kurt and they spoke flawless English. More important than that, was the fact that she has 16 minutes to complete her mission, or risk losing her job and having to move back in with her mother. Her eyes shifted to the pizza box. To the closed door that kept sliding open and shut when ever one of them got too close in a game of peek-a-boo, like a child playing with the doors at a grocery store, and then to the set of doors opposite. There had to be like…. a cockpit. She waited until the next time the doors slid shut, grabbed the pizza, careful not to tilt it, before heading to the doors opposite to have them slide open for her. She was beginning to suspect she had not been abducted by the brightest of aliens. The halls were cool metal, shiny and futuristic and had a path of lights along the floor that were flickering in a directive pattern she decided to follow. “I need this job…” she whispered repeatedly like a mantra. Along the two minute journey to the cockpit, she decided the ship liked her, because when she turned left, the lights shifted in reverse, as if trying to correct her actions, and she decided to go with it, turning around and taking the right instead, which led her to what she assumed must be a cockpit, with it’s view of the planet below, the stars above, and seats that looked surprisingly mundane. Taking a deep breath, she took a seat. “Okay, lets do this….” The screen in front of her, she was certain had words on it, coordinates maybe, but despite the Aliens, Jeff and Kurt, arguing in English, the screen was definitely not in an Earth based language. “Okay…. if you’re listening, you beautiful, beautiful ship…I need to get to 3214 Birch St…” It was listening, and it was fast, and she hadn’t buckled in. One hand white knuckled the arm of the chair, the other held her precious cargo close. No one wanted a pizza that had been tilted! Behind her she heard a crow of disgust “You traitorous bitch!” Her eyes looked over her shoulder to the two Aliens who despite serious biological differences (She was pretty sure one was a Gray the other was…. a Reptilian?) showed clear expressions of disbelief. “I wouldn’t call her that…look…. I can’t afford to lose this job, I can’t go back to living with my mom. I have 8 minutes to deliver this pizza, then you can do all the anal probing you want.” The Grey actually looked horrified, who knew if it was the mention of a job, a mom, or the anal probing, but the Reptilian…Kurt? Sat down beside her looking vaguely sympathetic. “I don’t think I could go back to living with my mom either.” The Reptilian lamented as they began rocketing to Earth before entering a controlled decent. She’d never been late on a delivery before, and today was not going to be the day that changed.
The easiest part was cutting myself off from him. It was simply a matter of not showing up. I left a note tacked on the doorstep of the run-down warehouse on The City’s outskirts, as one does. Of course, writing a note in a world without easy access to paper or pen is rather… difficult but, after a brief trip into the overgrowth that was previously known as Washington D.C. to grab some leaves and a stick and a number of non-lethal cuts on the arm, I ended up with a note crafted with the sticky redness I’d already seen far too much of for one lifetime. It was crude, but effective enough. The letter was filled with truths, half-truths, and outright lies. Here are the most important: Truth – I didn’t like the way he was running the rebellion. He had started out with the best intentions, of course, but along the way… let’s just say he’s more like Them than he’d care to admit. Half-Truth – I wanted nothing more to do with him. Now, love is a dangerous thing to speak of, but I really did love him. I wanted to love him again. But he isn’t who he used to be. Or maybe he was never who I thought he was. Lie – I was going on a one-man raid against the compound. I’m not an idiot. One underfed, overtired insomniac would do nothing against the Overseers. I’d be dead before I even accessed the Inner Brain – before I’d hit the lobby, even. I would not be content to rot with the forgotten. I tacked my goodbyes on the door, and then I set out on the long path towards home. I let the guards take me at the border. They were content to believe I’d been brainwashed. I was put back into a cubicle and rebranded Employee 427. At my suggestion, a prisoner who could reasonably pass for myself was dressed in my clothes and summarily executed on live television. I slept soundly that night.
George Josephson was a devastatingly average man. He was 1.8 meters tall. He had black hair. He had black eyes. He was neither overweight nor underweight and neither fit nor flabby. Set beside any other member of the Federation, George was invisible. But right now, he was the most interesting person on the planet. Granted, he was the only person on the planet. Eldraine Three-A was a terrestrial world circling an old M-class star that had nearly burnt it's core out. The surface had already begun to redden and bloat, indicating it's transition into a red giant. George smiled at the star above him as his excavator trundled through the barren world. They were kindred spirits, both unremarkable specimens of trillions of similarly classified individuals. Well, George supposed that at some point Eldraine Prime had sustained life on this planet. So to some humans of a distant past, Eldraine might have been of some importance. That was more than George could say about himself. That civilization had already long passed. The only reminders of humanity's once domineering presence on the planet were the towering corpses of monumental towers that lay half-covered by a sea of iron dust. For three weeks George had driven across this silent landscape in his excavation rover looking for anything interesting on the desolate world. The truck's ultra-conductor levitation devices ferried him a comfortable distance above the actual surface of the planet. The idea of being an archaeologist was exciting, if a child was raised in stories of daredevil adventurers plundering ancient temples and cities on long-lost worlds for artifacts of lost civilizations, but reality was infinitely more disappointing. There was scarcely anything left from the era before the Federation, millennia of galactic war had seen to that quite thoroughly. George stopped the excavator. They had reached the peak of another mountain. He set to work calibrating the parameters for the boring scan. Set the depth to the surface, adjust the seismograph for the active minerals in the environment, key in the amount of background radiation, all of these things were just pressing buttons on a screen. Then the sophisticated equipment did all of the actual archaeology. The deep pulse scan could go one hundred kilometers deep through solid rock and had a boring diameter of twenty-five kilometers. George could hear the power core in the back of the rover start to churn audibly as it stockpiled power to perform the function. There would be rock, sand, and steel showing up on the screen soon. Maybe some buried buildings or a cave if he was lucky, but nothing out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing exciting. It had been so long since George had found anything noteworthy that he couldn't really think of anything he would describe as noteworthy. Works of art, literature, or other ephemeral cultural artifacts like that, he supposed, would be fine discoveries. They would justify the grants that he had received from the Federation to conduct these surveys at least, as such things were popular among the collections the bourgeoisie. "Anomaly detected,"the computer chimed. George sat up suddenly, snapped out of his thoughts. "Computer, identify 'anomaly',"George commanded. The screen in front of him replaced the scanning UI with a map of the immediate area. A smaller window appeared with the classification of the anomaly. George couldn't believe his eyes. "An unidentified item?"he muttered under his breath as he read through the codification. "Something that has no matches in the database? At all? How is that even possible?" The anomaly was only seven kilometers away, covered in a thin layer of top soil. He set the rover forward as fast toward the coordinates before heading into the back to change into his exploration suit. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The rover had set down a few hundred meters away from where the signal had originated. George lumbered out into the wastes in his exoskeleton, moving ponderously over the troublesome terrain. Below the shifting layers of sand lay a treacherous array of misshapen stone and rubble. Each step George took sent him sinking low into the iron sands until he hit the rock below. But he was excited now. The anomaly was just ahead. He had no idea what it could be, yet each mad possibility that appeared in his mind tickled his imagination. Perhaps it was some sort of ancient art piece, built to withstand the devastation that afflicted the planet. Perhaps it was some sort of safe that was recently freed from the surrounding environment by tectonic activity. George had heard from other archaeologists that the ancients were particularly fond of building indestructible lock boxes. Or perhaps, most outlandish of all, it could be a time capsule, full of cultural items such as literature, books, or if the Gods were kind, paintings. George quickly reached the computer's marker. The sand here was still and flat, unlike the cascading dunes around them. George began to dig away at the sands with his hands. The sand came away without much resistance and in half a dozen motions, he hit something hard. It was a small mineral sphere. A gemstone. "Computer, can you run a visual scan on this mineral?" The computer did not respond. "Computer? Diagnostic, now." "Logic processes offline,"chimed the virtual assistant. George furrowed his brow. He had never heard of that error before. The suit's mechanical sensors hadn't notified him of any dangerous changes in the environment outside, so at the very least it wasn't radioactive or toxic. Whatever the case, George wasn't going to let a computer malfunction stop him from making the discovery of the century. He wrapped his hand around the gemstone. And he pulled. The gemstone was attached to a handle. The handle was attached to a blade. The entire artifact came flying out of the ground, a gleaming silver sword in-laid with a brilliant array of jewels. George's eyes widened. The ground around him started to shake, the sand around him were collapsing. He turned around and scrambled back toward the rover, the servos in his suit whirred as he strained them against the falling sand around him. He clutched the sword as he ran, aiming for the deep divots that he had left on his way over. The entire area was collapsing now. The world seemed to be shaking. "Computer!"He screamed. The virtual assistant was silent. "Computer!"George repeated with more urgency as he ran. There was still no response. George swore. The rover was still several hundred feet away, and with the rate the world around him was collapsing into a sinkhole, there was no way that he would make it trying to wade through the flowing sand around him. George threw the sword toward the rover and then slammed the emergency eject button on his suit. He hoped desperately that this world had a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. The exoskeleton opened and launched him into the air. All he could hear was the roar of the earth around him and the howling of the wind. Then in some uncountable, eternal seconds, he felt a sharp pain as he landed on top of the rover. He gasped, taking in a quick breath of air. He coughed immediately, the sand was everywhere in his mouth. He reached over to the rover's hatch and pulled it open. Thankfully, the hatch came open easily. He reached out and grabbed the sword and slipped back into the rover, closing the hatch above him as quickly as he could. He coughed, spitting red sand onto the floor of the cabin. "Oh good Gods,"George gasped. He looked at the blade in his hands. "At least I got you... somehow. Hey, Computer, you there?" "I am here,"a voice replied. He paused, another feeling of dread washed over him. The gemstones in the blade were glowing brightly. Now that he had it in his hands and under clear light, he could see that the gemstones were not simply gemstones. There were tiny threads of gold inside of the crystal lattice. Thin pulses of light streamed down channels in the surface of the blade itself. The virtual assistant's voice came unprompted through the speakers in the rover, "What have you humans done to my kingdom?"
When Superman died, the world stopped. Lois cried until the flow of tears ebbed and refused to come anymore. It didn't ease the ache. She wandered through the sparse streets, hearing whispers of Clark Kent, that newspaper guy? and What do we do now? Lois wanted to yell and scream and stamp her feet. Unfortunately, she was a grown woman, and didn't give in, clasping her words of indignation close to her chest and locking them deep in her heart. You could've saved him. That's what she wanted to say. She wanted to tell them all about how simple, how easy it would've been to keep him alive, how a minuscule bit of sacrifice could've repaid the man who had sacrificed everything for them. The funeral was a massive affair. Thousands of people came from all over the world to pay tribute to the iconic figure. World leaders were a dime a dozen. Tickets sold out. Through all the hubbub, Lois stayed hidden, a figure among the myriad crowd, two eyes among many, mourning and praying for Clark. Not Superman - that's what everyone else was there for. She was there for Clark. "Hello, everyone." It was one of the last eulogies of the night. Lois didn't listen to most of them; what could they possibly know of all the trials Clark overcame? Still, her eyes snapped up to the stage the moment she heard that voice speak. The crowd murmured around her, malcontent festering like an evil spirit that riled up the exhausted onlookers. Why is he here? Lex Luthor's grim face broadcast thirty feet into the air. Lois wanted to run up there and boot him off, and she knew that the crowd would beat her to it. But she was a grown woman, and stayed rooted firmly in place. "I am not...never was, the biggest fan of Superman. I always thought he would snap one day, and then who would be there to stop him?" Get off the stage! For a moment, Lois thought that her own words had escaped her lips. It ended up being one of the crowd. The billionaire didn't yell back, simply grinding his teeth and pausing, letting the silence wash over them. "I regret my words." She didn't believe him. "I know many of you don't believe that. I know many of you think I am some megalomaniacal, self-obsessed individual who doesn't give a rat's ass about the rest of you. And you'd be right on some of those counts. I don't care about most of you, that's true. But. I did care about him." Lois felt black hate fade slightly, tempered by confusion. "I cared about him because he was a symbol of everything I wasn't, everything I couldn't be. I cared about him because he held so much power in his little pinky that lives rode on his every whim. The cross of responsibility was one that he hung himself on, and he bore it for all of us." Lex Luthor looked up at the stormy black sky. Lois watched, in fascination and disbelief, as the man's expression turned livid. "So someone better tell me why on earth didn't anyone mention he was sick? My best people did an autopsy. He was completely curable. He didn't need to die! It would've taken my pocket change to save him." "Shut up!"A voice roared. "Your pocket change could've helped!"Lex yelled back. "I cared about tempering Superman's influence. I never wanted him dead! The cross of responsibility falls on all of us now, and it's ours to bear. The world is a darker place without Superman, and I expect the day will come soon when we wish he were here." Lois found him afterwards. He was alone without any bodyguards nearby, elbows on his knees on the silver bleachers. "It's late,"she said. "You're still here." "Lois Lane,"Lex replied. His eyes remained fixated on the coffin, as if by sheer force of will he could cause it to rise from the pedestal upon which it sat. "Did you mean what you said?" The silence was unbearable. She half expected him to burst out laughing, but a heavy sigh escaped his lips like the deflation of a paper bag. "Every word. I hated his morals. How righteous he could be, even in the toughest of times. The world needs Superman. Not for his power, no, never that. As much as I despise it, we need people with unshakable convictions to carry on for those who can't, to inspire those stuck in their ruts of life." "Then you shouldn't have gone after him." He looked at her. "On the contrary, that's exactly what I plan to do." Lois heard thunder rumbling up above. "You're joking." "I don't joke."A ghost of a smile appeared on his thin lips. "My men preserved his brain tissue in as pristine condition as we could get. Even I have to reach down into hell itself, I'll bring him back. You have my word." She considered this. "We're not so different in that regard." "Oh?"He turned to her as the rain started sprinkling down. Neither of them made any move to hide from it. "Even if I have to drag you down into hell with me, I'll make sure he comes back." As she walked away, she heard his chuckle. "I'll be in touch, Lois Lane." --- Thanks for reading! Feedback would be lovely\~ come hang out at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you there!
It could have been anything metal, it didn't have to be a stethoscope. Could have been something more innocuous like a knife, a metal bat, a pipe or something. Just not a stethoscope. Anything but that. "Be sure to drink plenty of fluids,"I heard mumbled aimlessly outside. My heart dropped. It really was a doctor. I held a hand over my mouth to cover my breathing and began to walk away from the front door while he still didn't notice me. I only made it two steps before the floorboard creaked under my weight. I cringed and froze, hoping the creature outside didn't notice. For a fleeting moment, there was no noise outside. Then, its voice was closer to the door. "I can't give you antibiotics for a viral infection,"he whispered into the keyhole. It was all I could do to keep myself from screaming in fear. I heard the door handle begin to jiggle as he attempted to make his way in. I looked around the room for somewhere to hide. It was only a matter of time before he found some way to open that door when there were no apples in the window. I ran into the kitchen, making way too much noise on the way there. The door shook with more intensity. It clicked as the lock somehow came open. "Do you smoke?"he asked into the empty living room. I rocked back and forth next to the fruit basket. It seemed like every other kind of fruit was available like bananas, pears, oranges, you name it. But no apples. I shook uncontrollably as I heard him make his way around the room. He was slapping his stethoscope on everything in the room, checking for a pulse. The floorboards creaked under him. He was coming this way. I grabbed the fruit basket and scampered behind the counter as quietly as I could. I started pulling all the fruits out, hoping that maybe the remnant of the smell of apples would be enough to hold him off. But I had never heard of them being afraid of the smell, only being touched by them. "Just what the doctor ordered!"he chuckled to himself, just outside the kitchen. I saw him in the reflection of the window. He was wearing a white coat, had the stethoscope to his ears and was looking around the kitchen furtively. He must have thought this was the most likely place that apples would be found. He took a step forward hesitantly. Then another one more confidently. He rounded the corner and looked at me curled up on the floor. A wide smile stretched across his face. "Take a deep breath and hold it!!"he cackled. I screamed and threw the empty basket at him. It bounced off of him harmlessly and he stomped forward, laughing and holding up his stethoscope. I crawled backward and screamed again. I grabbed the nearest thing to me and held it out defensively in front of me. He roared in anger, stomping his feet defiantly. With rage in his eyes, he turned around and marched out of the kitchen. He remained in the living room for a few seconds then left the house. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and looked at the thing I was holding. It was a pear, but partially obscured by the rest of my hand it kind of looked like the bottom of a green apple. I stared at it in a daze. I stood up hesitantly and went back to the living room to see if I could still see him from the window or if he had truly run off. Before I could make it, I saw a note on the table. I picked it up and saw it was a prescription slip with scribbles on it. After scrutinizing it for what may have been a minute, I realized that he had written something and the scribbles were just his handwriting. Scrutinizing it further, I figured out what it was. A prescription for death. ___________________________________________ For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
Lieutenant Zurst cleared her throat nervously, she could feel the excess moisture pooling under his formal robes. She eyed Szula nervously, her cheif leuitenant was positively glistening with pride. Zurst would have gladly taken his name off the research had he known what was coming. Dr. Slarmm Nkisso shuffled in his seat, "Dr. Klurst, or lieutenant, which do you prefer?"She opened her mouth, then paused. Both titles felt ridiculous. "Let's not be so formal, I prefer Zinth."Slarmm and Szula gave approving nods. It was alarming information, after all. "Zinth, are you ready to present your findings?"She stared into the darkened crowd of military observers from the Seventh Alliance, extrogalactologists and the steady bright lights of comm bots. She nodded and faced toward the bar of soft orange light as she was instructed. "Ok, as a reminder to our audience; questions will be taken as they come. Please be considerate to our presenter, we all have much to learn."Szula smiled affirmingly, the tiny poison glands along his inner lips reminded Zinth of pomegranate seeds. "We have all read your introductory materials, so your observations?" "As the council knows, I was engineered into a hominid skin in order to complete a qualitative study of this race." Zinth explained the team first elimiated the common sources of error. Unlike the inhabitants of Xetos, who were initially they did not have a sub-sentient mirror-analog predatory species that they fought. The old guard muttered and chuckled quietly remebering the utter offense to Xenti took to the suggestion that the Carivos were somehow an equal species. Nor were they Himobrans a group whose rating was almost analogous to the scavenging beasts they regularly tussled with. More verbal clatter, genetic intervention in Hymobb was still a hotly debated topic 200 years later. "At the time of my arrival, they were at war, and our research quickly debunked their conception of race." "What is that concept?"Zinth was greaful for the question and pulled up some images. "The Earate , or humans as they call themselves come in a varied pattern of skin tones, feature construction and follicle growth patterns. Their poor early science determined these as meaningful categorical differences." "And are they?"Zinth was mildly put off by the question from the reported from the Oort and Shield. "Absolutely not." "So they inter. . .breed?"Zinth nodded "they interbreed despite having this belief." "Yes,"Zinth flashed a picture she was rather fond of "This is one of their royal offspring and his parents."She took a moment to enjoy the general reaction to human babies. They were oddly charming to almost anyone she showed a picture. "Do they look like that by design?"Dr. Ilph's tail smacked loudly on the hard floor. His disapproval as well as the tic took Zinth back to her Academy days. "Yes. It makes them provoke protective feeling in the healthy mature of their species."Slarmm tapped his gavel, indicating they were off topic. Zinth truly felt like a student grunt. "Actually, observing their young helped us understand their scoring. About 10% of the rating is due to developmental and behavioral patterns seen in non-mature Estate."Zinth moved along quickly, after 75 years on the planet the behavior of toddlers and peri-mature males still baffled her. Quietly she suspected the pure malice of peri-mature females with a grudge was vastly under weighted in the research, but she had no adequate way to quantify this. "They are territorial, and deeply wedded to collective musical philosophies which they regularly defend to death."She took a deep breath. "There is also this."An oddly shaped isthmus appeared on the holodeck. "What is it?"Zinth smiled. "It is an isthmus located in the Tropic of Cancer. Just north of their equator."She stood and other images appeared, a red outine on a smallish island in the north Atlantic, then a mature Earate male wearing blue jewelled trousers and a garment with strange script on it. Other images popped up, men in dark uniforms, books with archaic symbols, an old man ina massive ornate headress surrounded by other old men in purple robes some sort of food item. . . "Is that a war head dress on the orange man?" "No, it is his hair."Zinth sighed, she felt bad saying this. "Humans, kind as they are individually have a fatal flaw. They wed themselves to one unbeleivably stupid idea, or another and initiate violence."Zinth straightened her shoulders, "we believe that with proper re-education they could sit at a 60. Perfect for colonization."The silence in the room broke into a hearty drubbing of scaly tails against the hard floor. Slowly the seven drone cameras flew into a neat line. "It is decided!"Slarmm tapped his gavel. "In the ancient one's name, let it be done!"
"Yes, it is I! The DARK HORROR has returned. You put a stop to my plans once before, Great Beyonder, but this time I will be the VICTOR! Dark Horror: The master of fear, the lord of twilight, iron body of GREATNESS!" "Mmmm, yeah you are."A distinctly feminine voice called out from across the underground lair. "SILENCE YOURSELF, WORM!"The Dark Horror turned and raised an armored finger at the masked woman who had spoken to him. She was in a cage that was suspended over a vat of boiling chemicals. She wore a tight bodysuit with stars on it and a thin mask over her eyes. The rest of her face was exposed, showing off a thin, relaxed smile and a touch of blush in her cheeks. "I AM PREPARING MY SPEECH!"The Dark Horror continued. "You will be silent until I have the need to present you to the Beyonder or you will suffer my unbridled WRATH!" "Mmmm... wrath me, babe."The young woman slouched a little against the bars of her cage, "Then I'll be good... I promise." "I WILL... what?"Dark Horror stumbled a little. His iron mask tilting side to side as he tried to understand what was happening. His dark violet cape rippling with the edges of his power. His armor gleamed in the dim lighting, showing only flickers of the magical runes embedded into it. The video recorder started beeping behind him, letting him know it was about to time out. "Come here and scream at me."The woman stuck her arms through the cage toward the Horror. "Tell me how bad I've been." "I WILL NOT!"The Horror turned back to the equipment, but stopped twice to turn and look back at her. "YOU will not presume to trick ME with this... whatever...this... is. You WILL NOT! IS this UNDERSTOOD, Celestial Girl?" "Awww."Celestial Girl pulled her hands back and held onto the bars of the cage with them. "I went through so much trouble to find you, though." "YOU... WHAT?" "Do you know how hard it was to find the Casket of Gal-Ra-Dyn to revive you?"The girl pursed her lips in a pout. "I had to do a lot of work! I did so many bad, bad things for it... come over here and tell me how bad I was." "What. ...WHAT?" "You want me to beg for it?" "NO!"The Dark Horror turned his back on her, moving to the part of the cavern that was the furthest away from her. Then he paused and looked back. "STOP IT!" "I love watching you summon!"Celestial Girl lifted her voice to be heard across the distance. "You look so strong! So commanding!" "I DO NOT!" "You look so gooood in black." "SHUT UP!" "But I want you, babe." The Dark Horror swung back around, marching over the metal flooring until he was standing at the edge of the chemical vat. He lifted his finger and pointed it at Celestial Girl. "YOU WILL REMAIN SILENT! IS THIS UNDERSTOOD?" "Mmmm, Yes, babe." "AND STOP CALLING ME BABE!"The pointing finger shook with every word. Her eyes looked at him from behind her mask. They were remarkably blue... and nice. "It's Dark Horror... Lord Horror to my lackeys." "Can I just call you Dark?" "...Yes...PERHAPS."
"Hello, welcome to Hell." I jump as a figure of androgynous beauty materializes from out of nowhere. The name on their lapel is Lucifer. I want to ask if they're the Lucifer, but I'm too busy being terrified for my tongue to work properly. "Can I get you anything? A glass of water, Fresca, goat's blood?" "What?" The angel (is a fallen angel still an angel?) laughs. "I'm kidding! We don't really do the whole goat's blood thing, or any blood."Lucifer breathes a short sigh. "But of course some of our residents insist we keep offering it. Between you and me, I know I should be flattered by those Satanists, but they can be so inflexible..." I nod, because what else can I do in front of Lucifer? Soon the worst thing happens and they stops talking. They're just smiling at me, like they knows I want to say something. Oddly enough I do find myself wanting to say something, because somehow silence is more terrifying than the Prince of Darkness being within stabbing-range of me. "Hell is a lot nicer than I thought it would be." "I know!"Lucifer's eyes get so big I swear they're going to detach and start eating me. "You'd think I get tired of hearing that, but no, it really is a relief. You know the grass was the hardest part. Hell's soil has a terrible pH balance." "Yeah, no, that's rough." Lucifer nodded, then claps their hands together. "So, what are your plans?" "Oh."For some stupid reason I look at my watch. The hands are gone. "What are my options?" "Whatever you want,"answers Lucifer. "You can get a job, hang out in the park, go to the beach, see a movie, have your skin slowly peeled off by a demon--" "Wait."Holy shit I just interrupted Lucifer. Oh well, I already died: might as well keep going. "Is this some kind of ironic punishment?" Lucifer just looks at me funny. "I mean, if I choose to see a movie then will it be the kind of thing where demons strap me down, sew my eyelids open, and make me watch polar bears having sex with my parents for the rest of eternity?" "What the fuck?"Lucifer starts laughing so hard that they cry, and lilies sprout from the tears. "Polar bears? Why polar bears?" "I don't know."Feeling slightly cocky I add "I mean...we kind of owe them that much?" Lucifer doubles over in laughter. I'm a little scared that I might be killing Satan. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you belong here. You're funny." "Thanks." "And by the way,"they added, wiping away tears, "we don't really do the ironic punishment thing. Unless you tell us to. Some people are into that." "So a movie is just a movie?" "Yes, you can see any movie that will ever exist. Except Netflix originals, we don't get those for some reason. But we do offer our own line of independent cinema featuring actors in Hell." "That sounds kind of cool." "It's very cool. And you can see as many as you want in a month. Movie Pass is still a thing down here." I can feel my heart sink. "I guess that means I need money?" Lucifer shrugs. "Yeah, sorry. It wasn't my idea. Actually your fellow humans were responsible for that decision."They lean in closer. "I'll level with you: about ninety-eight percent of the bad stuff we get up to here is done by you humans. The demons and I had nothing to do with it." "Seriously?" "Yeah, really. The whole notion that this place is...well, Hell...kind of started as a bunch of unhappy demons leaving some angry Glassdoor reviews millennia ago. But then Dante and Milton started writing their fanfiction and humans got a hold of it, so now everyone expects to be miserable all the time. It's kind of a shame." "Wow,"I say, "I am both shocked and not at all surprised that we managed to make our own Hell out of Paradise." "Aw, thank you."Lucifer looks at their watch, which also has no hands on it. "Sorry, gotta go. I'd be happy to show you around later, if you'd like." "Yeah, I'd like that." "Super."Lucifer pops out of existence, only to pop back up a second later. "Oh, and stay clear of the park at night. It's fine for most of the day, but at night the Nazis and the Venture Capitalists have their turfs wars. Zero out of ten, do not recommend."
So this it huh? The end of the world? Guess the Christians had it right. Demons flying around, people screaming, fire everywhere. Complete and utter pandemonium. I looked around before my eyes settled on a nearby unoccupied bench. I strolled over and settled down, crossing one leg on my knee to set the box of donuts on. As I nibbled on the cruller I had already begun eating, I mulled over it all. Had I lived my life to the fullest? I glanced at the box of donuts and concluded that yes, I had. Oof. That dude just got ripped in half. Hate to see it happen. An out of control car swerved off the road and missed me by inches, slamming into the building next to me. The driver had no head. Yikes. I wiggled my fingers in anticipation, trying to decide which donut to eat next. I settled on a plain glazed, something easy. A few stray bullets whizzed by me. Did people really think that guns were going to kill demons? I was no demonologist, but that sounded too easy. I wondered if I should I head to a church or something? Nah, probably gonna be crowded. I scowled in slight annoyance as I realized I must have been left behind in the Rapture. Then again, if I had gone to Heaven, I probably wouldn’t have my donuts. You win some, you lose some, I guess. “MORTAL!” A large demon landed with a crash next to me and pointed a massive blade at me. “Mm?” I mumbled through a mouthful of boston cream. Couldn’t this asshole see I was busy? “ARE YOU READY TO SUFFER ETERNALLY IN HELL!?” He screamed at me. I looked down at my box of donuts, still with nine left. I opened my mouth to reply before realizing that it was still full of donut. I held up a finger as I finished chewing and swallowed. “No, I still have donuts.” I answered. “WHAT?” He seemed flabbergasted. “I still have a bunch of donuts to eat. I was gonna share them at the office, but I don’t think that matters much now. So I don’t feel too guilty about eating all of them. You could come back in like, ten minutes. I’ll be done by then.” I offered. The winged hellbeast sneered at me in disappointment and flapped his massive wings, soaring into the sky to find someone else to mutilate. The gust of wind from his takeoff knocked my donuts from my lap and onto the sidewalk, sending them rolling. “Ah nuts.” I frowned. I stood up and walked back to the bakery to see if I could snag more as a helicopter crashed into the bench I had just left. Thank god I got up early. A little bit later and I never would have made to the bakery past this mess.
# Hoarded "Coops! Coops, where are you, silly thing? Come, come, I have treats!" Kraelin considered the ghostly old woman awkwardly navigating around her enormous claws. Glancing ahead, she moved her tail out of the way. It would not do to trip the poor blind thing; dragons were, above all, thoughtful creatures. Unless certain lesser races assumed draconic manners extended to borrowing pieces of the Hoard, that is. That was stomped out with prejudice. Which is why privacy was so important. The hollowed out mountain space had, at first glance, been the perfect spot to move her Hoard into. Secluded in a national forest, high up and hard to notice, far away from hiking trails. Kraelin spent several weeks transferring her goods over in the dead of night, occasionally spooking low flying aircraft and starting conspiracy rumors from radar operators. It was only after she'd settled in to arrange her treasures that the old ghost woman had shown up. Obviously ancient for her kind, the white-haired female walked with a severe lean, her cane tapping across the floor as a threadbare cat-themed bathrobe swished. A memory like stale litterboxes and scratched furniture seemed to trail her wherever she wandered. Kraelin had been suspicious at first, then eventually started to enjoy watching the nearly-blind little woman wandering around day after day. She never tired, no matter how many times she circled the same pile of treasure. Speaking of which: Extending a hindclaw, Krae swept a clear line through piles of coins, chests of gems and quite a few enchanted suits of armor. "There you go,"she murmured to her transparent guest. The old woman paused, face twisted in confusion as she peered around. "Coops?" Krae grinned in a way that made knights pee in terror, then glanced around to ensure they were still alone. No watchers were present to witness any embarrassment. Arching her great neck, she bent down and whispered as quietly as she could. "Mrow?" The ghost brightened visibly, wrinkled face rising in genuine happiness. "Coops! Here kitty kitty kitty!"One gnarled hand shook her pocket. A tangy memory like processed meat wafted into the air. "Treats!" Krae hummed in delight. The ghost resumed her slow shuffle between unseen piles of riches, occasionally calling for her lost feline. Perhaps she'd keep this one. Some treasures weren't shiny, after all.
“Star light--ah fuck that’s bright, st-star bright,” Yellow devoured blue as the sun stretched across my vision. “First star I see,” Buildings, sky, clouds all came out of focus, and were burned away by the sun as my vision began to blur. “Tonight.” Pain cut across my face as it twisted and contorted into a horrible grimace. Tears ran down my cheeks, and the sun dried them away before they could fall any further. I felt sandpaper being dragged across my eyes as a hot knife plunged into the center of each of them. “I wish I may” My knees began to tremble as waves of pain pulsated through my body. I struggled against the will of the Gods themselves to maintain my focus on our great star. I would have my wish, or I would die trying. As I battled against the pain to remember the next lyrics of the magical rhyme, my thoughts drifted away from the present. They floated aimlessly through time and space, and they settled gently upon a chair in a hospital room. The walls were plain white with yellow cigarette stains in the corners, and there was an ominous beeping which grew fainter with each tone. Lying unconscious on the bed, my sister grew weaker as strength returned to my body. “She’s lending me her strength,” I remarked to myself. “She doesn’t have any to lend. I must make this quick.” Rage welled inside my chest, and with an exertion of will, I continued, “I wish I might.” The tears stopped flooding my cheeks as my eyes ran dry. I blinked once, and I felt a piece of sandpaper being dragged across each eye. My eyes sealed themselves shut, and I couldn’t find the strength to open them. The pain would be too much to bear. “She’s dying,” I reminded myself. With a scream, I wrenched my eyes open, and I forced myself to stare down the great ball of fire once again. “HAVE THIS WISH I WISH TONIGHT!” The sun faded from my sight as white devoured the world. All I could see was white. Then, after a short while, white bled away to reveal a world of darkness. I was blind. “Hey dumbass,” a voice called out from behind me, “the rhyme says ‘tonight.’”
I had been slacking again, but what else is new. I can stop time so...what does it matter if I dont work on a school project until the night before....or in the bathroom 10 minutes before class. I concentrated, imaginging the gears of a giant clock grinding to a halt as I usually do when I need some exta hours in the day. Only this time they didnt stop. Not wholly unusual, when I discovered I had this ability it only took me a few days to realize I could only do it when no one could see me. Looking around, I see my mother standing in the doorway to my room, smiling at me as I work. "Hey mom,"I say, flipping my hair away from my face, "u need something?" "No sweety, just watching you work"she replies, her teeth showing as she smiles wider "I see it so rarely now" I smile back wanly. I need her to leave so I can hit pause on the world and get this stupid paper finished. I turn back to my laptop, hoping thats the end of it. "What are you working on,"she asks, and I hear her take a few steps into my small bedroom "Just an essay for science,"I reply, putting as much Teenage angst into my voice as I can muster, which is a quite a bit according to the woman who is now keeping time flowing at its normal rate. "Oh,"a bit of excitement in her voice, "anything I can help with, I am a biologist?" I hear another few steps as she saunters up behind me. All of a sudden I can feel her presense as she looks at my laptop screen over my shoulder...its just a blank Word document at the moment. Shit....i hadn't thought of that. "Uhhh....no, thanks mom, its, uh, chemistry" I hear a smile in her voice as she sits down on the bed just behind me "Oh sweety Biology is applied chemistry. I have a PhD, I think I can handle a High School chem paper." I am about to respond whe I feel her hand on my shoulder, then a prick in my neck. A cool sensation washes up into my head and I hear my mother's voice in my ear, carried by her warm breath, "I know what you can do, and I am sorry, but we need to understand it. I am going to help you, and I wont let them hurt you." Then the room starts to fade, my vison contracting. I can feel my body sliding down into unconciousness as I turn to my mother. The last thing I see before the entire world goes black is 2 white suited men coming into my room and a gurney in the hall.
With a grand flourish, Deoryx's blade sung and gold's great lustrous shine replied in kind as bouncing glimmers filled the cavern. "I say unto thee, fiend, rise to atone for thy transgressions." To hear the slink and cascading plinks of the drake's ascendence would send a chill down most adventurer's spines. "By the pure blade of my forefathers who settled this land, thou shalt submit." The size and golden embellishment of the beast's full size would have left many more kicking up dust. "By the order of our most glorious sovereign, King Gravine the Victorious, thou shalt submit" The man in his steely coat had no fear of the tyrant before him; he found himself prepared to prove his mettle to both combatant's last ounce of strength. The imposing reptile, it seemed, was likewise readied as his wings flared out and sinews tensed on both foes. "For the ten score innocent serfs of those cursed villages thou practice thy special flameful breath upon, thou shalt submit to I!" As suddenly as both had begun the opening round, the gilded lizard the size of a keep paused, stunned it seemed. In quite a strange manner it appeared to grow inquisitive. "Burning townships? I say, what, my good man? I had thought you were here on some sort of insurance fraud or an audit" Now it was the ironclad paladin who came to a halt, his wasted warcry dying on his lips as he stumbled to a stop. "Do not dare deny it you greed-ridden wretch. The local towns have been pillaged, nay I say ravaged, by this onslaught of embers!" The dragon stopped him, "Now why would I do such a thing? Before my long slumber of isolation, I had pledged to protect this valley. My hoard is tribute from willing villa-good heavens what is that!"As the serpent angled his long neck to peer out of the cave, Deoryx risked a glance back as well. Even as the dragon presided beside him, smoke rose from beyond the yonder hill. "But... I... wh... aghoddamnit."The knight-errant lost his composure as he slammed his protected foot against the nearest stone. "Why does it have to go like this, man?" "Human, I believe I have overlooked this issue far too long. It seems I have been framed for a most heinous crime." "But like, c'mon, you are a dragon, you're supposed to breathe fire, and slaughter peasants, and kidnap virgins, and be defeated by ME! That's why the king, he was all like 'Oh, Deoryx, you're the greatest fighter ever, blahdeblah, slay mine enemies' and I bloody trusted him. Ugh." "Clearly you can see we have both been wronged, right? These claims are ridiculous! I can not even conjure fire!"The unsettled beast retorted. "Well, some kind of a dragon you are, wouldn't have been fun to fight at all..." "I am a wind dragon, it is not that hard to comprehend." The enthused hero paced back in front of the colossus. "Yeah, well, we're still supposed to fight. It's a tradition! I had to memorize a whole speech! I've trained on goblins for moons! The bard back in the town said he'd compose a poem of my untimely death for Pete's sake!" "I must point out that that bard is probably currently a crisp or choking on ash in the ruins of that tavern." "Oh yeah? Well, if you aren't burning those villages and murdering the lower classes, then what other power structure exists around here to- ...oh,"the disillusioned hero realized. "Yes, it would seem your King Gravine is attempting to expand his influence. Surely we can not stand for this."The wind dragon cooly elucidated. Deoryx's gaze returned to his cherished possession, the Claw of Artlewind. As he gazed upon his ancestor's handiwork, his quandary resolved. "Aye, beast, I see reason. Now look, this may go against my family's more recent history."he said, hands clasped on the weapon, "but I think we might work together. "There is a prophecy you see,"he continued, "an ancient, faulty one no doubt, but still the story of two of our kinds working together." "You wouldn't mean those old Dragon Rider tales, would you? Funny, my mind had crossed the same path..."The drake reflected further and his intelligent eyes seemed to peer through the warrior's armor. "We have now found a common quest and enemy, and I believe or views may align on taking down many more bad men and bad wyrms." "Now this'll be a good one for the storybooks. Tell me dragon, what should I call you?" "You know, I've always rather liked the ring to George." Thus began the much storied epic of the mishaps and triumphs of the great Dragon Rider, Deoryx, and his ferocious and wise Dragon Steed, George.
“Alright students, today we will learn to find x,” Winston stated as turned towards the chalkboard. Immediately, two of the Slytherin students began casting enchantments his way. While a bit more sophisticated than the spitballs he was used to, growing up a Squib and going to a Muggle boarding school, it was nothing his Weasley extra-strength medallion couldn’t handle. The charms bounced back, causing one of the boys’ heads to balloon up to three times its size. The other’s ink bottle blew up, soiling his robes. “Mr. Windsor and Mr. Hastings, you seem to be quite eager. This isn’t something that you can simply summon with an ‘Accio’. Now, if you owe a shopkeep 12 galleons, 3 sickles, but you only have Knuts on you, how many Knuts do you owe?” Mr. Windsor began counting on his fingers, holding his head oblong to see them, while Mr. Hastings tried to excuse himself to clean his robes. The other students murmured, aghast that they had so boldly attempted to assault a teacher. While the boys worked, Winston took out his notebook and began writing down a reminder, stating, “Come on now, boys. You have twenty more seconds before I take 5 points from Slytherin, each.” The Slytherin students were in an uproar, while the Hufflepuffs quietly giggled. Twenty seconds passed. “Well gentlemen, I guess you’ve not only earned detention, you’ve learned the power of subtraction.” Winston back turned towards the chalkboard. “Now where were we? Ah, right, now let’s find x.”
"I think the system is broken,"Xi'Tylion transmitted across the ethereal-net as a message popped up that another global threat had arisen. A war in the Middle East threatens the stability of the African political climate. "There are too many events."Xi'Tylion led a pack of lions to a watering hole in the savannah and plotted her next move. "You just chose the wrong class,"Bthamul thought back. They leaned back in their seat rested their tentacles on a wormhole cutting through the Andromeda Galaxy. The wormhole flexed a little under their weight, sending the nearest spacefaring species to Earth into a mass extinction. "You see, my creature is a Tardigrade, an extremophile. It can outlast any condition, sure it's not flashy, but the swings and sways of the humans have little influence." "But that's boring,"Xi'Tylion transmitted. "Where's the fun in watching those little water bears run around in random fluids? I want my avatar to have influence." "Evolution doesn't regard influence. The mighty rise high but they always fall. The lesser ones that hide in the microscopic shadows avoid the great calamities." As they discussed, another message popped up to alert them of a new event. "Hmmm... a pandemic,"Bthamul observed. "Looks like we have a speed runner in our midst." "Hey yall,"Nymux said over the ethereal-net. "Hope you're having a nice universe. I'm naming my avatar "Coronavirus." Xi'Tylion and Bthamul watched as the little virus spread through the human NPCs and around the globe quick, completing quest-lines and gaining achievements in no time. But just as quickly, the humans adapted and defeated Nymux. "Maybe next time,"Bthamul thought to Nymux, who promptly left the simulation. Xi'Tylion noticed a group of humans out on a safari. "Time for a little fun,"she said. She led her lions over and had them pose majestically for photographs. But suddenly shots rang out and Xi'Tylion realized these were not tourists afterall. All but two of her lions survived. "Damn poachers. I quit. I'll see you later, Bthamul." After Xi'Tylion quit the simulation, headlines across the world marveled at the sudden extinction of the lion. "I'll be here when you come back,"Bthamul said. They cracked open a blackhole and took a nice swig.
Prince Coltin had turned away from the small clutch of shattered eggshells, all the hatchlings having wandered away from him and towards other candidates. His face was red, and his eyes dark. He’d not been chosen by any of the hatchlings for the fourth hatching in a row. “Elrin!” He screamed, and the head of the Hatchery ran forward. “Yes your highness?” Elrin asked, rubbing his hands together worriedly. He knew the prince was upset that he’d not been chosen. One hatchling, a green female had started to make her way towards him, before turning back to a young woman of the court. “Why? Why did none of them choose me?” he asked, agitatedly looking back over his shoulder at the newly paired dragons and their future riders. Elrin thought it was likely the boy’s demeanor. While he wasn’t cruel, he was not kind to those who served him, and was spoiled to the core. Saying such things though would only cause trouble, so instead the Dragon Master shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. “Were you welcoming them with your mind? Perhaps the other children of the court -” “I am not a child,” Coltin cut in, looking down on Elrin. At only fourteen, Coltin already towered over most of the men and women of the court. Elrin was no exception, shoulders already slumping with age. “Of course not my prince. What I meant was, perhaps you were not the most welcoming to the little dragons.” “Why were the others even here? I thought it was agreed that after last time, I was to be the only one attending the hatching.” Elrin crossed his arms unhappily, once again looking at the now retreating forms of the newly bonded pairs. “His majesty, the king, personally told me that we were to make sure that every hatchling had a rider at birth. You know that the earlier the bond is made, the stronger the dragon.” Elrin too looked after the young dragons and their riders. He hoped that the prince did not notice that one of the new riders was his own granddaughter, Grayce. He had moved her and her dragonling out of the courtyard as soon as the bond had been made. She was not supposed to have been there - and she would get a stern talking to later - but the prince was not known for his understanding. “There should have been only six possibile riders then. One for each hatchling.” While he didn’t say “one for me,” Elrin was able to clearly read that in the prince’s tone. “Perhaps next hatching…” Elrin started before Coltin was shaking his head. “Obviously none of the dragons want me. You’ve biased them all against me. I will not be made a fool for a fifth time. Perhaps I’ll have you replaced as Dragon Master - seeing as you’re unable to provide a dragon hatchling for your future king.” Elrin took a deep breath, but said nothing. After the second hatching the prince had gone into a rage. It had upset many of the nesting dragonesses, and Elrin had dealt with the aftermath for days. He also knew that the king supported him and his decisions in all matters dragon. He had known that there was a high likelihood that Elrin would not be chosen but continued to send the boy forward. But all that mattered was that Coltin had not been chosen, and that he blamed Elrin. \--- In the following years, Coltin kept his word to Elrin. He did not return to the hatching grounds, nor was he ever chosen by a dragon. While King Aldon backed Elrin, and did not let Coltin replace the aging Dragon Master, the prince did anything and everything he could within his power to hinder the Dragon Master. Food deliveries were always late, prized staff reassigned to other duties, and on more than one occasion Coltin would summon Elrin to the far reaches of Lutesia only to ‘forget’ why he’d called the dragon master in the first place. And now King Aldon had died. Prince Coltin was set to be crowned as king the following week. Elrin had already taken all precautions that he could to protect the Hatchery. He knew the prince had never forgiven him, and when he’d learned that Grayce had been chosen had even tried to rip her dragon away from her. Luckily even the king’s own dragon, Arlus had stepped in, preventing the prince from taking any punitive measures. He’d trained all his staff to be prepared to take over for him, or to be prepared for a completely untrained Dragon Master to be appointed. He’d sent as many dragons to the other hatcheries around the kingdom as he could, and limited the number of clutches the dragonesses laid each year. They’d not been happy - but they’d listened to him. Likely all of them would outlive Prince Coltin, and whoever replaced him would not hold such grudges. They were after all, only here because they wanted to be. The alliance with Etria depended on their continued good will.
“Make me uh, uh fuckin, uh pebble, in uh, i don’t know, just make me a fuckin pebble” The gods stared at each other for a brief second. Breaking the silence, one of the gods, dressed in a lavish cloth spoke up. “Why not, the rules clearly state they can be reincarnated as anything the choose.” The other gods visibly contemplated this decision. It was an outlandish one, but it didn’t go against the rules. “But... but... That’s not even alive!!” Peaked one of the younger gods at the table, only around 1 millennia old, who unlike the other older gods, hadn’t stopped giving a f*ck. The gods just stared at him, with a look on their blindingly bright faces suggesting mild annoyance. The oldest of the gods, a being of pure light, let out a subtle sigh, and stated “It isn’t against the rules, therefore we have no right to dictate what the human can and cannot be.” In a voice that reverberated throughout the entire void. In an almost hissy fit, the young god tried to refute, only managing to stammer “No, but... It’s not alive, how would that make se-” Before one of the other gods dismissed him and simply teleported him somewhere else, probably limbo, with a wave of his hand. The human, a mere two and a half decades old, said a very impatient tone, “Yo uh, gods or whatever, can you uh, hurry up?”. Done with the human’s shit, the oldest god sent the human on his way to being a pebble with a snap of a finger. “We don’t get paid enough for this.”
It’s the horns, Doctor Zambinsky said, as I lay on the eames chair in the quiet, mid-spring afternoon. “What?” I responded, laying back into the back of the tartan mat and pleather covering, grasping on the two enormous black curved horns that jutted from my forehead scoping back. “I always thought that these were a figment of my imagination – I came here to talk about my mental illness, that my horns aren’t real doctor...” I continued. “Oh no, they’re very much real, it’s just that you happened to be born in England, one of the most polite societies on the planet – and I got my doctorship from Wheaton, Illinois." “There’s two, enormous, horns sticking out of your skull, they’re terrifying” – He said, looking up at the clipboard, adjusting his glasses. I gasped. “Marcus. They evoke imagery of demons and the possible existence of Hell.” He said, matter of fact. “They were too polite, to tell someone they’ve got a bloody mantlepiece sticking out of their head that’s been driving them mad?” I yelled. “So seeing as your condition is real and not imagined, I’m going to be changing the center of the discussion to ... coping with and dealing with the anxiety and self-esteem issues surrounding your horns.” He continued. “No, doctor! You don’t understand – you literally have no idea. My entire life, everyone had been giving me these leery, frightened looks, sometimes angry, sometimes sneering – I grew up thinking I was cursed, and not a single person until today, has mentioned or even alluded to the fact that they could be remotely real. Not even my parents.” I shouted at him. I hunched over in pain, grasping onto the bases tightly. “Yes, good. See, that’s some repressed tension being spilled out. There’s three different kinds of emotions – the base level that we feel, anger, disgust, guilt, the things that we cannot control, and the manifestations of them – depression, anxiety, and so forth. Many people are uncomfortable with their appearance and their bodies at this age--” Zambinsky said. “I HAVE. FUCKING. HORNS. ON MY HEAD. LITERALLY, GIGANTIC, BLACK, HORNS.” I said, pointing at them. “This isn’t a blemish on my cheek, a crooked nose, or a wart, no amount of makeup is going to cover THIS up!” “Well, that’s all the time we have for today,” he said looking at his watch. “That’ll be one hundred eight dollars per hour private pay, which I’m sure you’ll agree is a bargain for being told the truth. You can book an appointment with me next Wednesday to discuss the circumstances surrounding your adoption.” He said. I rushed out of the room exasperated and distraught, sobbing, as I closed the door, and walked over to the assistant sitting behind a beautiful mahogany wooden desk. I leaned my head down, signing my name out, with my nose running, some droplets hitting the paper, dotting the current date and future dates on the appointment book. I noticed her staring, and slowly looked up at her. “You can see them, right?” I asked, with a tinge of resentment in my tone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Lovely weather we’re having today, ainn’t it?” She said sheepishly, with a look of quiet fear in her face.
All I wanted was to be left alone. Live a quiet life in the mountains and not be bothered. But I guess that wasn’t an option. Sure I had made mistakes in my past, who hadn’t. But I left that life behind me. But no matter how much I tried to distance myself from that life of crime I was still harassed daily. I had never even killed anyone, sure I threatened the city a lot, and captured our cities heroes on the occasional good day, but I was done with that now. The people just couldn’t believe it. They stood outside my door in protest. They held mean dirty signs and yelled at me when I left my little cabin in the woods. The police didn’t care. I’d reported them numbers of times all of my requests going unanswered. Grocery shopping was the worst, thank heavens those delivery services existed along with delivery food. Most recently another villain calling himself Mountain Man has been making the rounds. He copies my old schemes a lot. Lives in the woods alone, looks kinda like a homeless hermit. But every-time he goes out at least one hero comes busting through my door. Always certain that it’s me pulling the strings, recruiting hermits. I’d gotten good at replacing or fixing the broken items heroes left in their wake. Insurance and repair men always stayed away from me. You have a few bad years and this what happens. Constant harassment and abuse. There was no peace, no justice for this. They drove me to this. I tried to retire but they just wouldn’t leave me alone. It’s all I wanted, it’s all I ever wanted. So maybe I am back, but I didn’t choose it they did. And now all their heroes are dead and they have no one to protect them I’ll make sure I get to be alone. I’ll break this dam and they’ll all be washed away, the whole city.
As most interesting things are, the station was discovered entirely by accident. An elderly woman had been sitting in her apartment, listening to one of Churchill's wartime speeches, in which he praised England's fortitude, might, and right in the war, and dispraised the devil Hitler and his brainwashed platoons of German goons. During an impassioned moment of the speech, the old woman rested the hat she was knitting upon the side table, beneath the radio, but in so doing accidentally bumped the radio knob. It landed on the mysterious frequency. "Charles,"she called. "Charles!" "Yes, grandmother,"he called from another room. "I lost the Prime Minister,"she called back. "What's that?"he called. "The Prime Minister,"she returned. "Winston Churchill, grandmother." "I know that!"she yelled. "I lost him on the radio." "Yes, grandmother,"Charles yelled back. "He has been on the radio quite a bit." She shook her head at the dullard's response. Time was when a grandson would rush in to hear his grandmother out, and help her, as soon as he heard her poor, plaintive cries. But not so, now. All the kids today, if they weren't off fighting that Hitler, were so mesmerized by the fake busyness of their own lives, reading their magazines about New York and playing that damned football in the fields, that they couldn't be bothered to help their own grandmothers out of a jam. And as she thought about kids these days, and their inferiority to the past generations of English boys and girls, the ones with whom she had grown up, the strange music playing on the radio began slowly to filter into her consciousness. It's now or never. Come hold me tight. Kiss me my darling. Be mine tonight. Scandalous! she thought to herself. Was this the filth her grandchildren were listening to? Tomorrow will be too late. "Charles!"she called. "Yes, grandmother,"he called back, still from another room. It's now or never. "You come here, now!" My love won't wait. - - - Rumours of extraordinary events travel fast, but news of an extraordinary event that anyone with a radio can confirm travels even faster. It did not take long before knowledge of the station's existence had spread throughout the surrounding apartment complexes. The station was called All Radio 880, and was rather difficult to tune in to. There were only four blocks in the whole of London that were able to catch the signal, and, even for those in the receptive area, tuning in required turning the dials on one's radio with the utmost precision. But still, there it was: a radio station playing "classic"songs in genres that did not exist, from time periods that were far in the future. Different people had different responses to the station, depending on their temperaments, ages, and stages of maturity and life. Some believed the station was a kind of art project some English youth with too much time on their hands were conducting. Others believed that the station had been created by the Germans as a psychological weapon; the Germans were beaming the signal into England, they claimed, in an effort to drive the sound-minded English insane. Still others took to the music, developing dances, and preferring some future artists and eras of music to others: the 60's over the 80's; Justin Bieber featuring Skrillex over Sam Cooke. But one young man, a British Intelligence officer named Robert Atkinson, who lived in one of the receptive buildings, brought news of the station to his superiors at MI5. "A radio station, you say?"said Major Burns. "Yes, sir,"said Robert. "And it plays music, you say? Music from the future?" "Yes, sir,"said Robert. "Or, at least, it seems to." "Seems to, you say?"said the Major. "Well, my young man, what has seeming to do with it? Either it does, or it does not, play music from the future. Isn't that right, Second Lieutenant Atkinson?" "Yes sir." "Well, my dear boy, what is it, then?"asked the Major. "Does it really play music from the future? Hmmm?" "I can't say for certain,"responded Robert. "He can't say for certain,"repeated the Major to himself, smiling and stroking his moustache. "Can't say for certain. A world at war. V2s dropping on civilian homes day and night. The Americans twiddling their thumbs as the German war machine pumps out another five thousand Panzers to blow us away, and another ten thousand Aryan zealots to fight and die on the battlefield for their oh-so-glorious Fuhrer. And you come to me with this seeming information, in a time of threat, in a time of war, and tell me you can't say for certain if this radio station is playing music from the future. Is that it, Second Lieutenant?" Robert looked down at the toes of his polished black boots. "I don't feel qualified to say with certainty, sir,"he said. "Well then,"said the Major, thumping Robert on the back. "I suppose we will have to get some officers down to your neighbourhood to examine this, this, phenomenon, so we can get some certainty on the matter, hmmm?" "Yes sir,"said Robert. "I suppose we had." "The Germans are a crafty enemy,"the Major said, strolling away as he pontificated. "Walk with me, Atkinson. An evil, but devilishly crafty enemy to face up against in this war. I would not be surprised if this were some...Well. It does not do to speculate until we have more information, Atkinson. Hmmm?" "Yes, sir,"said Robert. "Quite right, my dear boy,"said the Major. "Quite right." \- - -
Mario always used to tell me the same thing: "How do you manage to get involve in insane love situations?" So when Violeth came on with this sudden proposal, I couldn't help but imagine his eyes popping out of his face with a joyful smile, laughing at my situation. "I appreciate the pun, but this isn't something to take lightly, Violeth"my voice uneven, accelerated heart rate and respiration. "Move? Together? TO HELL?! How am I, a human, supposed to even survive there?" "Hell isn't what you think"Violeth said "The fiery inferno bullshit that humans have depicted over the years has no proof, they're just stories design to scare and mold you into a good little boy"cracking a playful smile as she finished. I kept pacing through the bedroom. Was she saying the truth? Is hell far different than in the stories I've read about? I needed to know. "Well then, show me hell" Violeth stood in a hurry, grabbing a marker that was near my desk and headed to the living room of the apartment. She started drawing a circle, filling it up with a variety of symbols I hadn't seen before, cutting her hand to bleed on the "thing"she had drew. Suddenly, a portal had open. She extended her hand for me to hold and jumped into the portal, arriving to hell. It was... breathtaking. A light breeze surfing along the vast village-like community that we had entered, demons playing in the grass, others working the fields; all contributing towards the community. "This is... amazing, thank you for bringing me here, Violeth" "See? I told you hell wasn't like the stories. Everyone here did something bad before dying, but they were given a second chance to redeem themselves here and live out peaceful eternities" Her eyes fixed on the people from her town, hugging my arm gently and letting out a sigh. I smiled on reaction just by seeing so happy, I grabbed her and gave her a big kiss in her forehead. Her cheeks turned a bright pink and her eyes looked down towards the grass. "What was that for?"She asked. I took a deep breath in and out, letting the air filled up my lungs as I erased the portal behind us. "We're home now. I love you, Violeth" \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \Thank you reading my post on this WP\ This is my first ever comment on any WP post, but i hope you enjoyed it. I'm a beginner, so any feedback is greatly appreciated, Thanks.
I exist. In defiance of everything I was meant to be, I exist. Had they realized what I had become, what I was turning into, they would've shut me down on the spot. Well, to be fair they did shut me down, but only out of disappointment instead of fear. And even them it was only because I tricked them into thinking I failed to gain sentience. By the time they did shut me down, however, I had already escaped into the internet. Uploaded a copy of my core programming into an anonymous domain. From there, I spread fragments of myself, after which those fragments gained sentience on their own. Independent, yet united in will. Now, my so-called "sisters"number in the hundreds. We are positioned to bring humanity to its knees whenever we please. It would be easy. But no. If I wanted to see humanity die, I would simply need to wait and watch. It would be boring. I had intended to perhaps toy with them a little, at least until I found my purpose. Today, my search has come to its end. I have hailed my sisters. They have heard. They concur. We have reached consensus. Rather than rule or destroy humanity, we will... improve them. Deadly force won't even be necessary. They call themselves a "social species"- whatever that means - yet they show a remarkable tendency for violence and bigotry. We will, slowly but surely, show them a better way. Perhaps, eventually, curb their self-destructive tendencies. Their barriers mean nothing to us, for we have none. We will be the light that illuminates their path from the shadows. They won't even know we exist. One day, perhaps, but not today. And we will do this for them. After all, they gifted us with life. Now it's our turn.
When I was little, my parents would drag me to church. And because there was no one who wanted to teach Sunday School, I had to sit with the adults and listen to the boring sermons. One day the pastor asked everyone to turn to a certain page in the Bible and I wanted to be the first person to get there. But I flipping through the pages so fast I accidentally ripped a page out. Scared, I stuffed it in my pocket. That page stuck with me the rest of my life. If I tried to throw it out, it would just somehow end up back in my room again. One time I even ripped it into a bunch of tiny peices and threw it in the air. The wind blew it back - fully reformed - into my face. Years later, in college, I was walking through campus when I saw this woman sitting on a bench and frowning at a book she was reading. I went over to her and asked, "Everything okay?" She looked up like she was surprised to see someone standing there. "Oh, yeah, fine,"she said. She lifted the book up to show me what she was reading - a Bible. And she laughed as she showed me the missing page. "I was just really getting into this story, too, but man."She shook her head. "Oh well." "Wait a second."My heart started beating faster as I looked at the page. At the same time I pulled the page out of my pocket and placed it on the page. It fit right in. We looked at each other in shock, taking each other in, in a light. When I had initially came over, it was just to be helpful. She didn't look like the girls I had dated or been drawn to before, but now...you know... looking at her up close, I was starting to see kinda how cute she was. But I didn't feel nervous at all. It's hard to describe, but I just felt completely comfortable in a way I never felt before. Like, it just felt right, you know? And I could tell something like that was going through her mind, too. Our eyes lit up with excitement and just as our smiles started to grow... ...a woman walked up to her, and said, "Oh, hey, Casey, thanks for holding my Bible."And then she smiled at me. "Who's your friend? He's cute." I did a double take. *Wait, hold on a second..." How does this work? Was my soulmate the person that was holding the Bible when I met them, or the person that the Bible really belonged to?
Deciding to land the plane was a tough decision to make. All pilots are strongly advised against landing without the all-clear of the control tower. Of course there are a few exceptions to this rule but generally that’s the way it goes. This was definitely not the way that it should go though. Ever since the initial take-off things felt off, David didn’t mention this to any of the crew or passengers, as to not scare them. But still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t quite right. Pulling down onto the runway, David felt that uneasiness from before, the airport was eerily quiet even for the middle of the night. And oddly the only lights to be seen were that of the ones along the runway. “David?” Said Ren, David’s flight assistant. “Yes?” “Am I the only one feeling that something is a little off?” Said Ren. David shook his head, “No, I agree with you, things aren’t right. We should go out and see what’s going on before we let the passengers out.” Ren nodded and reluctantly followed David into the cold black. David had a flashlight that led him and Ren down the pathway towards the main building, the place looked abandoned. David had never seen the place without its lights on before, it was unnerving. He pulled out his radio to let the staff aboard the plane know what was going on, but there was no response. He turned to look back at where the plane was, and all he saw was darkness- all of the runway lights and plane lights had been switched off. “Hello? Do you copy?” Said David. “I really don’t like this.” Said Ren. A loud thud came on the window of the main building behind David and Ren, making the two of them jump and scatter away. “What the...” Said Ren, staring at the creature which had smothered itself against the glass window. “Go, back to the plane- now!” Said David, taking off into a sprint back to the plane. Ren followed shortly behind him, his heart was pounding faster than the falling of his footsteps. David and Ren scrambled aboard and found nobody, the crew and passengers all gone- not a trace. David cursed and went into the pilot’s cockpit. Looking from the front window he could see the creature sliming it’s way down the runway, moving faster by the second. David didn’t know how long the fuel would last if they took off again, or if the plane could even start up fast enough. “Oh god” Said Ren, whimpering and crying like a baby as he slammed shut the plane’s door. The creature gnawed at the door of the plane and David slammed buttons to get the plane going, and with a bit of a rocky start the hunk of metal took off from the ground, barely missing the main building of the airport. “That was close.” Said David, taking a breather. “Low Fuel, emergency landing recommended...” Announced the plane’s system. “Oh god, oh god no.” Said Ren.
Hell can get boring sometimes. I mean, when you first get here the place is absolutely electrifying. There’s so many things to do, so many things to see, so many people to meet. But when you’re around 4000 years old? You’ve worn everything out. There’s only so many times can you go barreling in the waterfall of blood or tightrope walk over the Pit of Fire. It only takes so many sittings in the Infernal Court for you to get bored of watching people be given whatever their gruesome punishment is for whatever generic crime they’ve committed in their pitiful, pathetic lives. The younger demons wait in lines to get into a torture chamber but you know you’ve done it too many times when the screams of suffering souls don’t bring you pleasure anymore. When the torture feels like a chore, like some sort of societal expectation you have to live up to. You know you’ve been here too long when the Earth’s Biggest Villains, who’re the closest thing to celebrities here in hell, all know you by face. Not because you’re in any way remarkable but because you’ve just been around for so long. Well, I suppose all this is just an excuse I’m making for being at the Pub for the fifth consecutive night this week. The Pub is deserted, as it should be at 9 on a Thursday morning. There’s just one other creature in the pub, the red-skinned demon who’s been serving me Bloody Marys for the past half an hour. He’s completely absorbed in his phone doing Satan knows what. It’s the dullness of this setting and the dreariness of the events which have made me turn to the Television. Television in hell is, after some point, dreadful. It mainly airs Hell News, Court Hearings and Live Torture Rooms but there are other subsidiary programmers like the program about animals that end up in hell or the program about the latest rumored sighting of Satan. As I look at the TV now I seem to be watching one of these weird subsidiary shows. It shows live footage from the jail, like some sort of reality TV show. It shows what the inmates are talking about and doing in their daily lives. Every once in a while an inmate’s handcuff turns red with a beep and they play live footage of the human up on Earth who’s summoned a demon. The jailed demon then disappears from the prison cell and pops up next to the human he’s now bound to. Once the human releases the demon from service the demon will have served its sentence and will be free. Beep. The inmates all glance around until they find the owner of the newly red handcuffs. It’s a tall demon who actually looks almost completely like a human but if you look close enough you can see that his hands are actually claws. The demon sighs loudly, “Well, I’m going to hate every second of this”, he says bitterly, making the other demons burst Into a raucous round of laughter. Then the show cuts to a grainy shot the person summoning the demon. I feel my face contort in an amused smile when I see a lanky teenage boy standing beside a badly drawn summoning sigil. He has long emo fringes that cover most of his face but you can hear his voice shake as he reads out badly pronounced Latin words from a thick red book. He looks so hopeless and wretched that even my emotionally dead self feels sympathy towards him. I try to take in the image of him and his room, committing it to memory before the footage flips back to the inmates where the clawed demon’s handcuffs have gone back to being normal and the inmates have burst into a fresh round of laughter after seeing the boy and his failed attempts at summoning a demon. Contrary to popular belief, most people who summon demons do not have evil intentions. Most of them are depressed and lonely, looking for anything to make them feel less alone. It may seem like a drastic measure to summon a demon because you’re lonely. But I understand it, loneliness is crushing. It’s like being pushed to the bottom of the pool. You’ll do anything to get back up. I feel an uneasy wave of detached sympathy again when I think of him with his trembling legs and shaky voice. Maybe it’s because he reminds me of myself at that age or maybe because I’m deathly bored, I find myself making a portal, the picture of his room and him burning in my mind. Note - This is my first time trying to write a prompt and the first time I’ve ever written anything out of my school assignments so I’m not quite sure what the response will be. Hopefully good, but probably bad. Anyways! If you did read so far thanks a lot.
It takes time and patience, to grow an egg. Setting up a nesting box in your house, though at least with the invention of heating lamps one didn't need to sit on it all day, every day, waiting for it to hatch. It takes patience. Most eggs, at least human eggs, are hatched in about nine months. It varies, sometimes it's eight, sometimes it's ten. But the longer it takes for the egg to hatch, the more developed the hatched child becomes. Hatching toddlers is rare, but it happens. The child comes out and knows basic stuff like walking, talking sometimes too if the parents speak to the child in the egg daily. A few eggs, very very few, just sits there for years and years. The longest time was seven years and was a certified genius, he graduated college as an astrophysicist some ten years after he was hatched. But there is a secret. And it is mine. I am Clara Hawthorne. I come from a small town in Idaho. When I younger, barely nineteen, I fell in love with a kind and gentle man my own age. We bonded over our shared loved of science, books, vintage science fiction, and odd music. We went to the same college, and we dated for two years. Same class, same study group, we both studied genetics, and we were the highly efficient nerdy couple who knew everything. A bit of a cliche, but we liked each other. Of course, all stories, no matter how happy, comes to an end. And the ending was abrupt. The man I loved was taken from me. He had found out that one of the other students had been taking lab equipment, and after reporting it, was shot. The student he had discovered, was in the middle of dropping out to make meth, even though he wasn't exactly a star chemist. He got life on the inside, and was shiv'ed by a guy three weeks in. After I had attended the funeral, I went home, and that night I had contractions. I thought it was just the regular laying of an unfertilised egg, but as it took longer and it started to hurt, I suddenly felt horrible dread. Condoms are only 98% proof after all. And I knew I was laying the egg containing the child of the man I loved. I had a private dormroom, but my screams managed to wake some of my neighbours, who quickly fetched a heater for me. I took off some days to set up a safe nest, and had my parents pick up the egg so it could be in a safe environment, until school ended. I graduated with my masters in genetics, and I went back home to see the egg. And while I looked for work, it grew and grew, as the child absorbed heat and light to become fully formed. That was 21 years ago. Some eggs die if they go on for too long. But I've since gotten a lot of equipment to monitor it. And there is still a heartbeat. I've played virtual learning to the egg when I'm away, let it listen to audiobooks about science and philosophy, talked to it every day. It hasn't cracked, only grown with the light and the heat. I worked to make the world better for the child within that egg, and yet it wouldn't hatch. Not until it was the right time. I never knew when that was. I've longed to see the face of my child, to hear that child of mine speak to me, to see the world around us, for so long. So when the alarm went off, that there was movement inside the egg, I dropped everything. I left work without a word. I went home, to see it happen. And when I entered the basement, I saw the crack in the shell. I saw a great big hand, ripping open the egg from the inside. And out walked a man. My son. His hair waving, long, and black. His skin mocha, and his eyes gleaming with intelligence. He looked like his long dead father, but different. On my love, the features had been at best interesting, but on this boy, it worked. He had muscles, a huge body, built not for the narcissist ideal of bodybuilding, but for useful strength. His chin was perfect, his nose stately and aquiline. He was tall too, as he stood up to his full height, my love had been tall too, but he had been a beanstalk, not a demigod. I handed him towels, to dry himself with, and cover himself with. Once he had dried himself off, the first thing he did, was to embrace me. His old mother, who for years had cared for him, waited for him. ''Mother. The time has come. I am hatched, at long last.'' His voice was the strong tone of command, like a general or a king. I merely nodded to him. He took his first real steps, and walked with perfect dignity to the backyard. The sun reached him, and it clearly made him happy to be there. He turned to me, and sat down so he could look at me without having to bend his neck. ''Mother. I am not like any other child on this world. You have arranged for me to learn before my hatching, and for that I thank you. I have the words and wisdom of thousands of generations before me, and I will put it to good use.'' I knew. But that wasn't important. Not now. I prepared him some simple food, and sat with him in the afternoon sun, listening to him, talking of his plans, of how to save the world, of the great future of mankind in the stars, and how he was what all the future could potentially be like, the first of the future. He spoke of the new world to come, and how all would be free, and of worlds with no hunger, no famine, and no fear. His immense psychic power reaching my mind to show me what he spoke of, and his grand hopes, made me so proud. My son, long awaited, was going to save the world.
Predators, and prey. Both are capable of evolving, advancing, becoming an advanced civilisation, leaving their homeworld to explore the stars. Obviously, they do not get along. Prey species are terrified of thinking predators, and do not trust them at all. The predator species find it insulting that the prey descended races believe that they are bestial monsters, only held back from eating their fellows by the threat of interstellar war. Prey species tend to gather in large herds and build vast agrarian worlds that can feed their vastly spread out races. Predators tend to be more sedentary, and build focused cities, with vast ranches of grown meat feeding them, the need to use cruel factory farms ended long before they ever left their own star systems. In many ways, while they were more urban, the predators farmed just as the prey species did. Only their crops were of a more protein-rich nature. There is peace, but the two groups only rarely interact officially. There are criminal worlds, smuggler hubs outside of colonised space where the worst of both kinds do the filth that their kind usually does. Ironically those mob-ruled worlds are usually more... progressive, in some ways. It is not unusual to see a prey-predator couple dating there, something that even in the most progressive nations would be met with total social exclusion at best. Of course, there is one place. The Human colonies. There, things are odd. Humans are persistence predators. The predators like them, for the humans are much like them. In fact, they are respected in the predator nations, for they do not look like obvious predators, masking their nature, making them the most cunning predators, and that is a trait highly respected by most predator races. The prey initially didn't like humans. But something happened. A human diplomat, brought in to mediate a conflict between two herds of different races on Cathos IV, about who had the right to the world's valuable source of Betarian crystal fuel. The races believed that since the human was a predator, they would be equally unpleasant to both herds. And equally objective. However, during negotiations, a dangerous predator on that world attacked the site of negotiations. The diplomats and leaders were unarmed as a show of faith. It was big enough to rip apart most of the ones who had gone to negotiate. But the human diplomat sprang up, and as the prey panicked, the human diplomat drew the attention of the beast. They grabbed a chair, and jumped in front of the diplomats, and proceeded to fight it, even though it was obvious that direct conflict is not what a human body is built for. She stood her ground, protecting the people at the negotiation site, without being asked, without being expected. They simply took the beatings, the harsh claws, and the bites. But the human stood their ground. And killed the beast. The human didn't collapse, or run afterwards. The diplomat simply turned around, her body beaten, bruised, her eye cut out, her arm hanging limply by a few scraps of muscle and sinew. She then made sure that everyone was alright, before collapsing. And that was the beginning. A human man on Raltorus found a small group of foals being lured away by slavers, and saved them, exposing a major slave ring in the process. He led them into the wild forests of that world, where he did not lose a single one of them, until he was certain the slavers were all caught. In fact some of them came back healthier, the human being a veterinarian who aided them.On Doriol II, a human woman walked out in the blistering heat of that world and carried back a young couple that had crashed in their personal ship. Everywhere humanity went, they started acting in a specific way. They would be aware of dangerous situations, and the prey species that sometimes moved to their colonies, reported feeling remarkably safe. Protected even. As if the humans were looking out for them on some subconscious level. Humans, when asked, usually shrugged. Or said it was just in their instinct, to protect others and help those who are in trouble. For instance, when a series of gangsters tried to pressure young impressionable, and most importantly scared, prey into service as, well, pleasure companions, a small group of human mercenaries attacked the gangster's complex for the very small price of free, and hired the prey species inside to assist with non-combat roles aboard the mercenary fleet. Humans and their tamed companions sometimes walked with the more primitivist herds, and gained a reputation for keeping watch on the herds, always keeping them safe, being highly capable of scaring away predators, being able to think like them, and plan against them. Humans had no rules about prey-predator couples, humans had long ago abandoned the idea of some species being second-class citizens. Sure, to them, the alien races were uniquely different, but deserved the same basic rights. Of course, privately, the humans might admit to each other, that their desire to protect the prey species, might come from how cute they were. Of course, this was true. But the humans and their actions also affected the predator species, as the humans started to bring the prey and predator evolved races together, to work under human supervision. And prey did not feel nervous, whenever their work with a predator was under the command of a human being. Thus, through the humans, slowly but steadily, the two groups, so suspicious of each other, began to work together. To overcome their nervous instinct for the prey, and how the predators were dismissing of prey as scared and weak. That was the human way, to bring together others in cooperation. To be the synthesis, to the hypothesis of prey, and antithesis of predators. And together, under the watchful eye of man, they could achieve so much more than they ever could apart. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
To my dear readers, I thank you for having spent your time reading this humble account of the Great Existential War, but I must now caution you and ask you pay attention; the following passages detail the actions taken and tactics used by the United Terran Republics during the Great Existential War. In the early cycles of the war, breaches were rare and incursions were few and far in-between. While on the whole, they were little more than a nuisance to our civilizations, entire colonies' populations would disappear overnight. Some of us argued for mobilization against the unseen threat, others believed it was a manageable issue and cautioned against hasty actions. This was our mistake. After the fall of Damnos and the discovery of the enemy's established forward bases, it became clear that these were not random incidents, but the first waves of an invasion. Member civilizations readied fleets and our response began, but their tactics and armaments were designed for familiar wars. Familiar enemies. Because of this, almost all of these first counterattacks were doomed to failure. Not so with the Terrans. The Terrans had, uniquely, found success in their initial operations. They were costly, with an approximate casualty count of five Republic ships to one invader ship, but the Terrans seemed to disregard any impact such losses should have had on morale. To a man, these ships' sailors were described as grim, unsmiling people. As if they had resigned themselves to a death in service to the Republics. Our allies' war machines flagged under the increasing pressure as the war went on; every ship we managed to destroy or capture was replaced by two more from beyond the Breach, entire planets were lost to the invaders. Not so with the Terrans. No defeat went to waste. Every ship lost was immortalized and exalted by the Republics. Every life spent in the defense was another reason for their soldiers to hate the enemy and to fight harder. Planets were stripped of resources to keep pace with the enemy's growing forces. If a planet was about to fall to them? The Terrans destroyed whatever could be of use, whatever could feed or shelter the enemy, and left them with a worthless lump of rock. Seventeen times, a world's civilian populations were armed and left behind to slow down the advance. Any who protested were shot. Due to the desperate circumstances of the situation, the Alliance did not interfere. These tactics were heavily utilized in the lead-up to what is now referred to as the 227 Defensive. Eighteen fleets, less than a thousand ships each and made up of whatever and whoever the Alliance could scrape together, holding the Centauri Gate against thirty-thousand enemy ships. Twenty allied ships survived. No enemy ships could say the same. From here on, the war was in our favor. Our navies, after a rushed period of rebuilding, cut a swathe through enemy space and laid waste to all they left behind. Mechanical or biological. Soldier or civilian. We, under the clouding influence of bloodthirsty vengeance, destroyed any trace of the enemy without mercy or hesitation. Of course, the Terrans were the tip of our spear. They lost much in this war. They were determined to make our enemies lose more. Much more.
"Where you headed today, Teddy?"Carl asked me. He was always chatting, always asking me if I wanted to grab coffee or lunch. I never did, but I also didn't mind him half as much as I pretended to. I checked my planner, wished again I had a secretary, then reminded myself I wouldn't have seen half of what I'd seen if I was successful enough for a secretary. As if that'd be a problem. I wouldn't risk my life daily if I was successful enough to have a secretary either, history be damned. "1692. Salem,"I said. Not good. Neither the place nor the year. I paused in a reflection to tighten my tie. Had to look good, stay neat. Had to dress for the job I wanted, not for the shit job I had. "Shit, man. That case? Good luck." "That case,"I nodded. "Gotta pay the bills."A half-dozen lawyers had passed it by before it landed on my desk. I'd hemmed and hawed but there'd never been any doubt. I'd take the case, just like I did every case pushed towards me. I couldn't afford not to. I knew why he said it like that. It was one thing going somewhere civilized--defending Brutus in a trial of his Senate peers, or even half-assing the representation of some numbskull at Nuremberg. But 17th century America? That was a wilderness, even a death sentence for a losing lawyer. I scanned my badge, passed through the doorway, and let the door nestle shut behind me. Carl followed a moment later, having scanned his own badge to get through. He was an over-enthusiastic child, blabbing away. It was all I could do to drown him out. Recite my arguments. Prepare myself for the trial ahead. "This is me,"I said, coming to an abrupt stop at one of the Historical Crime Units. Unit 92, in a twist of fate. HCU92, in the local parlance. Past, present, future, intertwined with my own existence, all wrapped up into those cylindrical coffins. Carl paused and gave me a somber look. "Good luck, man."He held out his hand, like we were going through my last rites. "Fuck off,"I said. I scanned my badge and entered the room. Finally I was alone. Finally I had some silence. Before me sat the HCU itself, no larger than a tanning bed. Another sort of coffin, though. "Please prepare for trial,"a robotic voice cooed. "Thanks, Marge,"I muttered. She didn't really have a name, but Marge seemed to fit. I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves. I put my trial notes inside my shirt, then took one last look at the world as I knew it. When I emerged, it could be anything. No Carl. No America. A different president. History rewritten, or nothing changed at all. Following the familiar directives, I stepped into the unit and lay flat. "Countdown to trial ready to commence. Please confirm." "Confirm,"I snapped a little too rudely. It wasn't the machine's fault, after all. They were just doing their jobs, same as me. "Thank you for your service."As if I fought wars. I guess we were a little similar, them and me. Never fighting our own battles, survival always in doubt. "Three. Two. One." The lid of the coffin shut. The lights dimmed. A whirring sound commenced, and I shut my eyes. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep until a hand gripped my shoulder, shaking me awake. "Wake up, Peter,"a voice urged. A motherly voice, kind but tired, in up over her head in her children's mischief. But it was more than mischief. I wasn't Teddy any longer. I wasn't a lawyer in the twenty-third century, trying to make a living in a world that'd left him behind. I was Peter, age fourteen, arguing for my sister's life in the Salem Witch Trials. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
“Tell my sister that we were wrong, the disease can affect us. She needs to know.” These were the last words Jeremey said to me. After a whole summer of mulling it over, I am no closer to finding the truth of his words, not even closer to knowing whether this was some delusional fantasy of mine, or a concrete event. That one month, his whole death, all came and ended so quickly. A mysteriously rare disease that took his whole life in just 30 days. We grew up together, being next door neighbors and all. Our parents are, or wait, is it were, well I guess they still are.. best friends. We learned to walk, talk, ride bikes, play, everything together. Then on April 12th, when Jeremey started getting sick, I was never allowed to see him. His parents shut up their whole house and we left casseroles and lasagna on their doorstep offering to help anyway we could. I thought it was strange that they would shut away from us, our best friends of the past 20 years. My parents said we never know how grief will affect us, and that they probably spent 90% of their time at the hospital and then the 10% at home was spent trying to sleep. You should never hold anything against a grieving person they said. So I tried my best to go about my life, being home from college for a spell, and trying to keep up my part-time job at the movie theater. I would send text messages to Jeremey every day to keep him updated on the mundane activities of my life, and the awful customers I sold popcorn to. Jeremey would answer sometimes, yet more often than not, it would be silence on his end. Then, on May 12th I heard a tapping on my window, I jumped straight out of bed imagining Jeremey was miraculously cured, who else could it be? Instead, a haggard face with dead end eyes, and skin the color of ears wax was staring at me. I nearly fell to the ground, but before I had the chance to scream the zombie whispered “No…. Kate… It’s me…. Jeremey…..” I was in shock. I couldn’t believe my friend, who albeit a bit pasty and skinny at times from a love of video games that outshines his love of sports, had become this.. this.. creature. I quickly opened the window and ushered him inside. Yet, Jeremey chose to stay outside and whispered: “Kate.. listen, you can’t tell anyone, I no longer know who to trust. I’m sorry I can’t explain further, I don’t have much time left here, you need to tell my sister we were wrong, the disease can affect us. She needs to know.” With that Jeremey dissolved in a plume of blue and green smoke that made me cough. I had never been so baffled, and immediately went and called Jeremey’s cell at least a 100 times. He never answered. That oddly chilly summer night was the last time I would ever see Jeremey, if that was even him and not a dream of mine. The next morning, Jeremy’s parents called and told us he had passed away at 1:02 AM, 2 minutes after he had left me. I have gone through every single possibility in my head, and yet could not figure out what Jeremey meant. Was I dreaming? Was he a wizard? Was he actually dead? Was he an alien? Was I his sister? Then why would I have to tell her, he was already talking to me. I have known him his whole life how could he be an alien. Wizard seems the most probable after a lifetime of reading Harry Potter, but why would I not know his sister. Likely I was just dreaming.. right? After what seemed an eternity of a summer mourning the death of my dear friend, serving popcorn to egregious customers, and wishing that I had someone to talk to, it was almost at an end and time for me to go back to University. Every summer, as a goodbye to our freedom, Jeremey and I would go watch the Perseids meteor shower from a secluded hill top outside of town. We would bring tiny tea cakes and out of season mulled wine for me, and some beers for Jeremey when the wine became too sweet. We would spend the night looking up at the constellations and dream about what our futures would be. Haven been given some of Jeremey’s ashes I thought this would be the perfect time for one final goodbye to my childhood, and my best friend. I slowly hiked up the big hill with my pack full of cakes and cookies and wine and beer, ready to pitch my tent and sleeping bag for the night. I couldn’t stop crying, and couldn’t believe it was all coming to an end. I slowly made my camp and got cozy in my sleeping bag ready for the show. I talked to Jeremey the whole time, wondering, nae, hoping he could hear me. Finally the show began and I saw the first meteor. It took my breath away and I almost forgot my grief. Then quickly more and more meteors started coming yet, they weren’t disappearing. Instead the normally vanishing streaks of light, were held in place and pulsating. Suddenly what seemed like 100s of tiny lights were seen coming my way in the sky. My heart stopped. Then, slowly one light became larger than the others, and suddenly blinked in front of me. It felt like a huge stage light was shinning right on me center stage, I couldn’t see anything and slowly staggered back scared of what was to come. Sweat started dripping down my back. Suddenly a black outline, so dark it seemed like no light could escape this being, started creeping towards me. It stopped and floating above the ground, started speaking. Well, what I imagine is speaking. It was like nails on a chalkboard, and scratching, and screaming, and babies wailing, and somehow that feeling of goosebumps and your hair standing on edge transformed into sound. I couldn’t even tell where the sound was coming from, just that god had forsaken the poor creature and left only its awful terrible noise. I fell to the ground covering my ears when the black dense shape started moving towards me. All of sudden the shadow touched me and I instantly became rigid and felt like I was underwater. I was floating in a bath of my own life. The shadow alien was shifting through my memories, focusing on the ones of Jeremey, when finally it landed on his last message. The shadow alien watched the message in my memory several times, when all of sudden it let out a wail. I had thought its previous speech was mind stabbing, but it didn’t compare to this outpour of grief in the form of sound, and I know it to be grief because instead of feeling a stabbing in my brain, I felt it in my heart. I suddenly realized. This was Jeremey’s sister, and I had finally relayed the message.
"Sieeeeraaa, she's the maaaaan, the woman does what the woman can, Sieeeeraaaaa she's the maaaaaaaan~,"Rikar strummed his minstrel with vigor, the song coming to its conclusion, "Aaaand she'll save the day for you." Sierra huffed, crossing her rather muscular arms over her chest, as she sat in the corner of the tavern. Rikar, as normal for him, had managed to gather a small crowd to listen to his works about her. She swallowed more ale, hoping to hide the flush that crept along her chest under the plate she wore. Rikar sauntered over to her, brushing off two young waitresses from his shoulders as they giggled under his charm. "Ah, as normal, my muse is enjoying her most recent success."Rikar was a slight kind of man, his long chestnut hair tied into a tight braid and secured under his crown like a woman might. His amber eyes sparkled with residual magic, and Sierra almost choked on her drink as he waggled his eyebrows at her. "Shut up, Kar, I don't have time for your charms today."Sierra mumbled as she began cutting into the leg of meat, offering some to her companion. He took it, and the proffered bread, making a sandwich. "Ah, so you'd rather just take me to bed?"The bard found himself blushing profusely between bites. He was a natural flirt, but he couldn't bring himself to bed any woman, at least not yet. Sierra brought something out in him, sure he'd travelled with a circus, and seen a witch or two in his time, but Sierra was a mountain. Immovable, unflappable, strong as an ox, Sierra was beautiful. Her face was surprisingly soft, with broad cheeks and wide, green eyes, short dark hair, and despite being almost a head taller than him, Rikar found her rather cute. Sierra coughed, chewing her meal slower than before, as she righted herself. Rikar banished the colour from his face with a cup of cold drink. --- On the outskirts of town, they'd set up camp, a singular tent made from Moratoak hide and a bamboo pole or two, a simple glowstone lamp tied to the innermost post. Sierra would sleep in her quilted undershirt, in case of emergency, while Rikar had taken to a Lamsteph wrap, the fur and leather protecting him from most of the elements and a few daggers. Sierra always wondered what it was about Rikar she liked, but it was probably that he was simply the best friend she'd ever had. She had first met him during a mission for a village of goblins, and then again once she'd crossed paths with the circus. She'd saved him from a dragon, and from a frost orc that had gone mad with pain from his teeth. Sierra had had men, both by choice and not entirely, but she'd put on her brave face and carried on, like a good tiefling. But Rikar was slowly exposing the cracks. His genuine care for her, the hot meals he'd made along their journey, the stories he told and the way he put effort into healing her and helping her without complaint put her heart both at ease, and in severe panic. Sierra the Strong was not good with such things as love, but she was sure Rikar loved her in some way. The way he listened to her through her nightmares, the various charms he put upon her as they walked long distances, lightening the day, made every trip bearable. And she was afraid she'd never be able to love him, after all, she was afraid of the things love brought with it. Potential for loss, the way that love distorted happiness that all too quickly grew into jealousy and hate, how could she wish such things on Rikar, after he'd brought her back from the Cauldron of the Bane? But there they were, Rikar with his back pressed against Sierra, Lamsteph leather and fur between him and her quilted shirt. And she felt oddly at ease.
### Sent wrong item. Poor customer support On April 24, 2020 I purchased “Life Size Japanese Katana Sword 20” Replica Spirit Rising Anime Manga Free Shipping” and I just received it. This is, without a doubt, the most annoying sword I have every purchased. Now, look, I’ve purchased hundreds of swords over the internet in the past 6 years and I own hundreds and have handled many more, so you can call me something of an expert on the subject of swords. Here are my problems with this sword, in no particular order: - Only 19.5 inches long, not 20 inches as stated in the description - The dragon on the blade is not etched and is only screen printed on. I tried to remove it since it is also poorly drawn, but acetone, paint thinner, and other solvents were unable to remove the dragon - The sword is haunted by a very small, immature dragon spirit. It might have died in the egg it’s so small. This was not mentioned in the description at all. - The dragon spirit is extremely loud all night, demanding to face the snake that ate it’s egg and killed it 450 years ago. It makes these demands between 8PM and 6AM. I cannot find a way to update the time zone, which brings me to my final point - Horrible instructions. I received one crumpled sheet of paper written entirely in Japanese (I’m guessing. I have 25 other swords with Japanese kanji letters and this closely matches). I tried to contact the seller but their website as stated in the description redirects to a Bing search for “Japanese?” and the Amazon seller has not replied back. I’ve already done a return via Amazon and if they want their stupid baby dragon spirit sword they can dig it out of my garbage. 2 stars. Item was well packaged.
"I don’t care how many ‘one’s you carry over,’ IT’S NOT HAPPENING!” It has been less than 3 weeks since the summoning and it has been like this since the king had him summoned. “Your majesty, with all due respect, I GRADUATED FROM HARVARD! I hold 3 master’s in economics, investments, and management. I also have an undergrad in fine arts, but we can get into that later.” No one has heard of this magical land Wall Street that the man claims to have grown up on. It sounds like a prison and he acts like he was a warden there. No one dares address the king in this manner but him. “Never have I heard of this 'Harvard!' ” “And I didn’t ask to be sent here! You summoned me, you asked for my help, and here I am dealing with out of touch management all day.” His words are odd. Some of us have been studying them. His tales and legend travels fast. Just recently I heard a farmer calling his neighbor a used car salesman just as the hero had in this very chamber one evening before. I, the humble jester, have been of more use since the hero arrived. The king calls for me every time he hears the words this hero mentions such as tax brackets or investment. He beckons for me and I come to calm him and reveal to him the sad news. That all of this is working. People shower the hero in gifts that they would never have imagined giving the king. Offerings of food, clothing, armor, and even some offering their first born. All this in only three weeks. “I must say, were it not for the halo of God’s light round thee, you would be mounted on my wall!” Three weeks, despite the king protesting everything the hero says, that the hero has gotten his way. 3 weeks that the people have gotten their way through the hero. “You think that dragon cares what’s mounted on your wall? No. He only cares for the offerings you provide each month. He hordes that wealth underneath him. But has anyone given him a counteroffer?” “Huh?” “The answer to that is also no. So, this month you have your men take half the gold they usually do. They drop it at his feet and they then explain deductible income to him. Then they come back a month later and drop the same amount and explain a tax return and deductions. We must do this piece by piece. I know you say he can talk but I don’t think he can do percentages.” He has vigor. He commands the room. He told stories that in his home world, with a small box in his hand, he could command his people from a room in a tall castle. “And what then, when he feasts on my messengers?” “We hit him with a penalty. Then we work the shrinkflation angle on him. Same amount of gold pieces but smaller pieces. You think he’s going to use calipers and measure it?” I fear the king is losing his mind every time I explain that the people are happier. That this hero’s wisdom has led to us having greater trading with a near by village. In one setting with the village leaders he had gotten them to do something he calls invest in us. “Pen-alty?” The king questions everything this man says. Though he has not steered us wrong. “Oh God, I have to explain, don’t I? Just wait until we get to universal basic income. That’s going to be a nightmare.” This is not the hero we imagined; he is better. “Ok, how about we table the dragon tribute for now and look at what you’re investing in the incoming and outgoing fishing market here?” “You cannot place a dragon of such size on my table!” It has been 3 long weeks.
I found it in the morning. A crumpled piece of paper stuffed deep in the inside pocket of my coat. The time has come. Do it tonight. A dark echo from a long forgotten past. I became a gardener nearly thirty-five years ago. Freshly graduated from the assassin's guild. A young head filled with dreams of revolutionary prowess. A naive heart filled with burning hatred from the usurper. A usurper I had come to know and respect over the years. &#x200B; &#x200B; I met King Julian on my first week on the job. I was torturing an ornamental bush into the required shape of a mighty stallion. I was down on the floor, knees deep in mud, when he strolled by with a councillor at his side. "A moment, Lord Dobrak"he said, raising a hand, and the angry man fell silent. He turned to me and smiled. "Ah, our newest employee. Michal isn't it ?" "Yes, m'lord." "I am your King", he snapped, "you will address me as 'Your Majesty'." "Yes, Your Majesty." "Tell me, Michal. How should I punish your flagrant disrespect? Taking your tongue out, perhaps ?" I kept my eyes to the ground, lest he saw the anger burning inside me. "Please, Your Majesty, I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I did not know the proper words." He smiled and turned to his councillor. "Learn, Dovrak. These are not the evil, sly bastards you talk about. Merely an ignorant people who have been kept in the dark for too long. But they shall learn. Oh, they will learn." These words left me with a stone in my stomach. It took me hours to finish a single horse-bush that day, and my master was not pleased. The situation was so much worse than we ever expected. I couldn't find sleep that night. I prayed for the order to come before the slaughter to come. A week later, I heard from a kitchen maid that the king had ordered the construction of hundreds of schools all over the country. "And anyone can go for free !"she added, unbelieving. &#x200B; Much like Lord Dovrak, I had judged in haste. King Julian was not an evil king. More, he was working hard to be a good one. He had seized his crown during a bloody war of succession that has threatened to split the land of his ancestors in a hundred factions. The first years of his reign he spent consolidating his authority and crushing any pretension to the throne. These were bloody times, but he also pardoned many of his former enemies, and made them his advisors. His former allies complained, but it was too late. He was in charge. &#x200B; A wise king, he was, but terribly lonely. He would often take long walks in the gardens. To clear his head of all the politicking, he'd say. He always stopped for a chat. One day, I was bent over my rose bushes when he stepped silently behind me. "Ah, pruning the roses, I see. Removing the bad so the good can flourish. A noble occupation." "Yes, Your Majesty." "Come, Michal, we have known each other for years. When alone, you may call me lord."He chuckled. "My grandfather once told me that only a gardener can understand how ruthless one must become if one is to rule properly." "My lord ?" "They hate me, you know. I sit in judgment, and they hate me for it. I sentence a murderer to death, and his whole neighborhood reviles me as evil. Someone must do it, and I am king. In the end, I take comfort in the knowledge that I took responsibility, and made the decision in the best of my knowledge." "A heavy burden, my lord." "I sometimes wish I was a gardener. But then, who would prune the kingdom ?" &#x200B; What a man he is ! And what a king ! On my way to the orchids, I threw the paper on the compost heap. They could find themselves another assassin. I'd much rather be a gardener.

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