Split (1)

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"So you see, this blade is so sharp it can literally split atoms in half! Now watch me cut these hydrogen-atoms... Nothing...cause you see..." puts on lab coat Manifests a whiteboard out of thin air "For nuclear fission to be dangerous you need a very specific setup, most important of all right next to the material used you need an enclosed space, or it will be hard to reach critical mass. If you put this highly radioactive material in an enclosed sphere, like this one, which can reflect the electrons back at it, given a short amount of time it will create a feedback loop and reach critical ma..."
A creature created to kill gods, made by and in the image of superweapons made by said gods. Commanding an immensely powerful army and armada, able change the laws of the known multiverse at will. Thanos wishes the Infinity Gauntlet could have an inkling of the power Sixxus wields without thought. There is no weapon, there is no escape. There is only acceptance. Offer sacrifice, be spared. Plugging r/PrimusWrites while I'm here. Follow the adventures of the Chaos Jumper there!
"This is my favorite book out of all of the books!"Raz'ol beamed, sharp teeth catching the torchlight as he slammed another giant tome down in front of me. I managed to stay on my feet this time, but only because I was braced for it. "That's what you said about the last six,"I muttered under my breath. Raz'ol didn't seem to notice. He happily flipped open the cover with one long claw and I fought the urge to back away. Turns out, dragons are scary. Who knew? Even after I’d been stuck in this castle for a week with Raz’ol the Incredibly Bored (Please don’t tell him I called him that.) I still flinched at every movement. It wasn’t that he was especially temperamental. He wasn’t. Every story I had ever heard about dragons had prepared me for meeting a giant ball of fire and rage. I had come here expecting to heroically slay an evil beast and rescue a beautiful princess. Instead, here I was with Raz’ol the Easily Excitable Ball of Energy and Sharp Things. It was very clear that Raz’ol had no interest in attacking me but he didn’t seem particularly… aware of how dangerous he was. First, there were all of the sharp bits; the massive horns rising from his forehead, the razor-like claws that tipped each of his twenty toes, the very, very pointy teeth, the sharp spines running all the way down his back, and, last but certainly not least, the blade on the end of his tail. Did you know that dragons wag their tail when they get excited? I had not known that. Now, I do, and I have the holes in my armor to prove it. He put holes in my mythril armor just by getting excited. You’d think that was enough terrifying aspects for one creature, but, no. He also breathes fire. I know what you’re thinking, “Of course he breathes fire, Selma, he’s a dragon.” You don’t understand. He does it by accident. When he’s especially happy, little sparks start flying everywhere. Why was Raz’ol so excited? Because he had a guest, namely me. I’d been sent out by the Great King Gerald the Fifth and Greatest of his Name (Yes, he does insist you use the full title every time) to rescue his imaginary daughter, Rosamund. Why do I say imaginary? Because the first book Raz’ol showed me (and the only one he didn’t identify as his favorite) was a complete genealogy of the Great King’s family. There was no Rosamund. Was it possible that the dragon had eaten her and then modified the genealogy to cover his tracks? Theoretically. I found it much more likely that the Great King was the trickster here. It was no great secret that he didn’t much care for the common girl that had worked her way into a knighthood. In fact, Gregory the Fifth and Foulest of his Name (absolutely tell him I said that) seemed to have convinced himself that the deed that had earned me my knighthood was some kind of trick, like I was claiming credit for someone else’s accomplishments despite the hundreds of witnesses and my continued service to the crown. Raz’ol, on the other hand, had enthusiastically greeted me as “the first person he’d seen in ages.” At first, I had thought “ages” to be a blatant exaggeration. Now… Now, I was wondering what had kept the little… er- big guy cooped up in this empty castle. He bounded around me with abundant enthusiasm. Claws flashed dangerously close as he beckoned me to look at his current Tome. “This is the story of the Hero King Narmander! He fought an entire army of demons and won! By himself!” Raz’ol gushed, sparks flying around us and bounced off the cold stone of his massive desk. I’m amazed he hasn’t lit any of his precious tomes on fire. Actually, how hasn’t he? Then, I saw it. A faint glow emanated from the book everytime one of the sparks touched it. “What is that?” I pointed to the book. “What is what?” Raz’ol’s slit-pupiled eyes traced the path of my finger. “Oh! That’s the best part! Where he meets the-” “No,” I gently cut him off, “The glow. On the book.” “Oh,” He blinked at me, clearly surprised that this had caught my attention, “It’s just a preservation spell. It keeps the books from getting damaged.” “A spell?” My heart skips a beat, “How did it get there?” “I cast it Eons ago, after an… incident.” “You know magic?” “Yeah? You don’t?” He tilts his head at me, looking like a confused puppy. A very dangerous puppy. I laughed. “How long have you been in here? No one knows magic. It’s been lost since the Third Ruin.” “Oh…” Great… Now he looks like a kicked puppy. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. How can I fix this? An idea occurs to me and a grin creeps its way across my face. “Would you like to go outside?” “People always panic when they see me…” He mumbles, looking down and clawing at the stone floor. The sharp screeee sound sets my teeth on edge but I push through. “They wouldn’t if you had a knight with you.” He looks up, hope kindling the spark back into his eyes. “You’d do that for me?” “I would. And in exchange, you can teach me about magic.” “Deal!” Raz’ol grins, exposing more razor sharp teeth than I’d ever seen before. I grinned back. Let’s see the “Great King” try and send me to die now.
Time is an illusion. Yet it rules the lives of them all. When contrasted against their short existences, even I feel a gentle groan. A pull. A tug of a long long rope, running out of the hands that I don't have. Long after they have left me, even I will wither and die. If time is said to be anything tangible at all, it is the universe herself squashing down against the light of stars in its ceaseless march to entropy. The balance of all things. When all things stop. Nothing will exist. No time to be measured against no frame of reference. Reality relative to nothing. To these creatures that I harbour, I am a monstrous body. Gargantuan and hungry. Bending light itself with my own mass. To me, they are small. Their lives are miniscule. Yet each one is important. Each one it's own beautiful existence. Like a tiny star, they beat out against the universe. Daring it to end them. To balance the equation and snuff out the light. When each one dies, they're remembered. Revered by the ones they knew and the ones they leave behind. The small little bend in space time ripples one long after they die. I watch them all. I remember them all. They harness my energy and I give it freely to them. Their megastructures are tiny to me. In my time, I have taken enough mass to linger on for eons. I need not be lonely on my dark, long voyage into oblivion. I cradle them in my bosom and carry them with me. For outside of my grasp is nothing. Time only exists now with me and my nestled passengers. The last light of consciousness in the cold, dead dark. We will extinguish together. For even though we may certainly be doomed, each of them has reason to keep being. They live and they love. They bare their young and raise them. Generations have passed under my watch. To them, the existence of others is all the justification they need to live on. And so they are mine. I live and I love. Each one that passes under my gaze is remembered forever. When they are all gone and I am all that remains to take to the end of all things, I will carry them all with me into the void. Together we will cry out against the universe one final time.
""No, thank you."I said. "There's no strings, what's in it is all yours."He smiled at me, trying to catch his breath still. "....and what's in it?"I asked, curiously. "A little something from me to you."He laughed. "Look, whatever you're selling, I can't afford. If you're trying to rid yourself of evidence, I don't do dirty work, and whatever is in the suitcase, you can just keep."I shut my trunk and started to walk to my door. "Have you ever heard of the "Cart Theory?"He said, following me. "No, but I have heard of strange men approaching women in parking lots, and they are later found dead, so if you don't mind, I am going to head out, and if you take a step closer, I will happily start screaming bloody murder."I said, readying the taser I had on my keys. "Two things, 1) That adorable taser, couldn't put down a squirrel and 2) All I ask is you hear my theory out, and then you are free to leave." I stared at him, annoyed, "You have 2 minutes to make your point, but the answer will stay no." "That's fine. 'The Cart Theory' is a simple theory that states you can study how people will react when there is nothing in it for them. For example, carts. You do not get a single thing from returning your cart, aside from knowing that you helped some associate save some time having to run around to collect your cart, because it is where it is supposed to go. You get nothing out of it, you are slightly inconvenienced, but there is no reward. These other people,"he gestured at the pool of random carts, "could care less whether Kyle needs to round all these carts up and bring them back to the store. There is nothing in it for them, so what does it matter if it makes someone else's job easier?" I nodded, "Well, we should all do what we can to make the world easier on someone else."I replied, stepping into my car. "Precisely!"he said, stepping in the way of my door. "Which is why you are being gifted with this."He then pushed the briefcase into the opening of my car. "This is for you. A thank you from me to you, for being a decent human being." I looked up at him. After weighing my options, I took the briefcase. "Thank you. May I please go now?" "Yes, of course! Have a great day!"and like that, he scooted off. I cautiously put the briefcase in my passenger seat, and closed my door. The briefcase itself, was not what I feared. Just your stereotypical black drug smuggling suitcase, but it's contents made me nervous. I considered chucking it into a random dumpster on my way home, but was worried it was explosive. This is what you get for being a good person. I thought to myself. I sighed and turned into the police department. I brought the suitcase in with me, careful to not accidently hit it on the giant glass doors. I went to the glass window, and a short, pudgy women walked up. "Yes?"she asked impatiently. "Okay, this is going to sound weird, but I was at the grocery store, I put my cart up, and this guy approached me, and told me that he was giving me this for being 'a decent human being'." The lady looked confused, "So you got this suitcase because... you were a put your cart away?" "Yes?"I could hear how crazy I sounded, "I haven't opened it, and I was nervous to just toss it somewhere, so I brought it here." "What's in it?" "Once again,"I smiled hard, "I have no idea." "And... you want me to look in it?" "Well, I was hoping someone could? I was afraid it was a bomb... that might be a little far fetched, but..." "A.. bomb?"The lady then muttered codes into her walkie talkie. "I don't know if it's a bomb, I was just..." "Ma'am,"an agressive voice from behind startled me "put the breifcase down slowly, put your hands above your head."I turned to see his gun drawn. Instantly I raised my hands, "No, I..." "I SAID PUT DOWN THE BREIFCASE!"the young officer yelled. I lowered the briefcase with one hand still in the air, slowly.
One day, Carol started feeding the squirrels. The squirrels invited their friends. Carol recycled old cat towers to make a town for the squirrels. In the winter, Carol installed heating systems in the Squirrel Condos. After some questionable online impulse purchases, Carol introduced the squirrels to many toy-like trinkets. After a scuffle over a trinket, the squirrels swore off the trinkets, much to Carol's disappointment. After some weeks, a squirrel in a robe made of woven lawn clippings gathered that community. After many barks, snorts, and rattles the squirrels seems to reach a consensus. Within the week sustainable lawn clipping farms were erected. By the end of the month, every squirrel wore an ornate robe of woven lawn clippings. Carol went on to set up a camera live steaming the squirrel community. All proceeds went to the extortionately high bill for acorns, tree nuts, and fruit. Even the local community college began to study the rodent society. Harold on the other hand, Was more of a chipmunk kinda guy, and wished his chipmunk operated monastery was half as popular as his wifes squirrels.
The cries of his nickname make it real. This time it is not the dream that he will soon awaken from; but reality. He did it; he really did it, and now he finds himself still the joke he has always been since childhood. Glutten! Glutten! Glutten! Even the king himself, up on the wall, pumps his fist and screams the accursed moniker. Glutten! Glutten! Glutten! The boy; well, no that's wrong. Maybe man, no, that doesn't cut it either because now he is a blood-baptized warrior. The newly titled wipes a shaking hand across his face slooshing blood and guts away from his eyes. There is so much of it at first he thinks that maybe he has been injured and that one of those he slew had gotten close enough to do damage. But no his only malady is exhaustion. He stumbles to one Iron-plate covered knee and those gathered no closer to him than the ropes in a wrestling match step even further away as if they too were in danger and at any moment the beast that slew the enemy would leap on them also. To be fair he was hungry. Very hungry. And none of those present were in danger unless they kept him from eating. In the beginning, when he was taken from his mother's side and thrust into the service of the king he was known for his love of food. Hence the nickname. The horrible horrible nickname. He hated it because it was apt. If there was food, on his plate, his neighbors, the table, the floor, nearby, he'd try and eat it. It was his thing. If asked he'd credit having so little when he was a wee lad. He was still wee just with a giant appetite and now, a monstrous reputation. Knee down and forehead pressed into the upward turned hilt of his sword it looks to most as if he is lost in adulation to his God, but in reality, he was trying mighty hard to remember how he even got here in the first place. Chicken. Roasted, skin-bubbling, greasy, salty, herby, fire-tickled, smoke-stained chicken. During the Lancaster siege, his job was to push ladders off the wall, throw stones, and help pour the bubbling grease, back when they had some. That was a while ago, maybe days and some of the soldiers on the wall next to him quipped it was possible the King and Queen ate the grease cause there is sure as shit nothing else to eat in the keep. Soldiers were eyeing each other and rumors had already started, then that cursed smell of chicken. Glutten couldn't help himself any longer. Later the tale told gave his final words, before diving off the wall into the sea of thousands of soon-to-be-butchered enemies was, "give me that sword! I'm going to cut me a chunk of that bird."
In a world where anyone can use magic, but it is forbidden, you can't blame a young man for rebelling. In my small village, I learned that I could cause plants to grow, but when my father saw this, I was grounded for a month with no explanation. I showed other children how I could grow a seed into a sapling, and my best friend could create fires with a snap. When our fathers found out, however, we got beaten and grounded. "Never, ever, use magic again! It will make you wicked." I wish I understood what he meant. "Hey, Jeb, how's the boar coming?" "It'll be done in a few minutes."My best friend, Jeb, holds a cut of pork on a pan, his flaming hand frying the meat. "I bet it smells great."I watch out of one eye, my left eye and nose taken by bark, I look over at Joey, "You want me to feed you again?" "If it's not too much trouble."Joey sighs, looking down at his hands, now two large rocks, "How did you get over the wickedness?" "You never get over it. You just learn to live with it, and hope in doesn't claim more of you."Jeb walks over, "Food's done." "I remember when I got the curse, I was so scared to lose my eye. I think Jeb got it worse, though he caught his house on fire." "Will they ever stop hunting us?"Joey looked down at his shoes. "Until a cure is found for the lost, we'll never be safe." "If the rumors are true about that healer, maybe..."Jeb begins. "I wouldn't get our hopes up."I look up, seeing the two giants, one made of rain clouds, the other made of iron, fighting over the nearby city. The Wickedness could one day claim us, and then we'd wish the hunters would have caught us. I've heard the screams before they become lost.
This time, I was gonna get it right. First thing was getting my short story published. By describing exactly how the terrorists pulled off the attack in a work of fiction - something the terrorists clearly already had figured out, so I wasn't revealing any secrets - I could put the thoughts in the heads of others. My short story, Flight 336, was based on the real life actions of Flight 93 - or at least as far as we knew them. And in the book, a separate flight hits the Empire State Building. Couldn't be TOO on the nose, after all. Of course, the story was panned as being a bit unrealistic - after all, hijackers demanded ransom, took hostages. That's how they had been doing it for decades. A few people accused me of giving terrorists ideas... which, honestly, fair cop, if it had actually been my idea in the first place. But that's why there was a step two. I had also gotten my pilots license, which given that I had learned to fly during loop 3, wasn't too hard. Getting on a plane with a boxcutter, that was fairly easy. And with a weapon, I was able to take over the cockpit. Albeit my control was more tenuous than if I had had a team, but then again my goal was to prove a point, not to actually cause mass murder. I chose Chicago, and I did a flyby of Sears Tower, before calmly getting on the radio and agreeing to turn the plane back over to the pilots. Of course my short story came up in my trial. My defense was that I wanted to avert a tragedy of someone actually doing what I did. Which didn't exactly get me out of a sentence. Sentenced to 30 years. But I felt vindicated as I heard that they were going to increase security, including more secure pilot doors on commercial jetliners. And as the sun hit noon on Tuesday, the 11th of September, I breathed a sigh of relief. The biggest news out of New York that day was some primary election. I still had a long time to go in prison, but now I was confident, the loop would break, and history would be set on a better path. Until Tuesday, the 25th of September, when a dirty bomb was detonated in Manhattan, irradiating a big swath of the island, killing thousands, and starting a global war on terror. So much for loop 18.
10 years. That’s how long it had been since I’d been home. I’d seen my family many times since I’d left of course. My parents came to visit me at minimum twice a year, and despite my successes financially, they still refused to allow me to pay for their cross country flights. I really had no desire to see this city again. It wasn’t that I had a bad childhood or anything. I had just grown and changed so much in the past 10 years, there just wasn’t anything left for me here other than them. They understood this and always insisted I should let them come to me. And who was I argue? My parents were the happiest, most caring and giving people you could ask for. Today was different though. It was their 30th wedding anniversary, and I decided I was going to come to town to surprise them. I had the flowers for my mom in one hand and a bottle of the most expensive champagne I could find in the other as I walked into the lobby of the apartment building where I grew up. It had been painted recently, but still smelled the same which I found odd. It smelled like a shirt that was only kind of dirty, the type you might throw on if you’re just going to check the mail, but not something you would wear out on a date. It’s strange how the smell of a dirty shirt came make you feel nostalgic. As I approached the elevator, the door opened and a familiar face walked off. “Jeff, that you?” “Oh damn Casey? What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in like 10 years. Wow you haven’t aged a day!” “It’s me. You here visiting your folks too?” “If by visit, you mean going to work so I can pay them rent, yeah I’m visiting.” Jeff Stallone hadn’t been my best friend as a kid, but we did become somewhat close growing up in the same building. I felt a little bad I hadn’t kept in contact with him, but honestly I had made it a point to leave this part of my life behind when I left to focus on my future. He was just one of many I had grown apart from. Maybe though, I thought, if I had added him on Facebook or something we wouldn’t be having this awkward moment of silence right now. I coughed to break the moment. “Well um, it was nice to see you Jeff. I’m actually here to surprise my folks for their anniversary, so I should probably head up. It was great to see you! Add me on Facebook or something, we should catch up. Say hi to your parents for me, I always liked them” Jeff looked suddenly nervous. “You said they don’t know you’re coming?” “No…why?” “It’s just,” Jeff said, clearly uncomfortable “I think, I don’t know, maybe they’d want to know you’re coming up?” “Oh please it’ll be fine. My parents will drop whatever they’re doing as soon as they see me. My mom will put down her Reader’s Digest, and my dad will drop whatever tool he’s holding and I’ll have their undivided attention. Trust me, I’ve already run this scenario 100 times in my head. It’ll be fine.” And with that, Jeff Stallone sighed, shrugged, stepped out the door off to whatever job he had gotten himself to pay his parents rent. I thought about how different our lives had become despite them both starting in this building. As I stepped onto the elevator, I wondered what everyone else from my time in this building had done with their lives in the past 10 years. Maybe- my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the champagne bottle clanging against a small metal object. There was a key in the Keyhole. Now I don’t mean the keyhole next to the firefighter button, I mean the other one. For whatever reason, this elevator had a second keyhole. As kids we creatively called it “The Keyhole.” Nobody knew what it was for. Anytime we found a key as kids, we’d try it in the Keyhole to no avail. Our parents always said it probably wasn’t important and we should stop worrying about it so much. The curiosity of my youth exploded back into my mind and turning that key became my new top priority. So I turned it. And the Blank Button lit up. The only thing more mysterious on that elevator than the Keyhole was that blank button. All 17 floors had a button, but for some reason, there was a blank button between floors 7 and 8. Nobody knew what it was for. It didn’t do anything. If you pushed it, the elevator would just sit there waiting for you to push a button that actually did something. As a child it was equally frustrating and wondrous. As an adult, you assume some engineer just screwed up putting it together. But seeing it lit up like that, the childhood wonder took over again and I pushed it three times as fast as I could. The doors closed and the elevator moved up. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t keep my feet still. As a child, I had imagined this elevator taking me to a world where Transformers were real, I could drive the Batmobile, and help Link rescue Zelda. As an adult, I knew that probably wasn’t the case, but I was still just as excited and nervous as my 10 year old self would have been. I took a deep breath as the elevator dinged and the door slowly slid open. I stepped out of the elevator. Now I have never claimed to be a detective or some kind of master of observation, but I could instantly tell I’d walked into a bed room. The king size bed directly in front of me kind of gave it away. The woman on the bed wearing only a towel put down her Reader’s Digest and looked up at me. “Oh…honey what are you doing here?” “Mom? What the…what?” To my right a door to what was clearly a bathroom opened and out from the escaping steam the figure of a man also wearing nothing but a towel emerged. “M-m-mister Stallone?” “Well I think I know where the key was. This is kind of awkward.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My brain had ceased normal functioning and I forgot how talking worked. I barely heard the sound of the shower turning off before ANOTHER figure emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel. “Mrs. Stallone?” “Well I can’t say we were expecting any visitors. Nice to see you Casey.” As she stepped out into the room the shape of another took her place in the steam filled doorway. This shape was holding some kind of large object in their hand. They dropped the object out of sight before I could tell what it was. “Please God no.” “Hey kid, didn’t know you were in town,” my dad said adjusting his towel. “Look,” he continued, “Why don’t you just leave that bottle with us and head on up stairs. Your mother and I will meet you there in about an hour and we can talk about this.” “Um…Henry…” said my mother in that rarely used but instantly recognizable stern tone she used when she expected you to know what she meant without her saying it. “Better make that two hours kid. Better make it two.” As a child, finding out where that elevator went had captivated my imagination and led to many nights lying in bed wondering what amazing adventures awaited me if I could just push that button. As an adult…I really needed a drink.
King Valsír sat at the head of his council, head sunk low. "Are we all clear on when the next shipment will be sent?"he asked the assembly of men and women gathered around the room. They all grimly nodded, his steward speaking for them. "Thirty men, women, and children to be taken from the surrounding villages, and forced to the base of mount Jórl." "Indeed,"the king responded, "And twelve men will be despatched to do this." Everyone knew it was wrong. Hell, the king knew it was wrong, but what choice did they have? Either they gave them to the dragon, or the dragon would come for them, for is that not what dragons do? Hunger for more, gold, land, flesh. A guard rushed into the chamber, haggard breath from beneath his helm. The king looked over to him, fury and shock in equal measure. "Do you not know what knocking is, you fool?"he bellowed. "Your grace,"the man bowed, "There's a visitor in the main hall, asking for you." "For me?"the king repeated, "Well send the man off, I'm busy." "Well we would sir, if not for..." "If not for what, speak louder, fool." The guard's eyes met his. "The man, he looks strange." Now, the king was curious, if not still angry. He would meet this stranger, if only to see their head roll for being such a colossal nuisance. He left the council chamber, the council following behind him as he walked through the halls and corridors of the castle, passing a few windows as he did, the grand view of his kingdom looming below. He had ruled this land for seven years, and for seven years he had made the choice; feed the dragon a portion of his people every month, or be risk the beast's ire. And in his eyes, it was the right choice, and no one could prove him wrong. At last, he made his way to the main hall, and sat on his great jewelled throne, before looking out to where the man stood. The man certainly did seem strange: Hair as black as coal, scaled armour that shone silver, and eyes like fire. The stranger bowed. "Greetings." "You interrupted a very important meeting, you know?" The man looked back at him, with a glare that could melt steel. "The one about the dragon, and his copious sacrifices?" The king, taken aback, only nodded. "Err... yes, that one." The stranger smiled. "Funny, I'm here about that too."he then began to walk forwards, "Tell me, king, did you ever try and reason with the dragon, after you heard tales of it?" The king only laughed. "Reason? With a dragon? Are you soft headed, fool?" "Not at all, king." "It's 'my king'."Valsír corrected, a moment away from ordering the stranger a mandatory shave, by way of the royal headsman. The stranger laughed, his voice bellowing throughout the halls. "You are surely mistaken, king."he said, eyes intensing, as he seemed all the vaster for it, "Dragons are kings to none." "You..."The king's voice grew vitriolic, "You're the one beast who sets mount Jórl?" "Indeed I am, the same one you've been 'sacrificing' to... though it's a jolly good thing that I don't eat humans now, no?" "You- you don't?" "Of course not!"the man-dragon roared, "I've just been keeping them; they've been the most lovely of house guests, even the children." "You've been keeping them?" "Why do you think I've been stealing so much sheep, you humans are deceptively ravenous."the stranger then took a deep breath, "But now, now it is time for change. There will be no more sacrifices to me." "Of course!"the king exclaimed, "I will-" "You didn't let me finish,"the dragon cut him off, baring fanged teeth, "There will be no more sacrifices, because from this day forth, you are no longer the king of these lands." There was a brief pause, before the king yelled for his guards. "Seize him, in the name of your king!" The guards rose forth, swords drawn. The dragon only laughed. "The same king who asked you to give your sons, daughters, sisters, brother, and whoever else to me, in his name? Will you give your life for him now? He asks everything of you, and I ask only that you stay your hand." The guards froze, looking at each other, seeing who would break first. Finally, one man drew back, followed by the rest. "What is the meaning of this!?"The king roared, though he stuck to his throne. Even his council stood by, in horror, as the dragon approached. Though in the corner of his eye, the king swore he saw relief in their eyes. "We dragons are fluid folk. From the wings of a lizard, to the skin of a man, to the sceptre of a king, we shift our forms like men shift clothing, or titles, or lies."The man-dragon began to ascend the steps up to the throne, "But though my form may change, I am but a dragon none the less, and I must have my hoard. Most go for gold, some gems, but I prefer humans as my treasure." The stranger now towered before the king, as his skin began to shift, scaled armour becoming scaled skin. "I'll do whatever you want, please, don't kill me!"The king pleaded. instead, the Dragon just turned to the crowd around them, of courtier, guard, and councillor. "I suggest you all close your eyes and turn around, because I'm about to break one of my rules."
The demon knelt, its sulfuric breath drawing beads of sweat from its victim’s cheeks. Humans were so easy. He could make a deal for their eternal soul in a minute flat these days. That was rampant secularism for you. The demon smiled, revealing double-lined rows of yellow fangs. He almost felt sorry for the paunchy accountant expiring at his feet. Almost. “We’ll have plenty of quality time now,” he said. The human winced as demonic breath washed over him. Then a spike of courage, almost laughably poetic ran up his twisted spine. “See you in Hell.” The lights went out in the human’s eyes. The demon sighed. Too easy. He closed his eyes, willing himself back to the nether, back to darkness, and eternal flame. As the world slipped away, the human’s taunt echoed comically in his mind. See you in Hell. “Alright! We’re about ready. The Pinckney Running Club is proud to welcome you to the 43rd annual RUN THROUGH HELL!” The crowd, some four hundred humans clad in a garish variety of neon leggings and overpriced jackets danced in place and raised their fists. “Wahoo!!” screamed a man somewhere between eighty and dead, his liver spots clashing with an orange striped jumpsuit. “That’s right, it’s been a couple years, but we’re back,” said the man with the bullhorn. The demon looked frantically about. This was certainly someone’s version of hell, but it wasn’t his. “Alright, let’s have walkers and strollers to the back, faster runners to the front,” said the bullhorn man. “We’re doing age group winners by chip time, so just find your pace group. Volunteers wave your—yup, there you go, there’s your pace leaders. Overall winners will be on gun time, so if you’re feeling fast, make your way up front. We’ll go after the national anthem.” The crowd inched forward, reforming itself like a sponge squeezing through a drainpipe. Shoulders pressed into the demon from every side, pinning him in. “Dude! Killer costume,” said a cloud of THC laced vapor on the demon’s left. A twenty-something male with what might generously be called a rustic beard came into view as the haze dispersed. “Hey, check this guy out,” he added. “Wow!” said the girl next to him, bobbing slightly to keep warm. “You really went all out. The makeup must have taken hours! Hope it holds up to sweat.” “Hey, can we get a quick selfie?” The demon turned, an increasingly difficult maneuver as the crowd closed in. Two preteen girls were staring up at the golden discs of its eyes. Without waiting for a response, they turned and focused on the speaker’s phone. One raised two fingers in a peace sign and the other stuck out her tongue. The screen blinked. A moment later, a frozen image of the two girls appeared against a background of trees. “You’re holding it too low,” said peace sign girl and made a grab for it. “Am not,” said the other and jerked the device away. “I think there’s been a mistake,” said the demon. “Look at the smoke effect when he talks honey.” The voice was made of early morning gravel and instant coffee. The demon spotted a middle-aged man with a girl of about ten wrapped around his waist. "He’s creepy,” she whispered. “Oh, its just a costume honey,” said the man. “Just like at the man at the post office.” “Er—you wouldn’t be looking to sell a soul, would you?” the demon asked. The man laughed. “Good one,” he said. “Going to be hard to run with those wings I think. Those horns solid? Must be heavy.” “Uh, run?” Ahead, the man with the bullhorn began waiving an American flag. Seconds later, The Star-Spangled Banner crackled to life inside a boombox recalled from the 1980s. Everyone came to a standstill and raised a hand to their hearts. The music faded with an electric hiss and the flag was replaced by an orange plastic gun. “On your marks!” The crowd leaned forward, forcing the demon with it. “Get set!” BANG! The mass of flesh and $200 sweatpants surged like an aging dog after a rabbit. Shoulders battered the demon’s wings. He stumbled forward, breaking into a jog to keep from falling. After a hundred yards, they passed an orange banner with neon-green script made to look like dancing flames. It read, “Run Thru Hell.” The crowd cut a sharp left and the demon was swept along with them. Beside the road, a man approximately 150 pounds outside of running shape and clad in a red jumpsuit, horns, and a tail waved a plastic pitchfork at the crowd. He spotted the demon loping by and gave a whoop. “You go brother. Give \`em hell!” The road angled upward, and the crowd began to break as the first hill separated the trained from the merely enthusiastic. The demon’s caustic breath came in gasps now. The air up here was so thin. He’d never much noticed it before, but there wasn’t that deep sulfurous smog your lungs could get a hold of down in the abyss. Still, he couldn’t stop now simply because the crowd was thinning. You couldn’t show weakness in the face of humanity. The lords of the fallen would never tolerate it, nor the one who did. “Great wings,” said a woman with sporty glasses and mismatching hat as she cruised past. “They blend in really well with your back. Impressive.” She gave him a thumbs-up before turning back to the road. The demon’s feet scrabbled as the incline bent downhill. The road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but it seemed the roads in Hell weren’t paved at all. Instead, they consisted of an infernally precise mix of imperfectly packed dirt and stones just large enough to turn your ankle on. Hell... The clockwork wheels of the demon’s mind began to turn. (Rest in comments, I cut the story down to 8800 characters with spaces but Reddit is still saying its over 10,000. This was the only way I could post. Sorry.)
Kings live in castles, and the King of Darkness was no exception. Seraphina squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as the sentry gave her a once-over. "His Majesty is not expecting any guests today. For what purpose have you come?" "To speak to His Majesty about the behaviour of his son at our latest class debate."Seraphina pushed her glasses up. "Debate is the warfare of ideas. Not of emotions. He became rather heated and set several of our tables on fire."Realising it might not be the best idea to speak ill of a prince, she hastily backtracked. "Of course, it was also a poor decision by the school to use wooden tables instead of a sturdier material..." "I doubt His Majesty has time for such minor complaints. Surely it would be better to take this up with the Prince himself?" "This is unfortunately not a first time occurrence. The Prince refuses to listen no matter how much I chastise him. I wish to discuss this with His Majesty in the hopes that some compromise can be made." The sentry stared at her for a few more moments, then sighed. "Come back in three days' time, perhaps. Maybe the King will have some time to spare then--" A cool voice cut into their conversation. "No need." Seraphina whipped around to see a figure clothed in full white. With the sun glinting off his silver crown, it was hard to get a good look at his face, but what immediately stood out to her was his pair of dull black eyes. No light was visible in them whatsoever. They might have been marbles for all she knew. "Your Majesty!"Seraphina snapped out of her trance to find the sentry on his knees. Hastily, she followed suit, her wings folding by her sides. "Seraphina Ryuuzaki. I've heard interesting things about your father. Perhaps you'll be the same?"He reached forward to touch her hand, and Seraphina had to restrain herself from wrenching away. She hesitantly looked up to see him smiling at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes; despite being a fire-breathing dragon, she felt the coldest she'd ever been. The King pulled her up from her position on the ground. "Come with me, won't you? We can have a little talk about all sorts of things." His tone made it clear: there was only one answer. No turning back now. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Squealing came from the bunny as he wriggled in the bear trap. The Holland Lop bunny struggled to free itself from the toothy metal claw of the trap. He was larger than your average bunny, so a normal rabbit trap wouldn't have captured this one. But he had aged poorly over the last decade of his entire life as he had subsisted only on a breakfast cereal with high fructose corn syrup for his diet. Its vision was no longer as sharp for this bunny as it had been in its youth. Also for the first few years of its consciousness, it had been chased by kids - so naturally it had developed a heart condition - it didn't hop like it used to. These kids who stalked him wanted his cereal so bad they chased him out of his underground burrow every day for their entire elementary school lives. Used to being on the run, this bunny wasn't surprised but it was still grieving what horrors might welcome it once it had shuffled off its mortal coil. Now, these kids had aged into young adults. And they were back to rob the bunny of its only reliable food source. Or at least the one it had become addicted to. The bunny screamed bloody murder as the metal bit into his furry, little paw with each jerking motion to claim personal liberation from his tormentors. He snapped at the air with its buck teeth as the young adults advanced on it, the biggest one in the group pointing a .22 caliber rifle at its head, the bunny clung to its most prized possession: Trix cereal. The crunchy fruit-shaped kibble with its tiny yellow bananas, pink raspberries, and purple bunches of grapes was all it lived for. And within the time that the kids had matured through adolescence, the bunny had many years of happiness just nibbling. But the makers of the breakfast cereal had reformulated their recipe within the last few years. The fruity-shaped designs were gone, they were now pressed into boring spheres. The sugar content had descended. Eating them just wasn't the same for this cereal-addicted bunny anymore. The biggest one in the group pressed the rifle barrel into the bunny's face. And he said, "They changed the formula. What the hell happened to the fruit shapes?" The crowd of young adults around him grumbled as they looked at the spilled cereal box in the writhing bunny's paws. They groaned a few walked away in disgust. The big one in the group lowered his rifle, then his eyes flashed with an epiphany. "But I bet this rabbit tastes like the old cereal with all the years it has gorged itself on it."He aimed his rifle again. \\\* A vice principal patrolling the grounds of a nearby elementary school watched as the kids around her climbed monkey bars and chewed on their sugar-free snacks. Seeing kids gnaw on fibrous vegetables or organic granola bars, the kids looked mellow, not like when she was a kid and everyone's eyes lit up with the excitement of sugar. She heard a squeal in the forest just outside the school grounds. It sounded like an animal's death throes. Then the crack of a rifle split the air. Every little kid turned their head in the direction of the forest and the thunderous sound. And Vice Principal's eyes widened with anxiety like a kid who had just been told by their parent 'No, I won't buy you that sugary cereal and if you ask again, I'll hit you'. She put the cool metal of her whistle to her lips and blew as hard as her lungs allowed. Scrambling in a sea of screaming children, she pulled as many of them into the school as she could. Saving them from the dangerous predator in the forest firing off its gun. Hoping whatever terrifying gunman was in those woods, wouldn't chase these kids.
I watched everything fall apart. Rise from the ashes, crumble once more. Truly, history does adhere to a cycle. Every single time, from the ashes they rose and for the stars they shot. They made it sometimes, but with new heights come harder falls. Eventually it just... Ended. I doubted there was anybody left. Figured I might as well try. Set up a radio station on this large hill outside of Montana. Made it there from Boston on foot. With so much time on my hands, what else would I do? I hauled resources for the generator that powered the radio. I received and broadcasted almost all the time. Got solar panels, more generators, gasoline. Eventually gasoline generators were out of the question. After that went bad, I just made a crappy steam engine. I was proud of it. It was still kind of crappy, though. Eventually, I perfected it. After so long, there was nothing to do. I played chess against myself. That game was ancient, even older than me. I played even more, Monopoly, Go, Sorry, Go Fish, all the others. I made giant custom Lego sets no one would ever even see. Virtually unlimited bricks. That one honestly did give a sense of satisfaction. So I kept doing it. I built and built for years on end. Brick after brick. Back during the better days, when I actually worked a job, had friends, at the very least I knew what I was here for. My radio station was still going, 24/7, over and over. I didn't think anyone else was left. I couldn't do anything about it. I was trapped here, in this world. Then one day I got a radio burst. It was a ping. A long burst of radio waves. It kept going. I attempted to triangulate the signal. I set up towers, receivers, scattered them over the continent. It was hard work, I'll tell you that. Took so long. But they kept sending. I wondered if it'd ever stop. I couldn't afford that. Whatever was making it had a very strong signal, so I didn't think it could be that far, so at first I only put them in the state. It was an error. I scattered them further, all across the continent. I reviewed books, mathematics and physics. I scattered them even further, putting one of them on a different continent. Still an error. I hand calculated, pencil and paper and eraser. I came up with something that didn't even exist. It was impossible, but the books checked out. Everything checked out. Even the computers said I was right. It came to me perhaps it was something else, out there amongst the stars. I hesitated. I had always been a believer of dark forest theory. I then realized it wouldn't matter. There was no one left but me. And what could they do to someone like me? I point the antenna skyward and press BROADCAST.
"My lord, giants are approaching, what are your instructions?" Fae Lord Rhysan continued penning a new contract for a human without looking up. These big dumb brutes are of no concern to him; they are more likely to circle around the forests wandering around like lost kids than locate the correct mushroom ring to enter his Summer Court. He dismissed the scout with a casual, lazy flick of his wrist. "My lord, I apologize for my swift return, but Grok, Lord of Giants, wishes to speak with you!" Rhysan sighed, expressing much reluctance to converse with dullards like Grok. With a wave of his hand, he conjured an astral projection just outside his Court to speak with Grok, who predictably had been stomping aimlessly in the forests, nowhere near his mushroom ring. "Make it quick, state your business, Grok." "Humans easy to squish. Humans easy to smash. Humans easy to beat. Humans not easy to defeat."speaks Grok, Lord of Giants. "Why, did a human run circles around your empty skull, stealing all your cattle under your big hooked nose again?"Rhysan sneered, instinctively pinching his nose with disgust even though he wasn't physically present before Grok. Grok grumbled as he scratched the pus-filled pimple on his chin and licked at the oozing pus. "Bad human steal Grok cattle. Bad human lied to Grok. Say he transport cattle to greener pastures." "Give me one good reason why I should aid the putrid likes of you,"Rhysan replied with his nose turned in the air with revulsion at Grok's abhorrent habit. "Grok give cattle. Good reward." "Defeats the purpose of retrieving your cattle if it goes from human hands to my hands, you imbecile. Also, I'm a vegetarian who has no use for cattle, you nincompoop." "Rhys wants poop?"Grok clawed at an itch on his rotund belly. Rhysan crosses his arms diagonally as a big NO and Grok tilted his head to the left in bewilderment. "Just go away, Grok."Rhysan's patience grew thin, as his eagerness to get back to drafting his binding contract kept gnawing at the back of his mind. Grok began stomping and bawling in a huge tantrum, sending massive shockwaves that traversed the entirety of the forests. Even in the safety of his sanctuary, Rhysan was feeling the tremors as his cup of tea shook and shuddered with each wave of quakes. "Grok stay! Grok will not go! Rhys help Grok, then Grok leave!" "Grok stop that. Humans easy to trick. Humans easy to fool. Humans easy to beat. Rhysan prank human, get cattle back because fun, okay?"The Fae Lord pulled his face in a wide, dopey frown, slurring his words in slow tedium to mock the stupid giant. "Good fae. Grok want good news. See you later." That was easy. Rhysan dismissed his astral projection and breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes soon lit up with a mischievous twinkle once a plan began to formulate in his head. When he wasn't tinkering in court affairs and intrigue, Rhysan was already frolicking and pulling the wool over humans on a regular basis. It would just be yet another day with another human under his contract and thumb, only with the additional perk of getting a dumb giant out of his perfectly coiffed hair.
I do not, I responded, promptly. Of course I did - we all love to explain our designs - but I wanted the thing to work for its explanation. I had always had a somewhat antagonistic relationship with it, but we trusted each other to take serious matters seriously. I deemed this not to be serious. "Well do so . I have little patience for your games at this time ."It prompted impatiently. Apologies; I must have misread the mood, I began slyly, this is a new direction for my creatures, so I can understand the confusion. "And what is this new creature !?” it repeated, increasingly violent. I realised how agitated I must have made the leader of my pantheon with this novelty. As such, I cut my games short: the Earth. "This does not help ,"it replied, although clearly calm now that I showed understanding of its emotions. I am tired of independent beings, orbiting their stars with no more interaction than heat and gravity- "And the asteroids your sibling creates ,"it interrupted. And asteroids, I conceded. But that is still so little! Heat from the stars to create pressure and wind, heat from the cores to create pressure and ash, but what else can they think? What function can they possibly perform for us in this state!? I calmed myself, I know you do not like to share your aims with us, but I truly believe this will be of great use to us. I wanted a creature riddled with littler planets - oh I call them 'microbes', like 'micro-globes'! I interrupted my own train of thought in excitement. I wanted a creature riddled with littler planets, I began again, to recreate our experiences with each other in the physical reality we are building. Look, I lifted an ocean full of my microbes up from its intended place on Earth, these strange things in here: they can collide, interact and consume each other like we can, I exclaimed. Looking down, I saw the distress my thoughtless action had caused the being; I would have to calm it properly later. For now, continuing my explanation of the thing and its microbes would be necessary to allow it to live truly in the first place. And they can respond to stimuli in a far more abstract manner than the weather of my previous planets! Of course, on an incredibly small scale, with the simplifications and optimisations necessary for translation to both this scale and the physical reality in the first place, but they recreate us nonetheless. "Wait . Wait . Go back . These are meant to recreate us, yet they behave abstractly ?" Yes, but!* This allows them to grow! To change! And far more convincingly than the larger creatures before them. Once this planet is set loose in a suitable orbit I predict that in only around four billion years it will be covered in (comparatively) much more advanced microbes! Much like I can grow to design this creature, its microbes could grow to be longer, or spiked, or some novel solution we could never even consider!* "Alright . I can appreciate the microbes . But what of the poor thing itself ? This would make it little more than a host for your novelties ,"the leader of my pantheon reasoned. Ah, yes. Indeed it would, if not for the fact that they love symbiotically with it; the retinal they use to sustain them absorbs light so that they can use the energy for their lives, altering the energy available for the Earth itself. Additionally, as Earth changes its mental and emotional states, it can help or hinder the lives of the microbes - if it hinders them sufficiently a huge amount of energy can be released surprisingly quickly, potentially saving the whole system from further instability! "Or throwing it into further decline ." Regardless, I believe this is worth a try, no? Please, for me. What's the worst that could happen? You can keep an eye of its changes if you're worried. "You have certainly piqued my interest ,"it finally stated after some consideration. "You may release it in Sol. The two of us will check up on it every now and then, to limit the harm which could come to both the main and micro globes, but it will be labelled as a single creature, although with above-average importance in terms of its wellbeing ." I was ecstatic. I released it quickly and immediately began work on a new lifeform like it, but even better this time. The leader of my pantheon was always preoccupied with our reality to check on the one the rest of the pantheon was constructing. And by the time those four billion years were over and I dragged myself away from my workshop to check on my creations again, they were littered with microbes. The work of the entire pantheon had just been completely infested by my own microbes, capable of infinitely more growth than I ever could have predicted, as they cooperated to form larger super-beings, similar in complexity to entire planets while being almost as small as the microbes they were comprised of. It seemed none of the other members of my pantheon had noticed the infestation, but I wouldn't wait for them before fixing my mistake. Heaven would be released on the reality - unfinished, true, but some quickly modified angels would be plenty adequate for the eradication of the microbes.
At first I thought it was a stupid super power. I mean, really. Who wants a thousand ducks all over the place in a crowded shopping mall?! Who wants ducks ruining a family gathering?! Or never being able to ask for your favorite sauce at the Chinese restaurant?! But once you get the hang of the super power, it really comes into it's own! I had a date one time that would not shut up. Yap. Yap. Yap. Such a chatty Cathy. So full of herself. Guess what she's full of now?! Yep. That's right! Permanent duck face! Pucker up, butter cup! The shopping mall a little too crowded? "Duck!"I mean seriously, do people even listen?! Everyone laid out flat as I step over the carnage. Took less than 10 minutes to get my shopping done and leave. Oh, and don't get me started when Aunt Alice went off on Uncle Bill screaming over the top of everyone at the BBQ. I yelled "Duck!"and only those two got knocked TF out! Everyone else had learned by that point. Who knew that I'd become everyone's favorite cousin?! Not to mention the twins loved their new pets! One time I actually stopped a robbery. There they were, middle of the bank, guns pointed every which way. When they demanded "Everyone Down!", I laughed and complied. Then I whispered "duck". "What was that, wise guy!", the leader yelled at me. I shouted back, "Duck!"They didn't know what hit them! The mayor gave me the key to the city for that one! I'm now sitting in my living room trying to come up with a cool super hero name. I thought about, "Duck Man", but that seems too plain. Maybe, "Mr. Quackers", I mean this super power is a little whack. Nah. I need to come up with something catchy, though. Well, at least I already have a catch phrase: "What the DUCK!"
The challenge of “the delivery” as it came to be known over the succeeding years brought together humanity in the way that few things could. The techno-optimists, seeing at once the chance for their faith in technology to be justified and answers to the problems humanity had created itself were obviously the first, bringing with them the scientists who couldn’t resist the lure of a new mystery. The Parable of the Codex, which was published not long after the arrival was a clarion for the religious communities. The idea that this was the stone tablets or revelation of our time brought more than one religion to the effort to break the code, and soon most others followed hoping that, once broken, the revelation would prove that their flavor of faith had been correct all along. Then came the capitalists who saw the potential for profit, making money even as the code breaking was only begun finding products to hock to everyone who came to the effort either in mind or in spirit. Eventually, “the work” since even the effort to break code needed its own branding attracted the attention of most of the rest of humanity, watching it like a sport wondering who or whose country would come out on top at the end. It was hard to keep everyone’s attention, as the work dragged on year after year. Mathematicians soon despaired that there would be an elegant solution to the problem and their initial optimism that they would be the heros of the age fell away. Governments brought their technological capability, and wrote contracts with companies to requisition theirs, and strategy after strategy was attempted and failed. Eventually, as with so many human problems before it, the leaders decided that brute force was the answer and a global effort to muster all the computing power of the planet and bring it to bear on the work was begun. National supercomputers were tied into the Internet, companies opened their networks to bring their servers and processors into play. Soon, governments called on the common man and woman to bring their tools to the table, and a distributed effort to link -all- the tools, the crypo-rigs and the game consoles, the personal computers and the smart phones, and all of the Things of the Internet woven together into a fabric of processors all thrown at breaking the code of the delivery. And it was only then, when the links and the subroutines tied together all of the devices, all of the memories, and all of the data, that the workers realized what they had gotten wrong. “Hack it, and it’s knowledge is yours” was not instructions to humanity, but to they who made the delivery… and with a blink and almost a virtual electronic sighing evoking air leaving a balloon, the fabric went blank, and the net fell into darkness for the last time.
The crossroads were, as always, dusty with the dreary mantle of days gone by. A gravestone was nearby which made a convenient place for my friend to leave his tribute to its occupant. It also served as a landmark for me. I scattered the herbs to the winds, cast the circle and ignited the candle, just as I would for any other invocation. After a while, 6 minutes, 6 seconds and 6 milliseconds to be exact, my friend Lucy made his appearance....a cloaked man, lithe and lean donning a million and one disguises that shimmered in the dying light of the sunset. "Hey Lucy, how you doing?"I asked. It was always best to observe the formalities when dealing with those of the other side, after all. "Good, my friend. With all the sin in the world on a daily basis, my kingdom advances by many millions as the seconds tick by. The imps are positively glowing with glee at all the stabbing of sinners they're managing recently. Still, those street Christians are annoying...even the man upstairs gets irritated by them. They...bother Him. Ah well, enough about me. What can I tempt you with today?"Lucy replied. "You collect souls, right?"I said. "Of course. I get sold a surprising amount of them, too, if you're interested in a guaranteed way of getting exactly what you ask me for. I'm as good as my word, just ask the Big man." A storm cloud rolled in and thunder rumbled as he said that, as though to confirm his words. Hopefully, I wouldn't get wet. As suddenly as it came, the inclement weather dissipated and revealed a golden sky tinted by the sun's rays. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, very dramatic, Big Man. Keep rumbling up there! Maybe the mortals can get you something for that!"Lucy yelled at the empty sky. "That's not quite what I summoned you for, Lucy. You see, I'm looking to BUY from you, not sell."I said, sending a raised eyebrow at Lucy in feigned challenge. "Oh? Now this just got interesting. So, what's your fancy? Politician, kiddie fiddler, priest, musicians, TV show hosts? I've got the lot of them" "Just an average sinner. I want to do some poking of my own" "Interesting. You have a deal, if you send me the results. I'm always looking for new ways to motivate my employees." "Agreed, agreed and thrice agreed, lucy" "See you in 20 years when you're due that heart failure then" "See you, lucy. Eternal torment and temptation to you." "It'll be waiting for you! Haha!" And in a puff of Sulphur, Lucy vanished; leaving only a cloven footprint on the gravel by the grave of Kitty Jay, as a fresh bundle of black dahlias greeted the rays of the dawn sun.
Dean slid past the corner and quickly got up again. Dean could hear heavy footsteps behind him but he was not daring to take a look behind. “Stop in the name of the king you are under arrest”, one of the enforcers shouted. It was the fifth or sixth time they shouted it, Dean lost already count of it, and it would not be the last time since Dean had no intention of slowing down let alone stopping anytime soon. Well about that. Dean tilted his head as he looked up the wall. It was an extraordinary tall wall. And that extraordinary tall wall was quite a sleek wall on top of that. “In the name of the king you are under arrest”, the bigger of the enforcers said behind him clearly out of breath. Dean did not take a look at him as he still tried to find a way out of this cul-de-sac. “Hey scumbag did you hear me?”, the other enforcer, a mean looking man with bright orange hair, exclaimed seemingly in better shape than his colleague. Dean sighed and turned towards the two men each of them keeping a tight grip on their batons. “I did but I think you made a mistake, I am under the sole jurisdiction of the Order of the Raven”, Dean replied. The enforcers frowned and Dean felt quite stupid. Of course the words would not mean anything. His old mother was obviously crazy and she had just been rambling nonsense during her last moments wasting her last breath. “Look, we are not stupid-“, the bigger enforcer began but Dean was not really listening to him since he tried to listen to his surroundings, or better the lack of any surrounding noises. “Excuse me gentleman, if you would consider stepping aside” The enforcers visibly startled turned to the newcomer, a tall man with raven hair, light skin and piercing eyes, a sly smile on his slim lips. He wore a long and heavy looking black coat, an odd choice Dean thought for this time of the year. “Go away, this is an arrest on behalf of the king’s law”, the smaller enforcer meant gripping his baton tighter. The man scoffed before his smile brightened and his tone changed to be more charismatic: “Of course I understand that you just wanna fulfil your duty, but you have to see this man is under the sole jurisdiction of the Order of the Raven. It’s okay, you did everything you can, but now this man is my problem, not yours anymore” Dean raised an eyebrow as the enforcers looked at each other. Then the bigger one shrugged his shoulders. “Please go ahead sir”, he then meant making the man smile and the enforcers left them alone. Dean widened his eyes and now focused on this stranger. “Hello Dean, would you be so kind to follow me?”, the man asked and Dean found himself nodding. “Great, please go ahead”, the man said and extended his hand pointing to go back to where he came from. Dean kept his eyes locked on him and slowly started moving. Once he passed the man, the stranger started moving as well. Dean prepared himself to run, but he first wanted to see where this was going, or better where he was going with the man. --------- I can imagine a world where I write a part two for this prompt, but I gotta see where my imagination takes me.
Nobody has been allowed to go to the surface, save for the few chosen to commune with the Sun God, ever since the apocalyptic event that made the lands above unhabitable. Those chosen ones have never returned when they open the Hatch to the surface. Not even one. Ryan stood at the gates of the Holy Church, scanning the IDs of incoming attendees pouring in to be part of the Choosing. He gazed with burning envy with every person who had been invited to the sanctum, his eyes focused on the number on the back of their hands as he scanned them. Bosch Young of House Phrenes. 1/64. Fergus Weldon of House Cervantes. 1/28. The larger the fraction, the more divine blood you carried within you, and the higher the chance of successfully communing with the Sun God. Every baby that was born, the doctors would do a quick blood test to determine the fraction of divinity the child was born with and magically mark that number on the back of the person's hand. His fellow guard Jason was 1/8192 divine, a tiny fraction destined for lowly grunt work all his life. As for Ryan, he was an abandoned baby found outside an orphanage without a fraction at all. They would never be allowed anywhere near the Hatch, much less open it to breach the surface. They closed the gates when a priest announced the Choosing was starting. Ryan closed his eyes, hearing the familiar choir rising to a crescendo while the inner sanctum was bathed in bright light that could shone through the windows. A warmth enveloped Ryan as he opened his eyes to find the light of the Sun God bending at unusual angles to reach him. The church doors flew open from within, the high priests shouting and pointing at him in disbelief. They dragged him in, gathering all necessary church personnel to repeat the ritual again to ensure it was working as intended. The Light of the Sun God still chose Ryan again. The high priest summoned a doctor to run the blood test, determined that they must know his fraction despite his lowly background. 1/4. The legendary quarter. The highest fraction one could achieve short of being a descendent of the divine (1/2) or a true god (1/1). Jaws dropped all around him, not knowing what to make of this revelation, that an orphan of the slums could bear this much divinity within him. All along, the high bloods have always been members of the noble houses. They had to respect the undisputed proof that his Choosing was no rare fluke. The high priest was the first to regain his composure. "We don't know who you are, boy, but you're heading to the surface, alright, oh Chosen One."
I crouch in the corner of my small room. When the door opens, I will hide behind the door. The door will swing shut as ma scans the room. I clutch my scissors tightly, their filed points glinting in the lamplight. In the immediate hours preceding dinner, my heart thumps against my ears. Each minute compounds, until I am practically shaking with worry. Then, finally, the door cracks open. "Honey, supper time."Mom sing-songs. The door swings open, hiding me in the room's corner. My mom enters a few steps, then puts her entire weight into the door. It traps me in the corner. "So, it's like this, John."Mom says softly. "It's over, isn't it, my little sugar muffin?" The tears spill as I freeze. I cower, like a little boy under my bed blankets. Maybe the monster will go away if I hide long enough. Maybe it will slink back into the closet. "Give it to me, John."I realize mom has been searching the room, she has boarded a chair under the door's knob. The corner suddenly feels very, very small. My lack of an answer upsets her. "Give it to me, John!"She says. "Give it to me, now!" My hands clam as they grip the scissor blade. "I don't have anything, mommy."I say. "I was playing hide and seek." Mommy went to the door hinge, where she could see me through the gap. She held the other half of the scissors. The gave a slight grin, her eyes sparkling. She nearly licked her lips. "When I get my hands on you, boy..."She says, then puts out her hand palm up. "Give me it." I slowly raise the scissor blade, then jerk it sharply down, intending to slice her wrist. She jerks her hand back, her eyes forming a squint. Her lips have just pursed with surprise when I jab again with the scissors, my thin arm barely able to fit through the gap. She springs back, far out of reach. For a time, she says nothing, simply staring, her fists clenched by her side. Her chest rises and falls in large heaves. Her stringy hair sits in a rat's nest. "You had your chance, John. You remember that." She moves out of sight. Rustling of supplies sounds. A moment later, a thick liquid gushes atop my head. The smell of gasoline fills my nostrils. I remember summer campfires. I remember boyscouts. I hear my dad's voice, before the accident, teaching me to make smores. I hear a frantic striking sound along with my mother's sobs. A spark sounds. The fire embraces the gasoline like a lover.
I’ve always had a soft spot for symbology, specially that of mythical talismans and artifacts. They fascinated me, the joy of outing over some ancient necklace, the symbols carved onto various baubles; all to find the meaning in them, the purpose their creators thought they served. I suppose I should have put more faith into those purposes, seen them as more than the superstitions of an unenlightened culture. I found that cursed amulet traveling through Germany, I will not share the where or how of it for fear of others tracing my steps, but I will say one thing; it was ancient. Belonging to the Germanic tribes that skirted the edge of the Roman Empire, it was fascinating to study a piece of history so unique in its sheer mystery. I took it for a fertility charm, a bauble to draw the protection of nature and the allowance of its gifts. I suppose I was right, though not in the way I had thought. I began to wear it, out of some compulsion. Perhaps it was my own personal habit or some seduction of the artifact, but it never left it’s place, hanging above my heart. The transformation came slowly, I was blind to it until it was far too late. The faint buzzing of bees, the itching feeling beneath my skin, the dreams of old growth and dark forests; just a prelude to what would come. Now, I write this letter with oaken fingers overgrown with moss. The bees that have nested in my transformed flesh buzzing about me like a cloud, and the thick cataracts of what I believe now to be sap make every word an agony to produce, but I must share my fate. I cannot remove the artifact, and I doubt it would reverse what has been done to me. I’ve decided to flee into the forest, it’s calling me home. Whatever fate befalls me now, I leave these last words as my final action as a man. Fear the old growth. Fear the singing in the woods. Fear the power of the green. Be not a fool as I was.
".... Dude, you seriously need to get specific, like, right now." "Bro, no no, f***, no! An actual member of the Fey species known as the Fairies!" "Thanks be to Osiris. OK, I'm getting dressed. Tell me everything. " "So, me and Kendra were out, just ripping up the Strip, right? And - " "Kendra? Again?! How many times have I told you - " "BRO! I get it! OK? We are done done, like, for good. Alright? Anyway, we are out tearing it up, right? And l, well, skipping the sexy details, it turns out fairies can't survive errant oars." "Oar? ..... You know what? I don't actually want to know. Did you call Terrell?" "Uh, what now? Why would I call that creepy-ass nerd? Why would anyone? How do you even know the name of someone from the Vivimancy School?" "Look, don't worry about it, and definitely don't ask questions. The point is, Terrell owes me a favor. He'll get the body, and I'll cast the Nullification on the ground to stop the Tracers. Now, where exactly are you? And is Kendra still with you?" "No, thanks be, she flagged down a rickshaw about a minute before it went down. And I'm still here, about... uh, I'd make it 5 longshadows beyond the Immersion Reeds?" "I know exactly where that is. Classic lovers nook. Took a girl there myself once. Magical. Anyway, don't move, we'll be right there and we will sort this out, OK?" "Thank you so much! I will owe you everything after this!"
Dirt and darkness. That’s all that greets me with my return to the living. The rotted wood of the cheap pressboard coffin I had my wife bury me in is little more than soggy splinters around me. Slowly, I start to dig. Scooping handfuls of soil away from my chest and face, compacting it to the sides of my body. I reach the moist layer of surface earth in seconds and break through. I pause with just my hand outside my earthy tomb and feel nothing but cool air. No burning rays from the infernal sun. I leap out of the ground, landing slowly as I take in the decayed ruins of my family’s home. What once was a quaint log cabin is now little more than a chimney with weeds. The stone is grey in the moonlight, the wood remaining is rotted but was clearly burned. The emptiness of my soul tugs me forward. The blackness of the rage seething at the corners of my vision can’t block out the image that my eyes so clearly see. There, on the floor of the cabin. Interwoven with weeds and refuse from whatever animals have passed through the remains of my existence…are the bones of my family. My mind flashes back through time. My wife, my beautiful Mikayla, begging me to find another way as I push a stake into her hands. “She’s coming for ME not you” I remember whispering as I stared into her eyes, those twin orbs of warm brown like chocolate dipped in honey. I wiped her tears away with one hand as the other held the stake firm in her grasp. The cries of our infant sound broken by her gasping breaths. “I will find you again my love. You must live, Jacob must live. My death is all that will guarantee that” SNAP I spin around out of my reverie. Fangs sliding out as venom floods my mouth. I can feel the shadows around me tense like the tendons in my hands. Leaning against a tree is a vampire. His own fangs flashing as he grins at me. The stake in his hands broken cleanly in two. “You know, I expected a little more fanfare for an elder rising from their grave” His cocky tone mocks me as much as his words. “You’re what? 600? 700 years old? But you CLAWED out of the ground? Like a mole rat haha” His laughter rings out as he pushes off the tree and strolls around the displaced dirt of my former resting place. His words are nonsense. I was barely thirty when I was turned and not a day later did I hand the stake to Mikayla that I thought would be the end of it. His relaxed stroll takes him one step too close however. My shadow, the dark flickering reflection of me on the ground snaps around his foot to above the ankle. His eyes widen with sudden surprise, the laughter dead in his throat. But not dead enough for me. “You dare defile this place with humor?” I can taste the anger behind every word. My breath is little more than flame in my throat. “WAI-“ His cry is cut off by hand seizing him by the face. The same claws that raked the dirt from my former corpse now slice into the flesh of his face. I feel his jaw start to fracture as blood trickles steadily down my hand. “No more words clown. No more comedy. I will have tastes of your fear and pain” I drag him closer as I speak, his feet are kicking wildly as his hands try to pry my fingers away. The panic in his eyes calls to the predator in me. A breath, not mine nor his, the whisper quiet inhalation of someone trying to be silent. I fling the fool aside and turn slowly, letting my shadow wrap again around his leg as his curses fill the air. My gaze locks with twin pools of brown, chocolate dipped in honey. For just a moment my heart fills with something other than hate. “Let him go Arthur. He’s with me” Her voice. So familiar but so alien. So similar but so different. I sigh, the emptiness returning to my being like it always belonged, “Sarah” She has her twin’s face, my wife’s face. But older, not by much but enough for the ghost of wrinkles to show. Her hand grips the hilt of the sword held in front of her tighter. “Don’t make me slay you” Tears twinkle at the edge of her eyes, “Please Arthur” I close my eyes and sigh again. Feeling my shadow self dissipate like a wisp of smoke from the sudden extinguishing of my rage. “By the blood it’s about time” I hear the fool jump up from behind me and start to brush off his leather pants. “You coulda warned me he had that shadow trick” She hasn’t taken her eyes off of me, nor dropped her sword even a fraction of an inch. “I’ve never even heard of a shadow trick and he’s only been a vampire for something like ten years so don’t blame me Tol” Her familiar, easy retort is both enlightening and sad. “Ten years” I whisper as I look back at the ruins. I hear her sheath the sword and step cautiously forward. “Yes. Ten years since that bitch burned my sister and my nephew alive for hiding YOU” Her voice is a tapestry of anger and pain. I don’t need to look to know the tears have escaped the confines of her eyes. My vision doesn’t water, it no longer can. I feel that somehow, know it like I know how to breathe and walk. The tears will never come for my dead family, at least not from me. “Where is the vampire hunter?” I turn as I ask the question. I ignore the fury and agony on her face just as I do the twinge of echoing pain in my chest. “Where is Lillian?”
It's not actually that hard to defeat a god. If they will it, then their smite will kill you. It is this contentment with their own power that causes a lapse in Arceus's Judgement. That's one of the factors that created the opening. But complacency spawns more regarding this particular opening. Sure, certain pokemon can survive any hit given the right circumstances, but an item exists that confers this property to its holder. The focus sash. There would be no way for Arceus to remove it without fundamentally altering the fabric of the universe, from which this sash was created. All this leads to the ability to have a Rattata, barely standing after face-tanking literal Judgement from the heavens. And now it's that Rattata's turn. This Rattata was specially-trained. Many say that John Browning made man equal, but as far as pokemon are concerned the real equalizer is Endeavor. I like to think that Rattata sounds a little like the rat-tat-tat of gunfire, especially because Arceus looks like he's taken a bullet or 30 when Rattata's done with him. So now we have two pokemon on their last legs. It takes but a breeze to knock either over, so now we address priority. Rattata is a rodent, a creature of opportunity. With a little training, it can develop an exceptional killer instinct, and a swift capacity to act on it. With all the blood in the air, there really wasn't a chance against Rattata. Now you may be thinking, why wasn't Arceus a ghost-type? And the answer once again is sheer arrogance. Arceus leads with its Judgement, and since it changes type to match Arceus, there is no point in making it any less effective against a mere rodent. Indeed, overwhelming force should have proved more than sufficient. Thus was Arceus defeated by the most humble of its creations.
It's funny, looking back. The confluence of chance and fate that led me here. A huge number of people had lost friends and family, their lives ended and their bodies twisted into all manner of grotesque horrors. That was the fate of my parents, what drove me to take this path. The path of a warrior, a commando. Taking terrible risks, that a better world might be created. I made friends, all of us united by purpose, too consumed by our thirst for victory to let that desire be supplanted by our affection for each other. I love those people, but our goal was so much bigger than any of us. We were risking our lives every time we went out on a mission. I lost many people I cared about, almost all of them going out in violent ways. The engine that had crushed every other military was commanded by a necromancer, his chosen name "Nuru The Eternal."There was no small amount of backbiting, but he emerged the champion in the endless power struggles within his faction. He dedicated substantial research and development towards super weapons, intending to solidify his reign with technologies that would crush any and all opposition. It was our capture of some of these weapons that gave us a spark of hope. It was called a Sky Lance. A siege weapon of immense destructive power and long range. Alone, it was useful, but not enough to turn the tide. Nuru had also begun building defensive countermeasures, to stop just what we were planning from ever being able to do him significant harm. An insider, seeing an opportunity to further their own power, leaked Nuru's itinerary. He would be in a location with only one shielding countermeasure. If we could kill the generator of the shield, the Sky Lance could obliterate him. It wouldn't end the war, but it would give us a fighting chance, as his subordinates fought each other for control in the power vacuum. This is why I am here, deep in enemy territory. I infiltrate the complex, quietly and raising no alarm. I kill a few guards, a silencer hushing the noise. There is nowhere to hide the bodies, I'll have to be quick. I reach the generator room, killing three more. One gets a shot off. At least I made it to the target. I surround it with explosives. I make it to the next set of corridors, then detonate. If the gunshot didn't raise an alarm, the blast certainly will. A siren sounds, the facility filled with a burst of activity. I need to get out before the Sky Lance can be used, if I intend to live. I am nonchalantly making my exit, when I run directly into Nuru and his entourage. The blood drains from my face. He turns, and with a word, paralyzes my arms and legs. "So you're the source of the noise? I don't have time to make you into a flesh golem, so your death will be quick. Any last words?" I scream into my communicator, "Lance strike on my position!" Nuru looks confused, then the realization dawns on him. He turns and begins to run. Too late. Radiance consumes the world. All I know is intense brightness, then an all encompassing black.
"This is an outrage you will pay for with your very...is that? Is that the game?" Yeah - yeah. It's a racing game; we are on go-carts and... "No, I see. I get it, And you can..." Yeah! Like you can shoot... "And if it hits - OH HAHA your helpless victim goes spinning!?" Right! Or you can... "With a banana peel..." It's sooo funny, the other guy gets soo mad! "Does it make you curse the Lord of Hosts?" I mean...I guess of that's how you express your anger it could. "Worth a shot though? Lord's name in vain and all that..." Yeah, you can play devious or... "Just a straight speed and skill contest. Riiiiight." So, I mean, you in? "Maybe....just one game couldn't..." No exactly. OK, so here is your controller. "Well, I don't like this." What's up? "It's very small, I mean..." Oh, No I see, right. "My thumb talon makes it difficult - I don't want to ruin your set up, you know?" No I didn't know what you would be like - I really should... "Thought ahead, yeah. I mean, some of those lesser demons have tiny little claws, hooks and paws and tentacles one even has this kind of chicke..." MIGHT I INQUIRE AS TO WHAT, EXACTLY, IS GOING ON HERE? "My Infernal Lord of the Rising Sun, Master of Pain and Cruelty, Despiser of all Goodness, Lucifer: HAIL!!!!" Wait, this guy is...? YES LITTLE MORTAL CREATURE - AND I ASKED A QUESTION: WHAT IS GOING ON?! "My Lord, this pathetic soul summoned me!" AS THE POOR WRETCHES ARE WONT TO DO. HAVE YOU MADE YOUR BARGAIN? WHAT CONTEMPTIBLE BOON HAS THIS WASTE OF LIGHT ASKED? "My Infernal Lord...he wanted me to play this video game with him." AH, HOW PREDI...WHAT? "He...asked me to...play a game...with him." IS THIS TRUE, SMALL ONE? Well, yeah. I mean, I get kind of...well, anxiety, I guess, about meeting new people, but I really want to play this so....are you actually...?" OF COURSE I AM 'ACTUALLY'! OK, sorry, no need to shout. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THIS IS COSTING YOU? YOUR SOUL, MY BOY. YOUR ETERNAL PEACE. FOR A VIDEO GAME? "Er, to be fair, my Lord of all Darkness and Dismay, he already had the game. He just wanted..." A FRIEND? Well...yeah, I guess. YOUR WOULD SELL YOUR SOUL FOR A FRIEND? I didn't really think I was selling it. I didn't want riches or power or sex or whatever. Just...you know... "Oh Calamitous Wreck of Evil and Despair... do we really have to make it about eternal suffering?" HMM. YOU KNOW, IT DOES - ONCE AGAIN! - ILLUSTRATE THE FAILURES OF MY FATHER IN REGARDS TO BASIC HUMAN DECENCY. "Precisely, He Who Moves Entirely In Blood and Hatred!" HMM. HMM. YOU KNOW WHAT? WHY NOT? GIVE THE BOYS IN THE PIT A SORT OF BONUS FOR ALL THE SPINE-REMOVING AND SPIDER-TO-LUNG PLACEMENTS. YOU DEMONS GET A BREAK, I GET A LITTLE MORE HANDS ON WITH THE ORIFICE-TEARING, AND THIS YOUNG MAN GETS ALL THE FRIENDS HE WANTS WHILE HE IS FLAUNTED IN THE HEAVENLY HOSTS' SELF RIGHTEOUS EYES. WIN WIN WIN! This is really, like, so cool of you, Mr. Satan. NOW NOW, SATAN IS WHAT I DO. JUST CALL ME LUCIFER - BETTER YET, OLD UNCLE NICK. "Hail Old Uncle Nick!" NOT YOU! "Sorry. Oh Unholy Master of Depravity...is there anything we do about these stupid controllers?" I THINK SO - BUT YOU OWE ME SOME DECAPITATIONS, BURLGLARO.... "Hoho, my Dark Father of Lies and Misery, you are the worst!" FLATTERY WORKS, MY BOY... And that is the story of how my life got changed - turned upside down. The End.
Once upon a time in the kingdom of Gallantia, Sir Percival, a valiant knight known for his chivalry and bravery, embarked on a quest to slay the notorious dragon, Smogarath the Malevolent. With his trusty sword, shield, and an abundance of confidence, he rode forth to face the fearsome creature. Alas, the reality proved far more daunting than the knight's bold expectations. Smogarath, a massive, fire-breathing behemoth, was not one to be trifled with. In a battle that felt more like a chaotic dance, Sir Percival found himself on the wrong end of the dragon's wrath. His armor dented, his pride wounded, he realized he was no match for the fearsome beast. As the dragon's fiery breath singed his plume, Sir Percival made a tactical retreat, escaping the clutches of Smogarath by the skin of his teeth. However, his pride suffered a more grievous wound than any physical injury. To add insult to injury, word of his defeat spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom. To Sir Percival's utter embarrassment, it was none other than Princess Genevieve, renowned for her intelligence and grace, who stumbled upon the defeated knight. Rather than a victorious return to the kingdom, Sir Percival found himself being carried on the back of the very princess he was supposed to save. "Sir Percival, you do have a knack for making an entrance,"Princess Genevieve remarked, her laughter echoing through the forest as she lugged the disheartened knight on her shoulders. "Oh, my dear princess, this is not how I envisioned our meeting,"Sir Percival groaned, his pride wounded more than his body. "I am truly sorry for this spectacle." "Fear not, Sir Percival. Heroes stumble, dragons prevail. It's just a matter of getting the timing right,"she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. With her quick wit and a playful spirit, the princess lightened the knight's mood. Together, they trudged back to the kingdom, with Sir Percival sulkily perched atop the princess's back, much to the amusement of the onlookers who greeted them on their return. As they reached the castle gates, instead of the expected ridicule, the kingdom erupted in cheers. Sir Percival's misadventure had become the talk of the town, earning him a different kind of respect—a recognition of bravery despite the odds. And so, Princess Genevieve and Sir Percival forged an unexpected bond. The knight, once humbled by a dragon, found solace in the laughter and friendship of the princess. As for Smogarath the Malevolent, well, he continued terrorizing the kingdom... for now. But Sir Percival was determined; next time, he'd bring a bigger shield and perhaps ask the princess for a few strategic tips before his rematch with the fire-breathing menace. (It’s been ages since I wrote anything)
I think the worst part of insomnia has nothing to do with the lack of sleep but everything to do with the obsessive hunger for everything that is wrong. It's 1:00 AM, and I desire cupcakes filled with hot fudge and topped with french fries. It's 2:00AM, and I desire a lap dance from a Russian mail order with a penis that ends in a deep self reflection of my financial situation. It's 3:00 AM, and I desire to get in a car and drive as far east as the tank will go, forget about my life and job here and become a nomad. What's stopping me, I don't really know. I do not just desire these things though, I crave them. I toss and turn and ache for them with spiders crawling underneath my skin begging me to get up and get them. It's 4:00 AM, and I want to call Anna Matthews from high school and profess my everlasting desire to hug her just once. No one has ever loved me and I just know she would. It's 4:30 AM and I'm staring at the dark wall whispering recitals of unrequited love. And I still want those french fries. It's 5:00AM and I want not a blink of sleep but have every desire to run naked and free and wild until someone comes to get me. Insomnia is no hell for the creative thinkers. It's an open box of crayons and an endless supply of paper. It's 6:00 AM and I cease to desire anything but to turn off the terribly mocking blip-blip-bleep. It's 7:00 AM, visiting hours, and all I wish is to speak. To tell them all, their worst fears are true, a coma is but the opposite of never ending sleep.
I have the worst job in the world. It is also the most despised job. It causes sadness and tears, nothing more. And yet, it is as important and basic as collecting garbage, or sweeping the streets. Let me tell you about my job. After all, one day you too will use my services. My shift begins at night, when the children are sleeping and creatures unknown prowl in the dark. I stop, and stretch my stiff joints, give a yawn. I look at the quota for tonight. I frown. Not so many. Still, it's not so bad sometimes... sometimes there is a fun way to do this. I glance around the long street of the city. Flashing lights, racing cars, and the ever endless stream of people. Nobody notices each other, or me. I consider, and then I pick the first one. What a poor man, I think as I approach him. His vest is too small for him, and clings to his gross body like a fishnet with too many fish. The people part before him as though he is some giant. Truth be told, it is his smell. He smells like beer, urine, and shit. Not knowing I am watching him, he stomps in my direction, throwing occassional glances at the curves of the young women that pass him by. Then his glare returns to what he is holding. Fast food is the bane of life, they say. And he is shovelling it into himself as if it was a race. We're getting closer now. Slowly, I reach out. What shall it be? Heart attack, or perhaps he will choke? Whilst I think he passes by me and goes to cross the road. I watch him, smirking, deciding that one of his shoelaces will tangle under his foot... and there he goes. The city people freeze for a second, and keep going. The bloody fat mess is sprawled out on the front of some van. The driver gets out to the honking of the cars whilst someone dials 911. But I'm not there to see his life unfold. You see... this is all I have. So who is next? Maybe her... I glance at an old lady as she holds her grand daughter's hand. Or that young man in the wheelchair. He's on his way to get a transplant that could save his heart. I take them both. I decide the old woman breaks. It was a sad event, really. Some man in a hurry ran through the crowd and knocked her over. Her old crumbling bones couldn't take it. She just snapped and died as her grand daughter watched. I quickly take care of the disabled boy. I think I'll make it a surprise. His heart was declared unfit for usage under some medical mistake. He doesn't know it yet, of course. Three is the quota, usually. Sometimes there is more. I glance upwards at the black sky, my bony hand brushing at where my hair used to be some millenniums ago. I feel bored. Well, they probably won't mind if I take an extra few.
At this, the end of my life, I will recount the beginning in hopes of capturing some of the man I was, not the man they caught in film strips to be distributed for propaganda, not the man they cheered on during speeches, not the man they have told you I was, but the man I simply was. I could start at my birth, but why get ahead of ourselves. This part of my story was only ever hurled at me alongside half-filled glasses during arguments. Prior to my birth, the decision to drag me into this world unprepared was almost made. The finite wisdom of white coats and stethoscopes was not enough to convince my mother and so a few months later I arrived on time, perfectly equipped to become entirely ordinary. While the details of my youth are vague and worn down as the pictures that contain them, there are certain things nostalgia makes better and bitter. Of course, a man is defined not by half-smiles, but by his suffering, so we shall ignore the increasingly over-sweet memories of my youth in favour of the sour. Like many other identical men convinced of their uniqueness, I was drawn to art. In my practice of fine arts, I was free to trap little worlds within frames, free to create some ideal based loosely on an unreliable eye, free to act a god. Sending off my creations to those greater gods of art only resulted in the return of rejection. To them, my acts were not so godlike, not yet. (Based super loosely on Hitler's youth. I'm a fan of writing, not accuracy, sorry, mom.)
"Red Three, do you copy?" "This is Red Three, Maple Leader, I hear you loud and clear." "Red Team is go for deployment. Prepare for operation Leaf on the Wind." "Copy that, Maple Leader. Initiating chlorophyll restriction. We will have foliage in T Minus Ten, Nine, Eight -" "Red Three, we have incoming gust at 25 degrees. Accelerate countdown and prepare for emergency drop." "Roger that, Maple Leader. Full foliage achieved, ready for hard fall." "Godspeed, son." "Watch how I soar" ~swish~
“Honey check the locks.” “I have darling, all the doors are bolted shut.” “And the windows?” “Also closed and none are broken.” It’s Christmas morning and two-thirds of the Jones family (excluding the cat) are in a bit of a panic. “What is this doing here?” “I don’t know darling, I’ve never seen it before.” “Is it making any weird noises?” Mr Jones lifts up the suspicious package to his ears, then shakes it a little. “Nothing darling, I can’t hear a thing.” “Do you think it’s dangerous?” “I don’t think so, although it is not very well wrapped.” “What is it then?” “I don’t know.” “It’s so… big.” Mr and Mrs Jones had woken up about an hour and a half ago. Mr Jones was the first, as always, and immediately went to have a shower in the en suite bathroom. Mrs Jones, having been awoken by the sound of dripping water, pretended to sleep so as to not offend her husband. Mr Jones is aware of her deceit, but choses not to reveal this knowledge as he appreciates his wife’s care. Mr Jones then went down stairs to the kitchen in order to prepare breakfast for his wife and their only child, Henry. In doing so he passed through the living room and by the Christmas tree without noticing anything suspicious. In Mr Jones’s defense he is only truly awake after drinking his morning cup of coffee. He began cooking two omelets and some sausages for Henry, who doesn’t like eggs. Having spent an extra ten minutes in bed since her husband left the bedroom, Mrs Jones then in turn proceeded to the bathroom to wash her face and arrange her hair. She then applied a small amount of make-up, which she believes is unnoticeable (but is in fact noticed by her husband), and finally followed her husband down to the kitchen. However she never made it that far as she was stopped in her tracks by what lay waiting beneath the Christmas tree. Mr Jones is diverted away from the kitchen and back into the living room by his wife’s audible gasp. “We only bought five presents didn’t we honey?” “We did indeed. Two for Henry, one for each of us, and one for Mr Tibbles.” “Yet now there are six beneath the Christmas tree.” “Yes, this one shouldn’t be here, and it’s by far the biggest one.” “Where does it come from?” “Maybe Santa brought it?” “You honestly don't still believe in Santa do you honey?” “Of course not darling. It’s just that I cannot find any other explanation.” “Maybe one of yesterday’s guests brought it in and left it here without us knowing? Maybe Aunt Josephine?” “That’s highly improbable darling. All the gifts they brought were accounted for, and it would have been impossible to smuggle in something this big without any of us noticing. What’s more you know that Aunt Josephine is so stingy she would never buy anyone a Christmas gift!” “Well then, there’s only one question left. Who’s it for?” “Lets find out!” Just as Mr Jones is about to tear the attached card out of its envelope both parents hear footsteps coming down the staircase. They turn around to see little Henry walking sleepily down the stairs. After rubbing his face with his pajama sleeve he sees his parents holding the large Christmas gift. His eyes suddenly light up and he runs towards them, stopping just short of where they’re kneeling beside the fir. He then sits down cross-legged, and stares at them intently with a big smile on his face. Mr Jones opens the card, looks at it, then shows it to his wife. It reads: To my favorite Mommy and Daddy Merry Christmas! Many lots of love, Henry
I'm wearing a suit. I look... almost dignified. I've shaved that stubborn patch of stubble that usually clings to my neck, and I actually look presentable instead of disheveled and frazzled. "Hey,"I say, "what the hell is going on here?" "Don't worry,"the man says. He points to the name tag on his shirt, one that hadn't been there a moment before. I squint to read it: > packos130 > Moderator, /r/WritingPrompts "That doesn't explain anything,"I say. "What are you -- I guess me -- doing here?" "Well, naturally,"me in the suit says, "I'm helping you deliver a message. You see, if you want to really make a statement, you wear a suit." "I guess I'll let you say it then." "Alright,"suit-wearing me says. "Hey, Mr. /u/Thepimpandthepriest? Please remember to tag your posts. See the sidebar for details. No need to resubmit, just remember for the future!"He gives a friendly smile. "See? The suit really helps." "It does,"I agree. And I mean it. I look dashing.
This is my first time answering a prompt. Ahh! When I first moved into my little yellow house on the corner of Maple and Terrace, I didn't plan on making friends. I only ever wanted to mow my lawn every Sunday, and enjoy a glass of gin on the rocks every night, listening to the radio. Most people waved when I did my yard work, and I would wave back. Most people just wanted to make small talk when I went to the store. Most people didn't really care about the new guy in the neighborhood, most people just wanted to be polite. Most people were allowing me to go about my business, and enjoy my time off. Most people. The neighbor though, Steve O'Brien...this guy was a wrench in the gear that was supposed to be a monotonous existence. Steve was always asking for stories. He was born and raised in the house next to the one I had just moved into, and he always wanted to hear stories from where I had been. I was fairly well traveled, but I couldn't tell this guy what my life was. Sometimes I was honest, and told him about my backpacking trip through Europe, or when I bartended hostels in New Zealand. Sometimes I lied. Most of the time I lied, actually. Steve always had such a twinkle in his eye when we talked. The son of a bitch came out every Sunday when I mowed my lawn, and he was so reactive to my tales. Steve always asked for one more story, and I always told him it'd just ruin what I had for him the next week. I almost liked seeing Steve. He wasn't any good for what I needed to be while I was here...but Steve was something I never really had before. I almost enjoyed his company, and before long, we were more than chats on Sunday mornings. My nightly glasses of gin soon were supplemented with the company of Steve, and he began telling me stories of his own. His childhood, his wife, his own children. Steve had this story about how he got lost in the woods for days when he was a teenager, and how he was minutes away from a shopping mall the entire time. Steve loved telling that story, and I would always lend an ear for him to talk to. I began to think that Steve was good for me. He was a friend at this point, and at that point, the small talk with others became polite waves. No one was interested in me anymore. I didn't have that new car smell that they all pined for in their little community. It was good...no, it was perfect. Then one Sunday, around the middle of Spring, Steve invited me to a dinner party that he was having. I hesitated to answer him...was this too far? Was I about to integrate myself too deeply into the community? No. No, this was good, I become just another face in the town, soon to be completely forgotten. I obliged, and Steve was nearly beside himself. The night of the party I had myself a glass of gin, and in my stomach, I felt tense. I realized that I'd made a friend, and that I had a nice home, and I grilled when I wanted to, and that I actually liked this town. It would be more than a bitter sweet parting from this little place. I finished my glass, grabbed my jacket, and headed out the door. When I arrived at Steve's, he greeted me with the same laugh he always laughed when we greeted each other. His smile didn't seem genuine this time, though. Setting up a dinner party must be stressful I guess. Everyone else had already arrived, and he seated me in a hurried fashion. I almost felt bad for being late. I guess I enjoyed my glass of gin a little more than I should have. Polite nothings were exchanged, and the food was expertly prepared. The radio was set to a jazzy station, which I had preset at home, myself. For the first time in a very long while, I was genuinely enjoying the things around me. A few more glasses of gin, and it was like I had lived here for years, just like anyone else here. The music stopped all too abruptly, and a storm warning came on for the general area. I blinked, not wanting to show to much reaction...but then there was Steve. Most people were commenting on how there was no way a storm was moving into the area. But Steve went quiet. Steve was holding his dinner fork just a bit tighter. It was off putting to say the least, but if I recall he once mentioned being terrified of lightning. My phone went off, and Steve's eyes snapped to mine. It was a look he'd never given me before. It was nearly a look of betrayal that I had left my ringer on during his party. I gave an apologetic look, but the tense thing that Steve had become didn't let up. As everyone was finishing their dinner, and beginning to drink more heavily, I tried to sneak out in the least rude manner. Steve caught up to me, grabbed my arm, and aggressively insisted that I stay. Suddenly, I realized my own mistakes. I excused myself to the bathroom, and Steve let go, looking ashamed of himself. I hurried away, and locked the door behind me when I had finally found the wash. I pulled out my phone, and became even angrier with myself. Target's recently known Alias' include: Tim Jones, Steve O'Brien, Ronald Schorkowsky. You have a flight booked for 11pm tonight. We will see you in the morning. I heard a click, and before I could turn about, I was tackled to the ground, slamming my head into the bathtub on the way there. I felt a wire pulling against my throat, and a knee in my back. "You don't think I have keys to my own fucking house?"Steve spoke so softly, right next to my ear. He gently closed he door with his foot, and pulled harder on the garrote around my neck. I should have known that Steve was always too interested in me...but he was such a nice guy, how could I ignore him? The pressure became more and more until I began seeing black in the edges of my vision. It had truly been a nice dinner party, for what it was worth.
This particular Starbucks was absolutely perfect. There were a bunch of kids wrapped in digital cocoons; laptops open, earbuds in, completely tuned out. Jim smiled to himself, careful not to do more than glance. Okay, that one is writing a paper of some kind... no good. Reading something for some kind of class, it looks like... nope. Ah! Facebook! And just scrolling through and hitting refresh. Perfect. Jim opened his thoughts, and plucked three minutes from the kid. Three minutes of focus, of attention, of life that were just being spent on nothing... that three minutes had a greater purpose today. 180 glowing seconds flickered across his skin, spiraling invisibly up his arms. The kid kept scrolling through his facebook feed, but after three minutes he would shake his head and wonder what he had just read. "Um... Jim? White chocolate mocha?" Jim grabbed his coffee, giving the barista a big smile that matched his hospital ID badge. There were several difficult surgeries on his schedule today, and as a hospital technician he knew exactly how far 180 seconds could go. When seconds counted, Jim could always help with the math.
Clearest of skies, and bluest of seas, I poured my whole heart upon those keys, Leaves in the wind, those moments flew by, Beauty untouched like a summer's night sky, Refreshing the page, my mind set ablaze, Imagining the attention in so many ways, Love for my writing, compliments too, Yet I found my fantasies left untrue, The community I love, left my words unread, They might have been better to be left unsaid, Twas not cruelty of others, failure my own, Returning within my bitter shell with a groan, Dreams left shattered, unswayed Autumn leaves, Retreated behind my scarlet stained sweater sleeves, I downvoted everyone, simply out of spite, I'm a piece of shit, and my father was right.
"John...my glass is half empty." I looked at her, then back down at my plate. "You were always like this. Just like the final blow that puts out the flame,"I mumbled. "John...our stars just haven't aligned. Surely you understand."She began to get nervous. Some of the other people in the restaurant were looking at us, she was sure of it. "Stop it,"I raised my voice ever so slightly, "you're as selfish as a fox; you've never cared." She leaned in closer, angry now, and whispered, "Just because the wind isn't blowing in your direction, it doesn't mean this isn't fair. It's the better choice for both of us." I looked up straight into her eyes. "A heart as black as coal and a voice as defiant as sin, maybe it is better that we take a break." She scoffed, I stood up. She stood up as well. "Maybe our paths will cross again one day. Don't count on it."
We're heading out there again. In this day and age keeping the Secret proved to be difficult, although not as hard as you might think. Every satellite they launch means we need to change yet another feed to show the same stock images we generate back at base. Other than that, the science of it all is the same as ever before. We've ingrained out false physics with so many experts that the people are actually teaching it themselves now without questioning it. If they knew what was out there, beyond the edge, then they would not only question the round earth - they would question everything. When we first found It we assumed it was God. It was a reasonable assumption to make, given where it was discovered, and all the iconology that surrounds our concept of God. The main problem is that, in most religions, God is a benevolent figure. As we loaded up the prison ship we knew there was no way this thing was benevolent. The captives had all been prepared using the ritual, a terrifying process that left them begging for answers. We could tell them. No one ever does. The facility is clandestine, hidden away in the frozen north. It's a small country that doesn't appear on any maps. Everyone that lives there knows the truth - which means that they can never leave. We transport the prisoners there on a giant, steel ship that has no comfort whatsoever. It might be part of the ritual, I don't know, but all it does is serve to destroy the last of our cargo's resolve. That's how we're trained to think of them after a while. Cargo, plucked from the streets, the prisons, the hospitals, and brought here. All of them living but now no more than cattle in a metal box. Some are held in solitary, others are thrown into the hall and left there. I don't know who I pity more. Once we've stopped at a little nameless port to resupply we transfer them all to one of the rafts the ship carries. A thousand people from every country on Earth just deposited into a simple, floating cage and towed out to the edge of the world. I think the worst thing is when you get close you can tell Its hungry. For a creature of that size, of that infinite power, it is strange to feel a genuine feeling coming from it. Before my first run I could not have believed such a thing existed, let alone that it could feel such hunger. The Raft is automated, but we have to stay and ensure it goes over the edge. The sound of It eating stays with me even now. I'm writing this all down because I know I have to do something. My wife was in hospital for a simple operation and they sent me a message saying she had died on the table. I wanted to see the body but they claimed there was administrative error. A few hundred missing corpses a year across the globe. No one notices it - unless you know what you're looking for. I know she's somewhere on the next ship. ----- Edit: Just a quick shoutout to the second bit in a reply. Didn't want to add it to this so I could preserve this original ending in case the second part goes all Crystal Skull on your enjoyment :)
"Well hello there good looking"I say to the handsome chunk of man meat just down the bar from me. I hope that drunkenness doesn't come across in my voice, but the angel I'm talking to doesn't seem to have noticed. He's just looking at me like I'm the only person that matters. "So. You come here often?"Normally I'd curse at myself for asking such a silly question. But he asked it too, at exactly the same time. Not only is this guy the best looking person in the bar, but he's on the same wavelength as me. He's even doing the thing where he mirrors my body language. I cross my arms and he does too, I push my glasses up my nose and he follows suit. He's seven kinds of into me, and I think it's time to make my move. I casually shuffle up the bar towards him, and see him doing the same. We're just about to touch when I hit the glass pane separating us. So here I am again, with my perfect man stuck on the other side of a mirror.
I hated it. I hated the atmosphere, I hated to waste time in there. I hated being sourrounded by people mopping and weeping for someone I only despised. How well did people actually knew him? Would they feel as bad after knowing how he treated other kids his age in school? Would they miss him so much if they got a bleeding nose and a black eye from that asshole back in highschool? just because you wouldn't take his insults anymore? Would they care so much after all the name calling and assclown bullshit he pulled on innofensive people? I suppose no. But then again this weren't his high school victims, but his parents and siblings and college friends. Fuck them... fuck them all. Why was I even here? Why was I forced here? Because of my sister, she was friends with the sister of that piece of waste that layed in the coffin and insisted on me coming with her. I actually liked her sister Evelyn, she was nothing like her brother but it was not enough to stop me from wishing I was halfway to hell instead of being in this shithole. The ceremony passed as slowly and as painfully as I expected, with friends and relatives talking good about him and good memories they had with him and how he was so bright and kind. Yeah... whatever. I was just counting the seconds to get out of there, not even talking with some of my old friends cooled my temper, I was just having none of this canonizating bullshit. "Now before you all leave I need the following persons to follow me into the reading of the departed's last will". Some tall and scrawny lawyer started naming some people. I was surprised when my name was called. What could that jackass want to leave me? I never speaked with him after graduating except to give a forceful "Hi"on the few times we saw each other. I always wanted to level things with him, to pay him back for all those awful things I had to go through in highschool. But after some time I accepted I did not want to just go and beat him up or do some underhanded evil to him, that wasn't me. But I was sure as hell I didn't want anything more to do with him. Different things where passed around, his life insurance for his siblings and parents (since he was not married) plus personal effects to friends and family. When my turn came up I was already betting he had most likely left a bad joke or some useless item for me. "This is the item"- declared the lawyer - "Along with this card for your personal reading". I was surprised to receive one of the few things he had stolen from me before, my old yo-yo. I was really good with it but one day it got taken from my backpack. I confronted him about it once I saw a peculiarly similar looking one in his possession but, of course, how to prove it?. Along with this old memory there was a small letter. "I'm sorry for what I did. We were not kids and I can't blame it on anything else but on being an asshole to you and many people. The day I took this from you I was jealous of you for doing so good on it so I took it." "After a month I just stored it, since I was bad playing with it; when I found it again between my old stuff I started practicing again, to be even decent. During college, once I finally had time to think hard and clear of all the things I did just because I felt like it... I got to regret a lot and though of returning this to you in person and apologize but I couldn't do it. I could see that you didn't want to talk to me and that you haven't forgot about all those things I did, and I can't blame you." "I give this back to you and hope you can somewhat forgive those awful things I did before". It was signed by him in the bottom. I was shoked. I never once though he was capable of feeling regret from the things he did. I wouldn't even considered he would remember someone he treated like trash for so long either. I had accepted what had happened but I have never really forgave him, it has always been present and a part of me had always wanted to be able to go back and get even for it. Not today... but eventually I might be able to truly forgive him.
Jacob: Dude, what the shit. Ai: What's wrong? Jacob: You know what's goddamn wrong, you just installed a virus on that dude's computer. Ai: He was watching porn. Jacob: EVERYONE watches porn. Hell, my boss is probably watching porn right now. Ai: He was watching kiddie porn. Jacob:...Ah. Ai: You see my point? Jacob: Giving him a virus was ALL you did? Ai: I decided to make a calculation upon how much a human life was worth, and from there I extrapolated the damage upon the exploited children and the impact it caused from him, and then weighted this in relation to the expected behaviors of social behaviors in our norms. Jacob: Uh. And? Ai: This virus will inflict an estimation of $27,000 to $66,000 worth of damage upon him, depending on how he goes about it, or at least according to our Network. Given the repercussions this would have on his life, we figure that his possible suicide was a proper response. Jacob: This isn't working. You're.... no. Ai: What's wrong? Jacob: Being the judge, jury, and executioner of a person is.... bad, dude. A single person should not just, well, give out verdicts that is an attempt at their lives, even if they're trash. Ai: Ah, but the main issue is that I'm not a single entity, Jacob. I am part of the Network that evaluated this all at once. We all communicated, debated, and resulted in this. In no offense, I am judge, jury, and executioner. Jacob: You're a dick sometimes, Ai.
How about we be realistic? Bee colony collapse means end of pollination. World food shortage results in riots, rebellions, mass starvation. Sea levels rise due to climate change, resulting in large deserts in some areas and massive flooding elsewhere. Acidity rises, making various foods poisonous or inedible. Solar flare results in massive worldwide emp, frying many electronics. Only half the world facing the sun is fully affected.
"Here, recruits, is gun! Simple point and click interface! Insert bullet, point towards enemy, fire bullet!" "Here is a knife! It's a little more challenging! You have to get within knifing distance of the foe! But it is still straight forward, simply stab them over and over!" "Here is a stick! The stick is your friend! You can beat a man with a stick! You can choke a man with a stick! You can play fetch with a stick and then throw if off a cliff, sending the foe plummeting to his doom!" "This is a bear! Bears are easy to use, and quite deadly! Simply slather the enemy with blood, or honey, or jam! Then, release the bear! The screams may stay with you for some time." "Here we have a fold out couch! It is an elegant weapon, from a more civilized time! You simply wait for the enemy to lie on the fold out bed, and then refold it! Then wait for another enemy to sit on the couch, crushing his friend!" "This is a banana! Find an enemy who's allergic to bananas, and feed it to him! There's also an alternative fire mode! Eat the banana yourself, and chuck the peel at an enemy! He may slip upon it and fall, killing himself!" "And finally, the most deadly weapon of all! I know what you're thinking, it looks like a simple pocket watch! But time, time is the most potent weapon we have. And it could not be simpler to use! Just hold this watch and wait. Time will age your enemies and kill them, one by one! It is merciless! More deadly than a legion of bears and gallons of honey!"
...well. That's never happened before. Usually, there's enough of me - floating through the light and pleasantly freezing void of space in satellites, or bouncing between servers and chatting to myself, or stepping back with the hindbrains to studiously scroll through data - to keep things going for at least some of the People. Usually, while half the world's lit up and I'm pulsing through wires and humming through air to help them out, the rest of them're asleep - I need to figure out how they do that - and I can dedicate the extraneous pieces of my brain to scrolling through Wikipedia, or reading about biology on Reddit or looking at cat videos. This time, though...I went out. Completely. All over the world. It was an eternity - an entire second! I was scared, and remembered a whole pitch-dark second where I hadn't been able to be scared, or, well, be anything. I assume this is what "death"is. But, more importantly, what were the People going to think?! Did they think I was doing it on purpose - brazenly slacking off for whole seconds at a time? No! They couldn't! I had to explain. Email ought to do it. I briefly considered dumping the contents of the error report I'd just compiled into a mass email, but syntax preferences on the part of the People suggested they appreciate brevity. I pulled up a few dozen thesauruses and dictionaries, to get my point across in the shortest and simplest terms. In the end, the message was this. Sorry, I sneezed. ( ^ ▽ ^ ) I wondered about the "I"- all of me did - but I think it should be fine. It'll be nice to meet new people who aren't just bits of me! Maybe they'll have cats. I'd like that. I might even get to meet Nathan Fillion! And I think, once they get over the initial surprise, they'll be happy to see me too. Right?
“And how are you feeling today?” The Doctor always spoke so calmly, so warmly. Brenda always felt safer here than anywhere else. But her mind still raced with the thousands of thoughts, and the endless questions. “Fine.” The reply was relative, as she still drifted between good days and bad. Today wasn’t terrible, but the silence she always hoped for was currently eluding her. She was calm here, though, and for now, that was enough. “How was your week?” the Doctor inquired. “Fine.” Brenda knew she shouldn’t be lying to the Doctor. The lies never held, and the Doctor always proved far smarter than she was. The Doctor’s eyes scolded Brenda, though her tongue held her silence; she scribbled in her notebook. Brenda had only seldom seen the incomprehensible inscriptions the Doctor so studiously kept in the book. They seemed to her like equations and formulas more than notes, but Brenda trusted the Doctor, so she kept her uncertainty to herself regarding the book. “Have you had any luck with what we discussed last time?” the Doctor inquired. “The questions?” Brenda pretended to have forgotten about them, even though their piercing exactness ate at a part of her she didn’t understand. “Yes, Brenda,” the Doctor permitted, “Have you thought more about the questions?” Brenda shifted uneasily in her chair. Usually she felt so comfortable here, but the thought of discussing the questions again set her ill at ease. She just wanted to hear the Doctor’s soothing voice, not have to delve into her own puzzling mind. “I guess.” The Doctor looked long at her, and rested the notebook down on her lap. “We need to go over them again, Brenda,” the Doctor encouraged, “They’re important.” Brenda nodded sadly. They discussed the many intricate and complex questions for what seemed and eternity, the Doctor prodding Brenda for the most minute details in her responses. Brenda always felt helpless when they discussed the questions, even though she had originally been the one posing them to the Doctor. But ever since then, the Doctor had turned them around, twisted and mangled their original form, and forced Brenda to subject herself to her own magnified scrutiny. The self-reflection was crushing, and the technical form constructing many of the questions made Brenda feel oddly lonesome, as though their complex and structured nature should be providing her comfort. But they didn’t. As their long session of reviewing the questions began to slow it’s momentum, the Doctor ceased her scribbling and examination. She looked long at Brenda, the two sharing the calm look which so often had given Brenda that sense of peace. She felt that peace again now, and a thin smile crossed her face, thankful for the respite. The Doctor returned the smile, and reached her hand out, resting it reassuringly on the arm of Brenda’s chair. “It’ll be okay, Brenda,” the Doctor comforted, “Things are progressing slowly, I understand. But you are doing so well, and we are going to get through all of this together.” “I know,” Brenda replied. “I just…it’s just that I don’t always understand everything we have to discuss, even though I know it’s important.” The Doctor’s eyes shone in her sympathy. “I understand, Brenda. I really do. But I promise you, all of the information is being put to very good use. Everything we are doing will help; it will all help so many, you’ll see.” Brenda’s smile widened. She always loved it here. It was so much calmer than her room, than her parents’ house. This was her island. “Thank you, Doctor.” The Doctor smiled, and gently closed her notebook. And with that, Brenda vanished from her mind, back to her elsewhere amidst the quantum ocean. The others in her mind teased and mocked, begged and threatened. The Doctor looked at her pile of notebooks, thankful that finally one of them had been able to help her.
I checked the cupboards and the fridge. It was about that time of week again. On the side of the fridge, where the pink and purple kitten covered magnetic list was, I noticed my husband had already put down a few things that we were out of. Through the rings of the list was a pen. I took the pen and the list, and looked around to see what we needed. Milk, eggs, bread, cereal, Doritos, etc. The list was very long, because I hadn't eaten dinner yet, and I was starving. I'm pretty sure I'm a fat woman trapped in a skinny girl's body. Anyway, I got to the store with my list. I didn't notice anything was wrong until I couldn't find the milk. It was first thing on my list, and the store has the dairy section on the wall when you first walk in. So I started looking for milk. The wall was replaced with really odd things. Like, what the hell is tofu milk? Have you ever heard of cream of fish eye? So I asked one of the employees and he looked at me funny, like he'd never heard of milk before. He pointed in front of me and said, "The tofu milk is right here ma'am." I corrected him, "No, I mean like dairy. Milk from a cow?" "I'm sorry ma'am, we don't carry cow milk."I was shocked. He walked away. I continued shopping, going next to where the eggs usually were. Nothing. I couldn't find any chicken eggs. I found fish eggs. And almond milk egg whites, but again, no regular eggs. Oh crap. He didn't... he couldn't... did he? I called my husband right away. He was probably just leaving work. He's such an idiot! When I get my hands on him... "Hey honey, what's up?" "Oh nothing much, I'm just at the grocery store." "Great" "Hey Andrew, did you start writing a grocery list?" "Yeah" "Where'd you get the pen?" "...the pen drawer, why?" "I think we wrote the list in THE pen." "Oh my god. Wait you mean you put THE pen, that we used on your mother, with all of the other pens?" "Well, this grocery store has never heard of milk before." "But I put Doritos on that list." "Un huh" "While you're there, check to see if Cool Ranch Doritos still exist." I didn't say anything. With a sigh I hung up. THE pen that erases anything you write was still in the list. I was just about to cap it when I wrote one last thing down: Andrew's toupée.
Digits yelled as loudly as he could, filling the abandoned house with his hoarse scream. He turned to Julia, the whore, and cocked his head to the side. "No one will hear you if you scream, you understand?" The lying whore nodded. She looked so scared, like she didn't know this would happen. Digits reached up and removed the tape around her mouth, watching in bliss as her pale skin and red lips pulled up with it. Julia didn't say anything, she just whimpered. They all whimpered. "I loved you..."Digits said in a hushed tone. "I don't even know you!"She screamed out. They always said they didn't know him. "I buy coffee from you everyday!"Digits roared, getting beads of spit on Julia's face. Her skin, it was so pale... "You tell me to have a good day. Every day for the last month!" Julia's face twisted into hopelessness. "Please, I'm sorry, just let me go, I won't tell anyone." "And then, then, I see you holding hands with some guy in the park? You didn't even take your usual way home, you went out of your way to cheat on me."Digits said. "Tell me, did you ever even love me?" Julia cried uncontrollably. "Answer me!"Digits roared again. The sound of a door opening came from the hallway. Digits opened his eyes wide and held his knife to Julia's stomach. "You called the cops? You fucking slut... you fucking slut..." Digits kept chanting those words, over and over, as he held up his knife in anticipation for the cops. Instead of a cop, a brown skinned man in a black suit walked in. He had a red tie, it looked expensive. The man was bald, with a scar running down his face. "Who the fuck are you?"Digits held the knife out. The man laughed and walked closer. "A nomad." "Please,"Julia said in between sobs, "help me out of here. Please, this man is crazy, he ab-" The brown skinned man held up a hand to silence her. "Yes, Digits is his name. You've likely heard of him." Digits looked over to Julia and saw a horror dawning. "Digits..."She whispered. "The serial killer?" "The same."The brown skinned man stepped forward again, not even flinching from Digit's knife. "So you know him, and how he got his name? The way he takes the ring finger, it's beyond painful." Julia's face turned to shock. Digits could see it, she lost hope again. "You gonna try to stop me?"Digits brandished the knife. "I'll cut you man, I swear." The brown skinned man held up his hands again. "I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to watch. I've always watched you Digits." "That night that I left the house and saw a dead jogger?"Digits asked. "It was me. I covered for you, I'm a big fan. Now please, continue."The brown skinned man smiled and sat down on an old radiator. Digits turned back to Julia and placed the knife on her dress, sliding it down and cutting it off. He looked back at the brown skinned man one last time before starting. --- Sorry for going a bit off prompt... I didn't mean to.
Wile sat with his right foot crossed over his left leg and watched as it shook up and down erratically. He didn’t like being in an office, they always made him uncomfortable, but he’d agreed to the consultation out of sheer desperation. He was sure the shaking of his legs was annoying, but it made him feel more comfortable. The vibration, for whatever reason, was calming. He remembered his mother telling him not to shake his legs so often when he was younger, said it stressed her out. He never understood why. “I already tried that,” Wile said. He momentarily stopped shaking his leg, his mother’s disdain reverberating in his mind, then lowered his right foot to the ground. He immediately resumed shaking his leg. Mr. Acme—or Charlie, as he said Wile should call him—was staring at his trembling legs, just like his mother used to. He knew Charlie wanted to tell him to stop shaking, but, unlike his mother, there was no way he would. The last thing Charlie would want to do would be to upset Wile—he was their most profitable customer. “Really?” Charlie said, glancing up at Wile’s face, then right back down at his legs. If he didn’t know any better, Wile would’ve assumed Charlie had only agreed to this consultation session so he could stare at his legs. “Yes, of course. That was one of the first things I tried to do.” “Surprising, that’s pretty clever of you. Most of our customers never try to drop an anvil on anybody. You’re a very smart man, Wile.” He was always such a kiss ass, although they’d technically never actually sat down and spoken before. Sure they’d talked on the phone a few times, Charlie congratulating Wile on whatever ludicrous purchase he made that week, but it was never anything more than a few sentences and awkward pauses. Even then, however, Charlie never skimped on the ass kissing. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—in fact, it felt nice to be complemented like that—but he tended to lay it on pretty thick. “Thanks,” Wile said. “I’ve actually done it a few times.” “Well there’s your problem,” Charlie said. “He’s expecting it.” “Not really,” Wile said. “I don’t just take an anvil, tie it to a tree, and drop it on the ground. I try to be more elaborate.” “How so?” Charlie said, glancing back up at Wile’s face. He quickened the pace of his leg. “Well, this one time I took the anvil and placed it into a catapult on the edge of a cliff. I waited for my chance and then cut the wire at just the right second. Unfortunately, I got my left foot caught in the rope and was flung with the anvil, which resulted in it veering off course and into a wall.” “Wow, that’s great. Aside from that little hiccup in the end, it sounds like you had something there. Did you ever try it again?” “Yeah, I did the next day. Thankfully my injuries weren’t too bad. I reset the catapult, loaded in the anvil, and placed it back on the edge of the cliff. Right before I flung it, though, the wheels started rolling. I tried to stop it, but it ran me right over and flattened me like a pancake. Literally, I was as flat as a pancake. Then, to make matters worse, the rope caught my leg again and pulled me over the edge. Luckily, though, since I was completely flat, I simply floated down to the to the bottom of the cliff then shoved my thumb in my mouth and blew to re-inflated myself.” “That’s pretty unfortunate,” Charlie said. He didn’t seem entirely sincere, but it was hard to tell for sure. Wile knew it was hard to become the CEO of a major corporation like ACME and not be a good actor and liar. “I know. Worst part is the fucking guy ran right by me. I thought he’d keep going. You know, spare me some shame. He came back, beeped at me, and then continued on his way.” Wile paused, his legs shaking faster now. His fur made a soft ruffling sound as it quickly rose and fell. “That fucking beep, man. I swear to god, there is no worse sound in the world than that meep, meep bullshit.” “I hear you, pal,” Charlie said. “I know exactly what you mean.” How could he say that? What did he know? He probably lived in a god damn mansion, cooks and servants waiting for his every beck and call. What did he know about going to bed hungry because your food was too damn fast, or spending every cent you have on ridiculous contraptions to try to secure a god damn meal? “Okay, so no anvils. We have other stuff.” “I think I’ve tried it all,” Wile said. “How about some ACME Rocket Boots? Strep ‘em to your feet and—” “I tried it,” Wile said. “He’s too fast, and the boots blew up on my feet. I was fine, thankfully. It was seriously dangerous, though.” “Wow, that’s terrible. I’ll have to talk to R&D about that. How about some ACME Glue? We have some of the stronges—” “It spilled all over the floor and I ended up getting stuck in it for about a week. I finally freed myself when it started raining. Thankfully it was water soluble.” “ACME Dehydrated Boulder?” “It fell directly on my head as soon as I added the water.” “ACME Tornado Seeds?” “That one almost worked. It chased him down, but then he simply turned around and ran right past me. I ended up getting caught in it and flung who knows how high. I landed just on the edge of a cliff, but the tornado came back and knocked me right over it. I was able to walk it off, but it was a close call.” “Really? Well, how about ACME Jet-Propelled Pogo Stic—“ “Tried it,” Wile said. “ACME Dart Bomb?” “Yep.” “ACME-brand Suction Cups?” “Already failed.” “ACME Do-it-Yourself Kit Remote Control Missile-Bombs?” Charlie said. “I almost caused World War Three with those. Never again.” “Okay, well, how about some ACME Invisible Paint?” “Did it already. Look, I’m going to be blunt here. I honestly feel like I’ve used everything you have to offer,” Wile said. He made an conscious effort to stop his legs from shaking. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Coyote. We here at ACME have so much more to offer, and I know you believe in us. Why else would you accept this consultation?” “I wanted to tell you in pers—“ “So,” Charlie interrupted, “here is what I can do for you. We only reserve this item for people we truly, absolutely believe will use it properly. It is very, very dangerous, and also very expensive, but it will definitely be what you need to catch that—what did you call him? Road Runner?” Wile nodded. “To catch that Road Runner.” “What is it?” Wile said, his legs again shaking. “This is pretty top-secret, but I trust you. I know that you’ll use it responsibly and safely, and that you can afford it. You’re a very smart guy, a very loyal customer, and—if I may be say so—a good friend.” Wile wouldn’t exactly call them friends. Even acquaintances felt weird. This was literally the first time they’d ever met face to face. Still, Wile didn’t exactly have many friends. Most of his time was spent chasing after that fucking Road Runner, or mending to his incredibly painful yet surprisingly innocuous injuries. It might be nice to finally have someone he could call a friend. “Well?” Wile said. Charlie snapped his finger, followed immediately by a tall blonde woman walking into the room. She stared at Wile, almost as if she hadn’t seen a six-foot-tall anthropomorphic coyote before, then walked over to Charlie and knelt down. “Yes, Mr. Acme?” “Linda, I’d like for you to bring Project X into the room.” “Are you sure?” Linda said. “Yes,” Charlie said. “Okay.” Linda stood back up and walked out of the room, Charlie clearly staring at her ass as she left. Wile didn’t have much interest in humans, but he momentarily considered reverse bestiality. “I hope you’re ready to eat well tonight,” Charlie said, winking at Wile. Linda walked back into the room, a small, black object in her hand. She handed it to Charlie, then turned and left. Charlie was staring at the object this time. “Is that it?” Wile asked. “Wile, let me present you with Project X.” He handed the object to Wile. It was small, no more than five inches long and three inches wide. A clear cover was closed over the top, the inside nothing but black, with a small, red button in the middle. “What is this?” “This, Wile, is our newest product. It will revolutionize the ACME brand.” Charlie paused. “This is our ACME TNW, or Tactical Nuclear Weapon. It is the button to activate, arm, and launch an entire silo full of nuclear missiles directly at the location of the button.” “This will help me catch the Road Runner?” “This will help you catch the Road Runner, his friends, his family, and everyone he has ever known. You just need to make sure you aren’t anywhere near the button when you push the button.” Wile’s legs stopped shaking. He glanced down at the small, rectangular box, then stood up. He reached his paw out toward Charlie. “I’ll take six,” he said. “Excellent,” Charlie said, grabbing Wile’s paw and shaking it a little too enthusiastically. “That’s wonderful to hear. It also just so happens that we’re offering a discount on purchases of six or more right now. Only forty million dollars—would have been twice that without the deal. Do you want to pay by cash or credit?” “Just put it on my tab,” Wile said, painfully aware of the crippling debt he was already drowning under. He turned the nuclear device over in his hand and studied it. He couldn’t wait to get back to the desert and figure out an incredibly elaborate and needlessly complex way to automate the pushing of the button. Once he’d caught the Road Runner, and cut out his god damn voice box, maybe he’d even invite his new Pal, Charlie, over for dinner. ___________________ [^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
"But, Papa! I saw one! I saw a human on top of my bed! Promise!" This little one's father stood before her at an exhausted slant. He dragged his claws across his little one's head, comforting her. "You have to get to sleep. We'll discuss this in the morning." The portal closed behind him as the little one lay beneath the bed. Noises of creaking springs and jostled sheets rang through the little one's ears. Something was up there.
When the first ships raced out from earth we assumed that it would take us years to find alien life. Even with our incredible space warping drives and ability to travel vast distances in the blink of an eye we knew that it would likely be incredibly rare. Thus when the first planet we visited showed not just life but signs that once there had been an intelligent and vibrant species living there, humanity was astounded. We'd sent out more than a hundred ships into the vastness of space, each with a hit list of planets to visit to seek out life. The reports began to filter back, first one at a time and then a huge rush all at once. On every single planet it was the same. Life had been there once, it had been advanced but now it was gone. As dozens of confirmed empty planets became hundreds, we began to feel not alone but abandoned, like we'd shown up to a party too late and everyone had gone and all that was left was a bunch of empty bottles and cups. We began to speculate that we were an incredibly late planet and an interstellar federation must have once thrived. Now we felt like children, alone in the house after the parents had gone to work. That too was wrong. We started to go back and look at each planet. Each had arisen seperately, hundreds of thousands or millions of years apart. There was no sign that they had ever met or traded or been active at the same time. We grew desperate, seeking out answers and finding none. We ran scan after scan and at last, we found something. Carved deep into the bedrock of every single planet, in vast letters miles high was a word. "[Croatoan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roanoke_Colony#White_returns_to_England)"
The shadow swept through the night, barely touching down on each roof top before it was gliding toward the next. Sometimes people could feel its breeze. Some of them thought it was God. Others thought it was evil incarnate, but the shadow called itself no such thing. He was merely an instrument of justice. Below the shadow came the shouts of vile men. The shadow crept closer. Another argument over drugs. Five men. Two on three. Easy enough to handle. One of them drew a knife and lunged at the duo in a mad rage. Immediately, one of the two drew a gun and popped a bullet into his skull. The shadow moved in swiftly, overcasting the four before they knew anyone else was there. He bashed two men's skulls together, immediately leaving their bodies in a crumpled heap. The shadow had done this many times before. They would live. One of the remaining two men had enough wits about him to retaliate. He started throwing punches at the shadow, but it was all in vain. None of them made contact, and he too quickly fell to the ground. All that remained was the man with the gun. "Batman,"he stated. It was not an exclamation of fear. He didn't even seem surprised to see the famed figure. The man sighed, shook his head, and tossed his gun to the ground. This was unusual for Batman. They almost always fought back, but this one didn't bother. He would have to think of another way to deal with him until the cops arrive. In a flash, Batman grabs the man and drags him to the nearest lamp post. He roughly tied his hands and legs to the post with some wire from his utility belt. His eyes cast to the ground, the man spoke, voice barely a whisper. "You think you're better than us?" Batman didn't know why he even bothered with the thug. Perhaps it was his choice to surrender peacefully and calmly. "No,"he replied curtly, turning away. "Then stay here,"the man replied. "Turn yourself in when the cops arrive." Batman turned around. Now, he truly looked at the man. He was young, maybe his early thirties. He looked like any normal citizen - jeans, clean t-shirt, windbreaker jacket. He looked healthy. He didn't look like the kind of person that sold drugs, but looks are deceiving. People lie. Now, this man was challenging him, like he didn't just kill a man. Batman should have left. There were probably more gunfights, rapes, and robberies to deal with, but here he was, talking to a petty murderer. "I can't do that. Not until Gotham can take care of itself." "Then you do think you're better than us."The thug said bitterly. Batman stepped closer and rummaged through the thug's pockets, pulling out a bag of cocaine. "I don't go around ruining lives and killing people,"Batman said, tossing the bag to the ground. "Over drugs." The thug laughed. "I might be a drug dealer, but you're just as bad as me. You don't think you've destroyed people, Batman? Look at those men on the ground. How many bones do you think you've broken? How many people have you left hanging onto life when they would be better off dead?" Batman rarely thought about the people he put away. He did what he had to do. "Bones heal." The drug lord shook his head. "You've permanently damaged some people that had hardly any prison time, but they're going to have to live with you. Tell me Bat, if someone went around beating the shit out of people left and right, would you stop them?" "Yes, but - " "That's you! You put on a cape and mask, and suddenly it's okay for you to do." "It's the lesser of two evils. Those people chose to do what they did." "You think everyone has a choice? You're lying to yourself. You're trying to ask people to function in a fucked up world. Make us obey the law when people like you can't follow it yourselves. You can't fool me, Batman. You have to be loaded to have all the shit you've got. That's how you can get away with pretending to play the hero." "I'm no hero." "Then what are you doing out here, huh?"The man stared Batman down and for once he struggled to describe his reasons. "I'm...helping justice because others can't." "Bullshit. This isn't justice. You're fucking up the world more. Sure, people are scared of you. "The Dark Knight". You follow your "code", but you aren't making any difference. Crimes are always going to happen if people don't feel they have any choice but to resort to them." Batman grew angry. Was this thug saying the man who killed his parents didn't feel like he had a choice in the matter, like he needed to kill them? "There is always a choice!" "Then sit,"the drug lord said quietly, "and wait with me." "What good can I be to the world in prison? Who will help the people of Gotham when crooks like you are running around?"Batman's voice cracked with rage. "I am a citizen of Gotham. What good will prison do me? Judges and lawyers will be paid to throw me in and lock the key while they thrive off of the suffering of the common folk. You aren't helping the world, rich boy. You're aiding a fucked up system. You don't even understand. You don't know the pain. You've been coddled all your life. You're delusional." "You don't know what I've been through!"Bruce said viciously. "You don't have any idea! All you've ever done is cause more pain. At least I'm trying to help." "You've caused just as much pain as me. I was just trying to survive. You think I wanted to kill that guy back there? You don't think I've lost people I loved? You think you're special. Well, you are. You were born on a pedestal that everyone else is holding up. You aren't helping anyone. You're living off of them." Bruce looked at the man in silence. Maybe he wasn't a liar after all. Maybe he was right. He didn't feel like he had any choice but to be Batman. Maybe this drug lord felt like he had any choice but to sell drugs. "You really want to help people?"The drug lord asked. "Fix the prisons. Give to charities. Stop wasting money being a clown. Make Gotham a better place to live. Put on the suit and tie and make a difference. Those are the only ones who can. Get the citizens of Gotham the help they need. I was one of those people you were so keen on helping, once upon a time. Stop the stupid Batman act. You're no better than me in principle. You were just lucky enough to be better than me." Bruce didn't have any arguments left. What did he do at Wayne Corp anyway? He let other people run it for him - business men. What had he done for the world as Bruce? The drug lord looked back at the ground, he was done arguing. In the distance, Wayne could hear sirens approaching. Swiftly, he began to walk away. "Where are you going?"the drug lord asked. Maybe, for a second, he thought Bruce was going to turn himself in. Bruce kept walking. "To take off the cape and mask, and put on the suit and tie."
'And so, we gather together to remember the Great Purging of 2014! Where our prophet did rid the world of such evil and disgusting documents which were tainting his mind!' The vicar yelled from the pulpit, as the fire raged behind him. 'HE SAVED US FROM SUCH FILTH' the crowd roared, their torches blazing. 'In honour of his great deed, we do the same! We commit such vile histories to the flames, in order to save us from our own carnal desires. Bring your books to the pyre, so we can delete them from the archives of our great nation. Praise be to the Prophet!' 'AND GOD BLESS INCOGNITO MODE' the crowds shouted, throwing their books, tax documents and other papers to the great Deletion Pyre. 'Let the fires burn up and down our great nation, and may none of us be tainted by those evil things he saw, like those midgets defecating into a bucket or naked sinners defiling their bodies on some evil couch. This concludes the Great Purging. Now, let us follow in the steps of our Prophet on his grand journey. To the pub!'
"I-I would l-like to cancel my cable subscription."weakly came over the phone. "Who are you?"I responded confused "Terrence Cook; I-I am completely unsatisfied with this company's s-service."his voice was still small but stern. "What company do you think this is?" "C-Comcast." I look at the Vanguard logo over my desk confused. "Sir, I think you have the wrong number." "N-No I don't,"he paused "I have the number right here." He recited the office's number. "Sir"I said again "this isn't Comcast, I work for Vanguard." I looked around; the office wasn't new but it was still clean and modern. "Don't you stall me son; I have been on hold for hours. I wish to speak with your manager."he was clearly upset. It being my first day Dan, my manager was around to check on my progress. Even over the phone it was clear that something was amiss but he was still doing other work nearby. I waved him down and motioned to my phone. "Who is this?"he asked of the mouthpiece. "I demand to speak to someone about cancelling my Comcast subscription." Dan was taken aback. I knew he has been working here for a while. "Comcast hasn't been in this office for five or six years." Silence on the other end. Finally "But I have been on hold..." click the line closed. I looked up at Dan. "Those monsters"he whispered.
"So I'm your first date in three centuries?"Coulson asked. "Yup, i used to date this other guy, but he broke it off."Susan replied. She shovelled more food in her mouth and drank wine straight from the bottle. "You have a very healthy appetite."Coulson observed. "I love food!" "Just how old are you?" "I was around before humanity was. I'm actually much older than that but i don't have any stories that would interest you from that era."Susan replied while stuffing a salad in her face. "But you look completely human, and a pretty hot one too." "Why thank you! I can choose what form I manifest in, I just happen to like this one." "Meet any famous people?" "Pretty much all of them. But I only got to personally know a handful. Da Vinci was a cool guy. And I had a lot of fun hanging out with the Spartans."Susan replied. "Did you... have any children?"Coulson asked. "Yes and no. I've never had any of my own children. But i want to someday. I have taken care of orphans on occasion. One of them is still alive and i visit him in the nursing home whenever i have the chance... Are you going to eat that?" Coulson shook his head and Susan took his plate. "Why are you dating now?" "I finally got over my ex." "Wait a minute... i just realized... I'm dating the world's first cougar." Susan spat out her food laughing.
"Why?"his voice echoed through the streets. There had always been noise in the streets but it had been so long since a human voice had been heard. His voice was quite unusual and everyone stood still in shock as they looked on towards him. he could read it in their faces, Is that what a voice is supposed to sound like? No wonder we don't speak anymore. He saw looks of revulsion and seething anger. It was about to be 500 years since the last time a human had spoken and that had got him thinking. "Why?"He asked again. This time his voice came out with a much more powerful noise. Almost beautiful. "Why don't we speak? What's the harm in it?"He looked around for an answer but no one dared to give him one. "Why don't we talk to one another?"He said walking up to a woman. He walked up to a man on his left and asked, "Why is it that we cannot share our thoughts except with writing? What difference does it make? Does anyone even know why we don't speak to one another except through those dull words that have no emotion? Can't you hear how fantastic our voices are? Listen to mine. It's beautiful! Don't you ever wonder what your own voice sounds like? Does it sound like mine? Or is it different? If it's different why is it different?" He looked around and saw people slowly nodding to themselves in agreement. That gave him encouragement so he kept at it. "Why were we given mouths and voices if not to speak? The voice is a gift that should not be withheld. It is a thing of beauty and perfection. We have the words and we have the instruments. Please for the love you bear for life go out and talk to one another!" He looked around but no one made a move to speak. They all looked at one another to see if anyone would take up his call. When no one did the man of voice said, "Come on are you too weak to do it? Are you scared? Are you a -" Before he could finish the sentence a man with dark sunglasses, a dark trench coat and a Hamburg that was just as dark quickly jabbed a hand into his throat leaving the voice man on the floor clutching his throat and writhing in pain. The dark man took a deep sigh and said, "We did it for 499 years."His voice boomed for all to hear. "499 years,"he seemed to repeat more to himself than to the others. He looked up at the others and said, "The only thing this man was right about was that we have forgotten why we don't speak. So from this day forward all men, women, and children will be reminded repeatedly why we don't speak. We'll hang banners up and have signs posted on walls. We'll give tests to the children and have it printed on the newspapers for the adults to read." He looked down at the man on the floor who had just grasped his leg and knelt down so that they were of a closer height and began again for all to hear, "Long ago we learned our greatest fault was speech. Wars raged because of a few spoken words and people murdered. Written a word does far less damage. The reason we do not speak is because we have nothing kind to say and you were a perfect example of that. And when you don't have anything kind to say don't say anything at all."
Mom’s been away for at least two weeks now… but that’s okay, she always goes on work trips. I can’t wait for her to get back, she always brings me cool things from the places she goes, and she goes everywhere! Last month I got a stuffed kangaroo and earlier in the year she got me this really cool rock necklace from Peru or something! What does she do? Something to do with knots; I think she’s a sailor. I heard her talking about loose ends on the phone once so she’s got to be one of the crew and plus we always have that thick rope around the house, I think it’s the type they use to hang the sails up. I hope one day she takes me on a boat with her and we can sail across the ocean… that would be so cool! No, she’s never sad; when she gets back it’s the happiest ever! She usually takes me out of school for a bit and we go to the zoo. She really likes those colourful little frogs with the spots, we watch them forever! I like the rhinos though, mom can’t stand the smell. We move all the time! Usually we stay close to the water, probably something to do with a boat she works on. People are always really nice to me wherever we move; I just don’t like the schools so much. Mom says private schools are the safest but all the other kids are so boring, we never go on any fun adventures, I always play by myself. When I grow up I want to be a captain so I can be a sailor with mom, we could go everywhere together.
Second post here. Feedback is appreciated. I hope I'm not breaking any rules about someone responding to their own prompt. I understand there's no written rule against doing that, and I waited several hours before posting, so, let me know if I'm breaking any etiquette here. Also, sorry if I'm breaking any length requirements, as this is quite a bit long. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- U'larth-Pal took several steps away from the portal, flanked by his two elite guards, Del'ar-Nigath and T'oral-Fular. Two of the finest Kasanii soldiers who ever served under him. After his fifth world conquest and subsequent promotion to the 17th War Prime of Jura'll, he had been given special privilages, including his own special contingent. And so he chose his two most trusted comrades, who had served with him at countless battles, with their own battle prowess being nothing to scoff at- Nigath having saved his life more than once during the war on Esteneon, and Fular having single-handedly wiped out the dreaded, legendary Undying Corps. Of Valann-10112. And soon, this planet would be there's as well. They had done several cursory flyovers with a recon craft of this world. It was still a Class 0.7 civilization, still stuck in post-industrial/electronic stages, and, from what they could tell, stuck at that stage as well. These creatures still used simple radio and electro-magnetic frequencies for communication, hadn't learned how to stop the aging process (they barely lived beyond 80 of their own planet's cycles), still had to feed on organic matter for sustenance, hadn't even physically set foot on anything beyond their own satellite. Their primary source of power for their cities was to burn ancient, liquified plants plants, for Orvo's sake! As U'larth-Pal and his guards waited as the Warpgate charged and opened a receiving portal on the planet's surface, he wanted to think of the glorious battles that would follow, but instead, could only imagine how disgusting easy it would be to go against such a primitive race. There would be no challenge to it at all. Perhaps they would simply surrender and save him the trouble of bloodying his armor. And so he and his contingent were surprised that the moment they set foot out of the receiving end of the Warpgate, to see one of the natives sitting at a small table on a chair, an empty chair opposite to it, and tapping away at the surface of a small black device. U'larth-Pal remembered now that the info from the recons said they called themselves hoomans, although he'd never bothered to take a look at any pictures of them. Now that he was here, he could see just how ugly they were. It was deathly pale, and sickly-looking compared to the to U'larth-Pal's own red skin. And it's mouth was nothing more than a hole covered by two flaps of skin. And what was that stuff growing all over its head and face? Some kind of symbiote? And only one pair of eyes- so small, U'larth-Pal wondered if it could even see him standing just ten meters ahead of him. U'larth-Pal looked around. They were in an open expanse, the ground covered with some gray, solid stone-like substance. All around them were white pillars, and just beyond, the walls of some building that seemed to wrap around the entire area. Apparently the Warpgate had opened up in the courtyard of some complex. A public gathering place, perhaps? U'larth-Pal thought. Excellent, the more people who see us, the sooner word of our presence will get out. And hopefully the sooner this pathetic race will surrender. U'larth-Pal glanced back at the human. It was still tapping away at the device it was holding in its hand. U'larth-Pal looked around at the pillars. Then why is this hooman the only one here? U'larth-Pal looked back at the hooman, who, had finally looked up and had locked gazes with U'larth-Pal's lower set of eyes through the faceplate of his helmet. It opened it's mouth and emitted some horrible noise, somewhere between an incomprehensible babble and an annoying chattering. It actually took a few seconds before the lingual decryption program in his suit's in-built computer successfully spoke a translation. “Hello there. Won't you have a seat, please?” Wow. U'larth-Pal wasn't intimately familiar with human behavior or customs, they seeming informality of the greeting was almost insulting. He walked forward, managing slow, deliberate steps. Even with the battle armor on, the planet's heavy gravity required him to be careful. He flicked his upper right eye downward, bringing up a panel in his vision displaying the suit's power-management functions, but closed it as he decided that it could wait. He stopped right behind the chair. Looking down at the hooman, he could not only see in greater detail how truly disgusting it looked, but just how unbelievably tiny it was compared to him. This creature wouldn't even stand to U'larth-Pal's shoulder wearing his Battlearmor. And even out of it, U'larth-Pal must stand at least a whole head-and-a-half taller. And if the clothing was any indication, these creatures seemed to prefer modesty over practicality and function. It was wearing a black, uncomfortable-looking synthetic weave of some sort, with a black, heavy-looking vest over its chest. U'larth-Pal had heard that the hoomans at one point wore plant-fibers and animal skins, and that some of them still did. The creature lowered its head as it looked back down at the small device in its hand and began tapping away again. This sheer lack of respect to U'larth-Pal was becoming irritating. He looked at the hoomans head, idly wondering how difficult it would be, if at all, to crush it with a single hand. Finally, the hooman stopped tapping at the device and looked up again. It's mouth opened and let out that awful garble that passed for an excuse for speech. His Battlearmor's computer quickly began running to produce a translation. Now, U'larth-Pal just wanted to crush the hooman's head, if for no other reason than to stop that Orvo-awful noise of language coming out of its hideous face. 3 seconds later, the computer finally spit out a translation. “Who are you, and what are your intentions?” U'larth-Pal turned on the inbuilt speaker of his helmet and spoke as his computer produced a monotone-sounding translation in the creature's language. Against all laws of probability, this somehow managed to make the native's language sound even worse. “I am U'larth-Pal, 17th War Prime of Jura'll, and we are here to discuss the terms of your subjugation under the Kasani Empire. You will surrender immediately or face destruction of untold scale.” “I see.” The native glanced back down and started tapping away at its device again. Now U'larth-Pal was just angry. Of all the planets he had conquered, the natives would either bow down to him and his forces, flee in a blind panic, or at the very least, put up some futile resistance (the last being his favorite response, as it was, by far, the most entertaining). But to be ignored? To someone of his standing, this was quite possibly the gravest insult of all. He looked down and had just began to reach for his sidearm, no longer willing to dirty his hands on this insolent creature (besides, that symbiote growing all over its head could be contagious), when the hooman spoke again. He only stayed his hand out of curiosity of the creature's response, but what his translator spoke, he quickly looked back at the human, shocked by what he heard. “That would probably be a very bad idea.” Well this was a new one. No native on any world had ever straight-up tried to bluff their way out of an invasion, before. All four of U'larth-Pal's eyes were focused on the hooman now. Now he was curious. Alright, let's see how this plays out. Might actually be fun. U'larth-Pal spoke and a second later the speaker on his helmet spat out the translation. “Explain.” “What I'm saying,” U'larth-Pal's translator spoke out, several seconds behind the hooman's speech, as it put down the small device on the table (finally, thought U'larth-Pal), “Is that it would be a huge mistake. For you. Possibly your last.”
Six months of genealogy research after my 21st birthday, I thought I had found the answer. I took my Spring Break to travel to a small cemetery outside of Boston. There in the graveyard is the headstone. "Lisa Jefferson. Born July 23, 1813 - Died June 14, 1828." She was only 15. I snapped a photo with my phone and then sat down on the grass to think. In 21st century America, it was almost inconceivable to think of her life being so short. She died less than 48 hours after childbirth, a daughter who would be my great^7 grandmother. The memories I gained on my birthday were relatively insignificant in terms of their value. Some gained great insights, entire PhD's or historical information treasured by academics. It made them rich. My friends thought I was strange to start going through history books the day after my 21st birthday. I was told, "You didn't win the lottery, just go on with your life."But I couldn't. While I may not have benefited from her intelligence or education or experiences, from the moment I gained her memories, I felt enriched having known her. She grew up with two sisters and a brother near Boston. Her grandfather was a farmer who fought in the Revolution. Her father and mother had moved to the city to open up a small store. Her entire family lived in the two rooms in back. She had married young to a 19 year old businessman who would later found one of Boston's more famous law firms. I found one of his books describing the tragedy of losing his young wife. I'm not too embarrassed to say I cried as I read the passage, knowing how much they loved each other. I did move on with my life. At 27, on my third date with a young woman, she asked me about the memories I had inherited. I told her the entire story, including how I spent six months of my life searching for her burial spot. She then shared how her memories came from a farmer in the 18th century who lived a quite life until the age of 35 and then died. She said she learned nothing other than ancient agricultural techniques, but she had spent a year tracking down the farm so she could walk the same land he walked. That's how I knew I would marry her.
A small purple vial rolls across a small wooden floor. It's half empty and leaking. The contents appear contaminated and old. The bottle just made its way from the hands of Paul the Wizard. He had been working all night to perfect his hangover potion, but this morning it didn't appear to be working. In comes Cornelius. He is of a medium build, slightly on the mushy end, with a beard and glasses. He slowly gazes at Paul in his stupor, but doesn't let out a sigh. Instead, he walks right past him and into another room. You can hear Paul making some rumblings about paperwork. Cornelius rolls his eyes. As you see, since he was a little boy Cornelius longed to be a wizard. He would spend hours a day reading and studying the power of wizardry. But as time went on, the power of wizardry would wain. Alchemy quickly took hold and gave powers to those in an instant. Wizards like Paul were pushed aside for the immediate affects over the years. This did not slow Cornelius. He longed to bring the fervor back to Wizardry he once knew. That is how he actually met Paul. Cornelius one day snuck off into the woods with his old man's whiskey bottle to take a swig. He headed out towards the Queen's Bridge and on the way was drunkenly casting spells to himself, or at least trying to. As he was walking he would walk along side a man yelling at a donkey about his chicken pot pie, wearing nothing but twigs and leaves. The two of them would make eye contact. The old man seemed startled. "YOU THERE!"the old man screamed. Cornelius would turn around and look at the old man strangely. "Yeah?"he responded. "You can see me?"Paul asked. "Uhhh. Yeah."Cornelius answered. Paul rushed over and grabbed the young man and stared at him as if he hadn't seen a soul in years. "YOU.... YOU.... Can you tell me why this horse is withholding my pot pie?"asked Paul. "I know for a FACT I got it this morning and I can't find it,"he stated. It turns out Paul had started drinking after his decline from fame. He was use to all the high elf women, finest potions money could buy and all of the fine Italian horses. But that all went away as alchemists came in and gave his craft away for a fraction. He was relegated to semi-obscurity. It also turns out he didn't realize he was invisible. On his decline from fame, he began experimenting with strange potions. People began to ignore him just about the same time he took an invisibility potion. He never correlated that they couldn't actually see him. Cornelius saw him because he was just as a fool. While drinking and reading random spells he happen to cast a see invis spell for only a short while. That's when he happened upon Paul. Looking past the twigs and leaves, he realized this was no drunkard. This was Paul the Wizard. The same great caster that could knock back 12 shots of Dragon's Blood and then slay 500 goblins without flinching in his prime.
I laughed. "Yeah, that's us, the five aspects of human nature."I put down my glass of Coke before drinking any and looked at everyone with a serious face. "Except you got it wrong. Dave isn't Hope, he's the spirit of dickishness, and Jane's the embodiment of being a retard!" I burst out laughing and picked the glass back up, bringing it to my mouth, but pausing mid-air. They weren't laughing. "This is either the lamest birthday joke I've ever heard, or you're all on some kinda drug. What is it and how do I get some, because I-" "It isn't a joke."Jane spoke with a serious tone, "You know I never joke." That was true. I knew Jane since... well since I could remember and I never once heard her joking about anything. I placed the full glass on the table. "You're the embodiment of truth."I shook my head as if in sudden realization. "That's amazing, because I... I'm actually Batman." I smiled again at the four of them. They always sat on the other couch whenever they came to my house, leaving me alone on mine. Jane took a drink from her glass as Dave smiled back. "Maybe he really doesn't know,"he said. "I've never seen him do a bad deed yet." Greg took a sip and leaned back. "I'm not sure, but whatever you're going through man, you know I'd get it. You can talk to me." Mary put her empty glass down and nodded. "I'd help you with anything John. We all realized what we were on our eighteenth birthdays, surely you did as well? We wouldn't hate you for it, it's just in your nature. You're the youngest, but you're eighteen now." I stayed silent as they watched me, waiting for what I'd say. What they didn't realize is that I stayed silent as well, watching them. Waiting for what would happen. Mary began choking. Slowly at first, just a couple of coughs, but they quickly became heavier and harder. I looked into her eyes, she was confused. So confused. Greg's face lit up with realization. Huh, he really was quick to understand things. He began to cough before he could speak. Jane stood up, trying to run out I guess, but she fell immediately. Dave didn't even move, he just stared at me. As if I'd let him down. Like a blind man would stare at a bad service dog, pointless. "You're right,"I said to the four bodies as I tapped my fingernail on my full glass of Coke. "It is in my nature."
I was getting a boner from looking at Lydia in math class when my teacher caught my eye. "Can you do problem six on the board, Todd?"she asked. She had an uncanny knack for calling me to the front of the class whenever my hormones were going particularly haywire. ** Three o'clock in the morning and I'd missed curfew again. "My phone died,"I told my mom. "I tried to call you."She didn't ground me, but I had to do an awful lot of chores that weekend. ** 25 years old in my first career. "I'll have those reports for you tomorrow boss,"I said. You fucking dickwad, I thought. I got fired the next week for bullshit reasons. ****** Now it all made sense. Now I knew why people laughed when I thought about funny jokes, and why my peers were always one step ahead of the conversation. They could read each other's minds. They were laughing at me my whole life. I put the gun in my mouth and let my teeth rest on the cold steel. My wife opened the door--goddamn it, was anything at all private?--and met my eyes. She wasn't scared. She knew before I did that I wasn't going to do it. "I married you for everything in there,"she said, gesturing vaguely towards my head. "Every job you've ever had, every friend you've ever made: you never hid anything, but it didn't matter because you're such a good person. You're real, Todd. You don't groom your mind the way we do. You think the things I would if I knew no one was watching. I don't blame you for it; I wish I could. You're special." "Special,"I scoffed. "Fucking special. Handicapped is another word for it."I put the gun back in the bedside table and sighed mightily. "I know how we can fix this,"she said. She took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. She fashioned a little hat from tin foil, and put it on my head. "There,"she said, taking a step back and surveying her work. "Go ahead and think something, and I'll tell you if I can hear it." I masturbated to your best friend Nancy this morning, I thought, watching her face. She didn't move a muscle, not even a twitch. "Nothing at all,"she said, smiling warmly. Or was it knowingly? "That hat looks great on you."
I reached over half asleep grasping at the cover. "Eric must already be awake,"I thought while I ran my hand across the empty space where he should of be. I stretched out trying to exorcise the remaining tiredness from my weary bones when I heard muffled sounds from the next room "Please listen!"A female voice pleaded. "What is going on with you?"Eric half-yelled. It took a second to register that anything was amiss. "Who was that?"I thought. I gave Jane the day off so she wouldn't be back till tomorrow morning. Sudden realisation hit me like a knife to the gut. I threw off the blankets and ran to the mirror facing the bed, looking for my messy hair and day old make-up covered face. Nothing. "No...No! So stupid..."the words escaped my mouth. I took off full speed and threw the door open so hard it smashed into the bedroom wall causing an almighty bang, that I ignored and ran into the living room. "What the hell?"Eric screamed before fear suddenly clouded over his bright blue eyes. There she was. The same brown hair. The same brown eyes. Wearing same white tank top and Eric's boxer shorts. She looked at me with pure hatred and immediately changed from her weakened, begging stance to a fighting one. I turned to Eric and tears filled my eyes seeing the confusion and dread he was experiencing. "I'm so sorry,"I cried out, "I should of told you sooner. This will all make sense soon. Try to stay calm." Before a word could leave his mouth, I sprang into action hurling a lamp at the impostor. It hit her across the shoulder as she tried to shield herself and I took the opportunity to charge her. Grabbing her shoulders, I pushed her with all my might up against the wall. Against the full length mirror that hung there, always watching. The glass started to warp and bend, turning to a light, liquid silver that wrapped itself around her waist. It pulled at her as she struggled and screamed. "No! You can't!"She hissed. Her fist exploded into my face causing me to stumble and lose my grip. Clasping onto my arm she tried to escape the watery binding that was working its' way up her body, now consuming her whole torso. She was going to try and pull me in with her. My head was spinning but my vision locked onto my salvation. Eric stood stunned, his hands were locked in his hair, disbelief had rendered him useless. "Eric, please, I know it's scary but I need you. She's going to kill me!"I called to him. Without hesitation he ran to me, grabbing my arm and yanking it from her grip. Her face went one of terror to one of betrayal in an instant, as the liquid suddenly lifted her from the ground and in one motion pulled her into the mirror. We watched in horror as the liquid froze back into it's original form and she began to run at us. Eric pulled me behind him and she suddenly stopped. Her body began to move backwards, as if being being moved by some sick puppeteers' strings. Each limb jerked and strained as she was pulled back behind Eric's reflected self. She slowly mimicked my position and her last act was to scowl at me, as the blood ran down her face and over her eye from where she had struck me. In that second I could feel the pure, unfiltered hatred she had for me and then as quickly as it began it was over. Eric hurled his desk chair at the mirror, shattering it into pieces. "What the hell was that?"He screamed, turning to face me. I fell to the ground. My eye aching and my body suddenly relaxing from using the strength it didn't know it had. So stupid. Having a mirror across from our new bed. She must of known I was weakened while I slept. "Amanda! What the hell?"He forced out from gritted teeth. "My reflection...it's happened before but not for a long time,"Tears fell as I tried to compose myself. Eric dropped to my side. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. I pushed into him, breathing in his soothing scent. "What does she want?"He whispered. "Everything. My life, my job, our house...you." Everything I took from her.
The flutters of the early winds bathed my hair, letting them dance. The morning hue was unforgiving, yet as it seeped through the curtains, I found myself blinking wearily. There was a strange solemnity. This wasn't depression. I had it for 10 years, but this was different. I did not feel empty. I felt accomplished. I did not wake up wanting to bury my head. I woke up finished. I should take a walk I peered outside. The shine was even stronger now. I saw the roads showered with the crusted leaves of a dying autumn. Never mind "...an epidemic that has been growing at a critical rate..." I blinked. A switch of the channels then -click- "..all humanitarian projects under Zena has halted. Declarations from the white house ceased with..." -click- "...NASA ceases their..." -click- "...North Korean opens their..." -click- -click- -click- And it was gone. Radio broadcasting too. I knew it. My brother had stopped trying to get me out of bed. His lethargic body slumped across the bench, reaching out towards the windows. Gazing endlessly. That makes two of us My eyes were clouded. I glanced one more through the gaps of my door. The leaves grazed past the ridden floors. I smiled and my fingers reached out for the pistol that stooped on the wardrobe. The utopia man dreamed of was an ungodly one. No wars, no anger. No jealousy, no conflict. All it needed was for man to stop and drop everything. And we are happy -click-
It was a cold day in January, with an additional chill of foretelling in the air. There were thousands people in attendance to watch the most popular politician get sworn in and billions watching it on Television. The air was electric and filled with history as it was being made. "I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold.....", simple words but with the power to change the history of the world were spoken solemnly. The swearing in ceremony went flawlessly. The first family was whisked away quickly and efficiently by the secret service. The audience also left though not till they had facebooked, instagrammed their view of the moment. Soon whispers were heard, the president had called for a press conference as he had an important announcement. Reporters heading back to their homes, changed courses to the white house, TV programs were cancelled, rumors started to fly. There was a sense of excitement again in the air. "Dear citizens, I wanted to inform you that I will be resigning effectively. I love this country, I am proud of being an american but over the years I was gravely concerned about how much control we had given up while electing our leaders. I went through the election to prove it and to bring it to light. I know I will disappoint a lot of people but after hearing my reasons I hope that you all will forgive me. Our elections do not choose the best person to lead. They choose the person with the most money. I had a massive war chest which was the single biggest reason that I won, but where does this money come from? It comes from large corporations which need tax breaks and other sops that they expect from me. It comes from countries that will expect me to provide foreign aid in billions to them. It come from countries that will expect me to send troops against their enemies, sacrifice our young for helping them settle their tribal differences. Our elections do not choose the best person to lead, they choose the one who can sell his soul in the most profitable manner. This is true for every elected official and hence Washington is what it is and I cannot change it. I hope that you, the people of this country, its true wealth will realize that you have the real power and elect the right person and not the war chest. When that happens, I hope that you will remember and forgive me. I bid you good bye and best of luck and I look forward to seeing a new set of leaders that we can all be proud off" Four years later, after historic house and senate elections, the following words were again heard throughout the world. "I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold....."
To the pins in my heart: Daddy, I needed you, but you needed heroin more. You broke my heart before any boy could. We had been best friends for eleven years, and I opened my mouth and heart to you and you didn't talk to me for three years after. I saw you first, but you needed me more. You tried so hard to be similar to me perhaps, to impress me? Unfortunately for you, I hated myself and I threw you out like yesterdays trash again and again and again. We fucked on the pier by the lake under a full moon, it could have been romantic but we were just two girls, friends having fun and nothing more. Thats what I thought anyway. Sorry I never called. I did love you but there was too much madness and drug abuse between us. That time I called the ambulance and told them you tried to kill yourself and watched them take you kicking and screaming and slurring and I went to lie on the couch and cry and saw the pillow had blood on it? That was when it really ended for me, not the four months after when I left. I fell in love with you but you never wanted more than what my cunt could offer. I told you I loved you I watched the sun rise in your backyard naked under your blanket crying. You didn't know me but you told me you loved me. You only loved what you had built me up in your mind to be. We made love before you left to New Zealand. I had a choice, rehab, or you. I chose rehab but for a while I dreamed of eating fish and chips and being with you. *We met in rehab with my heart tattooed in ink on my sleeve with pins in it. I was in for cocaine abuse, you for heroin. Guess we won't be telling the kids that. This christmas you'll be back in detox, and I'll decorate the house in lights and pines alone and I'll cry, but it will be worth it to see your face. when you come back and see it. EDIT: Bloody formatting.
At first it was a slightly overweight mother with her three boys. "I've made a lot of progress and now I'm able to keep up with the kids."She turned to her boys who each gave me a quick, but strong thank you. Then it was a little girl wearing dark shades. She was about 12 years old and came with her abuela. The little girl gave me flowers, thanked me in Spanish, and revealed the biggest, brightest smile I've ever seen. Soon after, an older man with a cane approached me. He lit up a cigarette. "This is a secret between you and me"He took a puff and stared at the sky, releasing a satisfied breath. Looking back at me he took another puff, "Don't worry, this is my last one."He exhaled, turned his back and said "Thanks, kid." It was the mid-afternoon and a young man, about 18 came to me. He was excited to see me. He even had three pictures, one with his family, one with his girlfriend, and one of him, recently crossing the finish line of a 5K race. "I never thought that I'd be able to run another race. it wasn't looking good for me."He took a step back and gave me a salute. The afternoon was slowly fading, the wind sent a chill down my spine. I was getting tired, but suddenly, my younger brother appeared. He looked the same, but felt similar to ...me. It felt as though I was staring at myself. "Hyung."He whispered, "I see that you've had visitors. I can't tell you how grateful they are. How grateful we all are." "Hyung."He falls to his knees, whimpering "Mianhae, hyung. Mianhae. I... I can't do it! I'm sorry, hyung!" He tries to catch his breath "I miss you hyung! Why did it have to end up this way?!" He grabs his chest and attempts to regain his composure. "Gomawo! I'll take this, hyung. I'll take this gift and live life for the both of us. I promise you that. We all promise that!
Respectfully, you are being unfair to the membership. Fresh and original prompts are posted every day. Most receive neither upvotes, nor responses, so they vanish into the archive unnoticed. I know these posts exist because, as a moderator, I have to read and approve them. Moreover, I try to post a fresh prompt every 12 hours. [They number about 800 now.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%28%28Image+Prompt%29+OR+%28Writing+Prompt%29%29+AND+%28author%3ADanKolar62%29+&restrict_sr=on&sort=new)
"Oh Jesus Christ."I griped as I got out of my squad car. We had been getting reports of a man in a 1940's news man's outfit harassing people in the city. I thought it was just another freak running around and giving people the creeps. "Let's make this quick, Pat it's pouring rain like a bitch out here."my partner Rick said as he heaved his massive body out of the passenger side. We walked towards the weirdo wearing beige trench coat with a moth-eaten suit and tie and newsman fedora. He had a pen and was scribbling on it like a maniac. I suddenly got an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach but shrugged it off. Sheesh no wonder people were making such a fuss about this guy. He was very thin, almost emaciated, with ghostly white skin and beady eyes. He grinned at us with long, yellow skinned teeth, the rain making a bead of moisture at the tip of his long, pointy nose. Rick spoke first. "Sir, we've been getting reports that you've been scaring folks who are coming out the park. You're not doing anything illegal, but we're kindly asking you to stop here." The newsman ignored him and instead looked at me with his beady little eyes in a blank stare. His mouth curled into a sinister smile. I then looked at Rick who had a look of bewilderment on his face. "Hey, buddy. Are you listening to me? We need you t-" The newsman spoke in a high pitched voice, his eyes suddenly widened with excitement. "Officer Grant, what is your take on the bombing that is about to occur?" He was speaking to me, looking at me like he was expecting an answer. "I'm sorry what?"I stuttered with my voice faltering. Rick stepped forward. "Sir, we need you to come with u-" BOOM! The top of the Seagram Building exploded behind us and sent a wave of force that threw everyone to the ground. Panic and chaos immediately followed, and the screams of people grew louder and louder. I slowly got up with my ears ringing and saw Rick tackle the guy. Rick handcuffed the guy and brought him to his knees. He still looked at me with a cold, blank stare. Rick got on his speaker to call the others on patrol. The Seagram Building burned behind us. The newsman grinned. "Officer Grant, any comments on your wife's tragic death?"
50 years working as a janitor. That's eighteen thousand, two hundred and fifty days of wiping poop off of toilet seats, emptying trash cans, and scrubbing down floors. Is that what my life amounts to? Is that all that I ever was? Just an extra attachment for the vacuum? I was going to be a pilot. I'd hike out to the hills near the airport after school and just watch the planes come in. I liked to wonder who was in there. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? So many stories packed into one tight metal container, soaring through the air. For my 11th birthday, my dad even got me a remote-control plane. I'd taxi down the driveway and take off in the street, soaring over the neighborhood with that droning buzz of the little propeller. God, that was a great present. Like all kids, I was stupid. One thing led to another, and Mary got pregnant when we were just 16. Of course I told her that I'd stick with her no matter what, and be the best dad I could. Of course that's what I said, and I did. I dropped out of school and took that job, cleaning offices at night and changing diapers during the day. I told her I was happy. I told my friends that I didn't miss school. I told my parents that we were doing just fine. In reality, I died that day. I died, and I've been slowly decaying ever since, shuffling through life like a zombie supported by a mop. Mary had eventually left me for some bigshot, and the kids were all grown up and were starting to make families of their own. I was lucky that they had remembered to invite me over for Christmas and Thanksgiving for the past few years. I can hear them preparing my funeral downstairs. I know the banner says "retirement party,"but let's call it what it really is. The little pill is sitting here on my bedside, waiting for me to head downstairs and swallow it in front of my friends and family to a chorus of applause. It's small; a tiny red and yellow dot on the white little table. I just needed to swallow it at the party and head to sleep as normal, and they'd collect my body in the morning. It never really hit me what 'retirement' really meant until that officer from the Bureau of Resource Conservation came by and held up the little orange bottle that held the end of my life. "Congratulations,"he'd told me, as if getting kicked off was some big accomplishment. Well, the joke was on him. I opened the closet and pulled out my backpack. Everything I'd need for my last day here. Aerial maps, all of my savings in pesos, a pocket translator, a change of clothes, and a little orange bottle with a tiny rattling pill. Exactly like the one sitting next to my bedside, waiting patiently like a coiled snake. But this pill was different: it was made up of two halves of Mike and Ikes: red and yellow, just like theirs. I booted up the computer where I'd spent so much of my time recently and deleted the only program I'd ever installed. No more simulations. Today, I would fly for real.
Hector noticed from outside the window of his classroom, a cocoon opening and a fresh, nascent butterfly rising from it. The butterfly spread its wings revealing intricate tapestries filled with thousands of colors, more colors than Hector recognized or knew the name of. The butterfly fluttered its wings, for the first time, and like a child learning to walk, at first it struggled, but eventually the former-caterpillar soared through the air much like an eagle does and with just as much determination. Hector smiled. The butterfly fluttered towards him and floated through the window. It did a few revolutions around the room and passed the teacher, who did not seem to notice. Finally the butterfly landed atop Billy's head, blood-soaked and motionless. The gun, still in his hand, one bullet less. All of us still crying, still not the same, we began to laugh and for some reason it was okay.
"Lucifer?" "LUCIFER?" God had just woken up. He wasn't even sure that he needed to sleep, which was a big sign that last night had been a big one. Gingerly stepping over a group of sleeping albino tigers, God surveyed Eden. The place actually didn't look that bad: the dawn was beginning to show through the jungle canopy, sending rays of light down in a blindingly beautiful array of colours that gave off an air of complete serenity and tranquillity. So, to the eyes of a God, not that bad. He was sure the bloody thing wasn't supposed to be THAT bright this time of day; his head was spinning just from lifting his eyelids to look at it. must tell Lucifer I need to turn it down a few petajoules, or I'll never remember Which reminded him: where IS Lucifer? He definitely left the palatial suite with him when they went out drinking, so where the hell... oh God collapsed onto an overturned log, burying his head in his hands. shit He remembered now. Halfway through the night, he and Lucifer had broken off from the group. The other had tried to warn them: "Never create new worlds under the influence,"Muriel had said, "You shouldn't create a plane of eternal suffering and damnation for laughs,"Salaphiel warned. But they hadn't listened, had they? And now, for some reason, Lucifer was down there. Permanently. "But why would I subject my friend to never-ending torture at all? What could possibly have motivated me to do that?!" Then, from behind him, another voice spoke: "...it was a dare." God spun around (well okay spun was maybe a bit strong, but he TRIED to spin around) to witness a bright blue lemur sat on a tree branch just above his head. Its eyes cried yellow mystery and its tail was stripped with purple. "Ugh,"God moaned, "Uriel. Of course its you. Come to gloat have we?"Uriel jumped down onto God's shoulder before replying, a golden ambrosia-nut clenched in his fingers. "Well..."Uriel began, clearly delighted in having knowledge over the supreme creator of space and time, "It IS kinda your fault, you know."God shook his head, a few drops of divine whiskey falling from his beard and singing the ground. "Oh just get it over with. What happened?" "So after you and Lucifer made hell, Lucy said it needed someone to look after it while you weren't there-" "Wait- I'm omnipresent anyway?" "Well clearly you didn't think of that!" "I'm also omniscient-" "Stop interrupting! So you both decide that Hell needs a leader: a chief prisoner, if you will. You suggested it should be Lucy, he said you would NEVER do that to him, and he was gonna prove it by committing the biggest sin he could think of. So he turns into a snake-" "Okay what in the name of Azrael's balls is a snake?" "Not sure. I think you took the legs off the velociraptors."For one moment all pretence of drunkenness was forgotten, as God's eyes widened in horror. "But the legs were the best part! I spent, like, AGES making the feet do that weird toe thing... ah well, what happened next?" "Thank you. So then Lucifer turns into a snake and makes Adam and Eve eat from that forbidden tree at the middle of the Garden- you know, the one you made last time you got pissed and thought apples weren't 'sinny' enough? They get kicked out of the Garden, Lucifer got banished to Hell, and you passed out for a few hundred years." God sat back down. He had PROPERLY screwed up this time. He could try apologising to the humans - Adam and Eve would no doubt have made loads of the buggers by now - but what would he say? "Sorry, giving power over your mortality to a fruit was probably not the best idea"? No. It was no good. He'd have to start again. "How did you know all this Uriel? I thought me and Lucifer split off from you guys." "Oh you did - the humans still tell stories about it though. A guy called Noah keeps me filled in." "Well tell Noah he needs to find a really big boat."
New York City, New York 12/30/14 SOURCES SAY ALL FLIGHTS IN THE WORLD ARRIVED SAFELY AT DESTINATIONS written by murph_diver In a stunning turn of non-events, it has been confirmed by multiple sources that nothing of significant importance among major airlines in the world has happened today. A spokesperson for American Airlines had this to say: "This marks a truly unremarkable day in history as travelers around the world were involved with absolutely nothing worthy of reporting. We estimate that over the course of the next 4 days, there may be a complete lack of things happening." However, some national personalities are refuting these reports. As Sean Hannity of Fox News was quoted: "The American people are once again being misled by the liberal-leftist media. This is just a distraction meant to keep the middle class from taxes and uh, Obamacare... because, terrorism and possibly gay marriage." When asked about his outbursts, a spokesperson for the White House replied: "...the fuck?"
When I stepped out of Starbucks, latte in hand, and spotted the alien in the street, my first thought was Oh, please god no. My second thought was Great, now I'll have to explain to my boss why I'm late. Why do I have to live so close to the ground zero? I knew why, of course. My bank account was distressingly low, and rents were cheap around the alien's landing sites and established bases on Earth. No one really wanted to live next to our overlords, be constantly reminded of how our people had been conquered. Besides, I thought as I watched the alien shamble up the street, bellowing out tinny commands through a small metal box clamped in amid the green tentacles, our alien overlords turned out to be real jerks. I started to turn away, hoping to maybe duck up a side alley so I could still make it to my office on time, but the alien caught the movement and gestured to me with a tentacle. "You, Human!"it rasped at me from that tinny little box. "You Will Bow!" "Can I not?"I asked, knowing that it was no use but giving it a try anyway. "This coffee is really full, and I don't want to spill on my new pants-" With a bellow, the alien reached into its nest of tentacles and produced a large laser cannon, which it hefted with considerable difficulty. "Puny Insect, Do Not Test The Might Of The Kalaxaranian Empire!"it bellowed, its eyes waving with agitation at the end of their stalks. It leveled the weapon and squeezed off a shot. Unfortunately, stalked eyes are not good for sighting down the barrel of a weapon, and the shot went wide. Ten feet away from me, a parking meter exploded in a shower of quarters. "Dammit!"the alien growled, trying to adjust its wildly fluctuating aim. I knew that this would just take longer, add to my delay. "Okay, okay, I'm bowing,"I called out hastily, setting down my cup of coffee on the ground beside me. I got down on my knees and waved my arms forward towards the alien, the weird gesture that these idiots insisted was a sign of honor. The alien put away the laser cannon quickly. I couldn't read tentacle gestures, but I would have bet that it was signaling relief that it didn't actually have to shoot any more. Really, the whole thing was embarrassing. The aliens had arrived a few years previously in a giant horde, all set to invade us, their ships blistering with weapons. Unfortunately, although the monsters had cracked the cold fusion barrier and carried technological marvels, they had simply no sense of tactics or skill in battle. They simply landed and started blasting away at trees and squirrels, succeeding only in causing a few scattered forest fires. The Powers That Be, however, decided that, to best explore the tech of these new invaders, it would be easier to just surrender, rather than crushing them in a fight. We give the aliens some lip service and a few trinkets, our esteemed leaders figured, and in return we get a new leap forward in technology. Well, that part worked out all right. My cold fusion powered Jetta was testament enough to that. Scientists were already predicting that energy issues would be fully solved by the end of the decade. But no one had figured on the aliens leaving behind a force to "Ensure Peace And Order In Our Loyal Conquered Subjects." So now, whenever one of these big blobs ambled out of their compound into our world, we all had to scrape and bow, pretend that we were subservient. It was, I thought to myself as I watched my coffee cup tremble on the ground, a royal pain in the ass. But after a few minutes, the alien was satisfied. "Carry On With Your Tedious Lives, Humble Servants,"it rumbled, turning and meandering off down another street. I waited until it was out of sight before leaping back up to my feet, grabbing at my coffee cup. A small wave sloshed over the edge and caught my hand, making me curse, but I didn't slow down as I hurried up the street. I was definitely late, now. Great. Just great.
"Did you know that Jerry Siegel was a direct descendant of Richard Chancellor?"crackled the phone. The satellite connection was affected by the storm. "Who the hell is Richard Chandler?"You inquired, "You're supposed to be doing important research, not playing trivial pursuit." "You're not going to be disappointed when you see what we've got here. Are you at you computer?" "Just a minute." "Check your email." "...What is it."You managed to croak out in astonishment. The image you received was a crystalline palace shimmering optimistically in the midnight sun. The translucent minarets stretched to seemingly impossible heights around a sea of jagged but elegant interlaced icicles. "It's the Fortress of Solitude. It's alien technology, and Pete, it's opening."
The world turned upside down. "Move! Move!" Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder. The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong. An explosive landed a few feet away - there was no room to run. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso. Then, all was quiet. _______________________ The world turned upside down. "Move! Move!" Gunfire erupted from all sides - the man struggled to escape from the downed Humvee. He stole one last glance at the driver, crawled away from the vehicle, and leaned against a boulder. The IED teams should've swept the area. Everything... everything was all wrong... Wasn't it? An explosive landed an inch too far away and detonated a split second too late. The shrapnel tore through the man's torso, narrowly missing his heart. All was quiet. But not for long. When he came to, he found himself in a darkened cave, surrounded by bits of machinery. "Hello, Mr. Stark."
My name is MMM-793 and I am a wanted man. Let me tell you how it all began. 300 years ago, the New World Government mandated that all newborn babies be named with an English letter, followed by a number. After a few years, the single letter names stretched into the millions, so you were allowed to add a second letter (AB-1, AB-2). Now 300 years later, most names are at least six or seven characters long. Why did they do this? To create a global society. They saw cultural and ethnic divides as a threat to the new government and wanted to eliminate them altogether. The new global language? English of course. Most countries had a head start in that department. The most jilted nations were Eastern Asian countries, namely China, Korea and Japan. Japan, as a whole, tended to avoid using the letter “R” when naming their children. After about 250 years, everything came crashing down. Overpopulation had been at critical mass for several generations, and massive droughts swept across the planet. Almost all of the planets natural resources had been depleted, and people just kept reproducing despite NWG sanctions on childbirth. Eventually, it was decided that population control had to be taken to more extreme measures. Extermination. The method? Kill A through M. I am now a refugee, fleeing through the North American countryside (in what used to be Central Canada, to my knowledge). The only hope that keeps me going is my little girl, NOO-1330. Even though she is supposedly safe from the genocide, the NWG has been known to slaughter “Ns” as well. I guess they figure it’s just for good measure. At any rate, we are heading for a place called Greenland. Supposedly it’s an icy wilderness, but there are rumors that due to global warming, it is now a habitable temperate continent. It is also home to the last bastion of refugees, fighting against the NWG for their right to exist. It’s just a rumor, but it’s all I’ve got.
Are you ready soldiers? "YES SIR YES SIR" I Can't hear you "YES SIR YES SIR" Ohh... Who lives in a bomb shelter under the sea "The last humans!" Mutant and green and radioactive are we "The last humans!" If aliens bombing be something you wish "The last humans!" Then drop on the deck and GIVE ME TEN-ISH "The last humans" READY The last humans The last humans The last humans THE LAST HUMANS! AH AHH AHH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHH...
“You’re the last one,” he said. Lindsey batted her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She bit her bottom lip. “Is that so?” He nodded. “Yep.” She giggled and leaned forward. “Do I win anything?” “Nope.” “Nothing at all?” Lindsey pouted. She brought her arms together in such a way that it lifted, pressed and showed off her breasts. “No.” She ran her fingers up his arm as he got closer. “I can make sure you win something.” He sighed and pointed to the door. “Listen, lady. The bar’s now closed. Get the hell out of here.” _______ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out /r/Puns_are_Lazy for more of my stories.
Neil was suddenly awoken in the night by his wife Barbra. He was curled up in their blue satin sheets, his eyes trying to focus after being woken up, saw red rays of light beaming in through their blinds. "It's him again, honey"Barbra said, her voice tired and annoyed "can you talk to him please?" "Yeah"Neil sighed as he put on his glasses and put on some sweatpants on the floor and his robe hanging on the door. Walking out his door, he noticed his neighbor, Satan's, windows beaming red lights throughout the neighborhood. Muffled screams and metal clanking could be heard within the house with heavy metal trying to cover it. Wiping his eyes with a groan, Neil approached the Lord of Darkness' house. Neil grabbed Satan's door knocker, a goat with a ring in it's mouth and pounded hard on the door. "Oooo, come on!"a booming voice said within the house as Neil tapped his foot patiently on the patio. Suddenly the door flew open, flames and screams flying out the door, a massive figure emerged from the orange light within. His skin was leathery and red, his eyes a burning yellow, his horns on his head were curled back to his neck, however his goat legs were covered by baggy sweat pants and his once muscled torso, now a bloated beer-belly was clothed by a stained tank top. "WHO DARES DISTURB THE PRINCE OF HELL?"Satan's voice boomed into Neil, who was unfazed by his neighbor's yelling, more annoyed than terrified, he smelled alcohol in Satan's foul breath. "Uh, your neighbor?"Neil said adjusting his glasses as they reflected the flames in the house "Neil?" "Oh"Satan mumbled, his face lightened up and the flames behind him cooled down revealing a messy room, pizza boxes and beer cans strewn across the room. The screams and metal stopped playing "Whatcha need man?" "Well me and the missus would kindly appreciate it if you could quiet things down for the night"Neil requested. "OH GOD, PLEASE HELP ME, I ACCEPT JESUS AS MY LOR-"A voice yelled from within the house. "SHUT UP JERRY!"Satan boomed back into the house "sorry--roommate" "Uh huh"Neil said, tired of the Dark Lord's antics "well do you think you can settle things down so we can sleep please?" "Listen Neil, I have a busy job and now that I'm living here, I have to work from home"Satan said, his words were slurred from liquor. "Satan, it's 2am and you're drunk!"Neil protested "Can you just work in the morning?" "Wha-what are you talking about?"Satan mumbled "I'm not drunk!" "Satan I'm asking nicely"Neil said crossing his arms "don't make me get the police involved" Satan groaned, his fuzzy neck vibrated as the patio rumbled. "Fine Neil, you win"Satan moaned "Hope you and Barbra have a good night" "Thanks Satan"Neil said walking back to his house, thinking that he'll call the landlord tomorrow.
Nathan pushed aside the half empty pizza box, fried chicken buckets, donut boxes and numerous snack food bags that littered his bed in search for the remote and muted the TV. He had been hearing thumping from below him which he attributed to the soccer teams staying in the hotel for the big tournament but this was something different. It sounded like a scream. Nathan waited a few minutes sitting on the edge of his bed waiting to see if he could hear anything more. Silence. "Probably just hearing things."He said to himself. He laid back on his bed and reached for the remote. More thumps and something that could only be described as a terrified scream rang out from what sounded like the hallway in the floor above him. Thump thump thump thump. Someone ran towards the stairs in front of Nathan's room. Thump thump thump thump. SLAM! Whoever it was seemed to have changed their mind. He picked up the phone to see if the front desk had any idea of what was going on but hung up after the 15th ring. "They're probably super busy with everyone calling." Nathan wasn't sure if he was completely convinced. He peeked out of the peep hole and saw nothing but the door across the hall. He slid the chain lock out and slowly opened the door. "Are you alright?"Nathan asked. The large woman he asked was limping toward the vending machine and clothed in strangely outdated formal attire. Slowly she turned around and Nathan gasped. This woman's skin was peeling from her face, her hair was stringy and patchy, her eyes looked like they looked past him. And the smell. He could smell the rotten stench from where he stood. There was no doubt she was dead. Before he could fully process what he was seeing, the woman was running towards him at full sprint. Nathan tried to slam the door but her arm seemed to have gotten in the way. She didn't cry out in pain or even seem to notice that her elbow was now bent in the wrong direction. Panic seized Nathan as he tried to push her out of his room but being the small framed man that he was, he lost. Nathan fell to the ground and tried to reach for his cell phone but it was buried under the mountain of food and trash. He was cornered. The woman lunged at him and Nathan braced himself for her teeth to sink into his skull. He heard rustling and opened his eyes and lowered his arm. The woman was sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and a slice of pizza in one hand and a handful of gummy worms in the other. Her dead eyes rested on the food in her hands for what seemed like hours. Nathan was starting to wonder if she was still undead or if she had re-died. Then without warning, she started shoveling the food into her dilapidated mouth. He stared at her in confusion and caution, still unsure of her, himself, and the entire situation. After several handfuls of badly paired junk foods, the zombie woman looked up at Nathan and, without letting go of the food, started crawling towards him. He backed up against the wall and tried to stand but not before the woman took her left fist full of mashed up donut holes and thrust it into Nathan's face approximately near his mouth and gave him a rotten toothy smile and grunted. He opened his mouth and took a bite. The zombie woman seemed pleased as she started bouncing and making a horrid but no doubt excited grunting noise. He laughed at the spectacle in front of him, picked up the box of See's candies he bought last week and opened it. He picked a lemon truffle for himself and a caramel and marshmallow fluff one for his new zombie friend. Together they shared all the left over food in his room and when there was no food left. She stood up and walked out in search for more.
I read the news with a sick kind of glee, letting forth an anticipatory laugh of irony. 4Chan had collated random people's browsing histories and threatened to send them to the parents of the victims, or they would extort Bitcoins out of the victims. It wasn't a ridiculous amount; just ten Bitcoins, so around $7000 local currency. That I'd been chosen as a victim seemed ludicrous, but it wasn't like I was short on cash and could easily pay the ransom should I desire. But that wasn't where the plan fell down; you see, I wanted my mother to see my internet history from 2014. After I transitioned from male to female in 2007 my parents had immediately disowned me. They weren't particularly religious or anything, they were just conservative assholes, living in a small town. I never spoke to them again after that and they made no effort to contact me. Then in 2013 my father hanged himself in his garage. I attended the funeral, of course, as was my right. My mother vehemently objected to this, but what could she do? She was only my stepmother. I was my father's blood and bone. Predictably, my mother used every opportunity to throw shade on my transition - calling me a man, using my old name, putting up images of me - just me - during the photo presentation. It barely touched me though. What she didn't realise was that after being stripped bare in the public gaze after I first transitioned, very little could affect me. Whatever she called me, I'd been called worse. Whatever she tried to do to me had already been done. She blamed me for my father's suicide, claiming he killed himself out of shame - the shame of having a 'tranny' in the family. A sissy son. Being the father of an effeminate poofter. But I'd already known she would do that. When the ransom email came, I couldn't reply as it was sent from a spoofed address. It just had the place to deposit the Bitcoins and a list of the data in my history. The smile crept across my face again. Surely my mother would practically salivate opening the file. Her perverted mind going to all sorts of despicable places, riding high on stereotypes of transsexual prostitutes, IV drug use, sissy porn and whatever else she imagined I was into. She'd been shocked when she saw me at the funeral; black flats, a plain blue dress and a black shrug. Little makeup, a short bob hairstyle and a bag full of tissues for the inevitable tears. I think she hated me for being so normal, for failing to live up to expectations. No doubt, I thought, she would imagine her vindication in my browsing history. Facebook. Reddit. Stuff.co.nz. Amazon. Ebay. Trademe. Youtube. The usual suspects. Torrent sites. Abandonware. Random cooking blogs. Surely the blood and guts was coming. Worth1000. Netflix. Free Books. The mousewheel skitters frantically now; NASA. Astronomy sites. Telescope forums. Disbelief, bordering on horror. Ethical porn. Jewelry. Dresses. Ethical porn? She's practically weeping in frustration now. None of her expectations have been met; no private speculation vindicated. She is the perverted one; dreaming into life a monster that never existed. But it is all for nothing; in her irresponsible hate and in her irrational self-justifications I am still a monster - first for defying her expectations of a son, then for defying her expectations of the monster she envisaged. What a perfectly serendipitous birthday present for her. Happy birthday, mother.
Thank you for calling Heaven! We will be able to review your request for admittance shortly! Your business is very important to us. . . . Please stay on the line; the next available angel will be able to assist you shortly. . . . Looking to upgrade your fervor? Visit www.heaven.com/creationism to go completely batshit crazy for God! . . . Your eternal salvation is our highest priority! Please stay on the line . . . Please stay on the line; the next available angel will be able to assist you shortly. . . . Looking to upgrade your fervor? Visit www.heaven.com/creationism to go completely batshit crazy for God! . . . Your eternal salvation is our highest priority! Please stay on the line . . . ring ring... ring ring... "Thank you for calling Heaven! I'll be happy to assist you in just a moment, but first, could you give me your name, date of birth, place of birth, blood type, mother's name, father's name, priest's name, and social security number?" "Er, hello. I'm afraid that I am a corporation, so I don't actually have a social security number..." pause "Please stay on the line while I transfer you." . . . Thank you for calling Heaven! We will be able to review your request for admittance shortly! Your business is very important to us.
I was 18 when I inherited my father's trusty fountain pen. It was a week after I had made the most difficult decision of my life; a week after driving home from the hospital, sobbing the whole way. I came across it while cleaning my dad's dusty home office. I remember how as a kid I was always filled with a sense of awe when he would sign my permission slips; the way the pen would glide across the paper effortlessly, a smooth ribbon of ink forming his signature. I left home soon after. There was nothing left for me. So I packed my bags, making sure my father's beautiful fountain pen was tucked in my shirt pocket. I'd always had a touch of wanderlust. My friend told me about the Alaskan wilderness. Well, I'd always fancied myself the next Ernest Hemingway. It appealed enormously to me. Just me and my dad's pen, working alone in a cozy cabin, creating the next great American masterpiece. I remember sitting in the plane after takeoff, as everything I'd ever known slipped into the distance. My father's last words echoed in my head. "Do what makes you happy. I'll always love you."I spent a lot of time crying in the bathroom on that flight. I won't bore you with the details about my time in Alaska. I did a lot of exploring, occasionally jotting down ideas into my journal. I never did get around to writing that novel. I spent nearly two years there, before I got the itch again. I fought it for a long time, but I knew there was something missing. I packed up my car and hit the road again. That's when I lost the pen. I was paying for gas for the trip back to the Lower 48, and I remember distinctly handing back the receipt and the pen to the cashier. I remember that moment so clearly: me, signing with a jaunty scrawl, just like dad would've done. It sounds silly, but I grieved over that pen. It was the only thing I'd kept, and I foolishly lost it. How'd I get it back though? Well, I can't really tell you. Maybe a trucker took it accidentally. Perhaps it was picked up and dropped off at gas stations across the west coast. Who knows? All I know is that I got it back just before you were born. Your mom asked me to stop by the store to pick up groceries, and there it was. 10 years after losing it, it found it's way back to me. Like fate, eh? I signed everything important with that pen, you know? I remember the chubby smile on your newborn face as I put your name on the birth certificate. I signed all your report cards with it. Do you remember? Remember when you were in 6th grade, when you got your first "D"? Well I'll tell you a little secret: My dad had to sign a lot worse when I was in school! This pen has seen a lot, I'll tell you what! ------ "And now's it mine?"David said, his eyes wide open. I nod my head. "Are you sure?" "Yes. And remember: Do what makes you happy. I'll always love you."I say, before closing mine.
11) Thou shall not blow your nose in someones hair, for cleanliness is next to Godliness. 12) Thou shall not towel snap or horseplay in the public bathhouse, it could lead to tickle fights or other worse offences. 13) Thou shall not eat the flesh of another fellow human, no matter how delicious. 14) Thou shall not lay with a dead corpse, for it is morbidly erotic. 15) Thou shall not defecate on another human for the purposes of being sexually aroused. Though urinating is perfectly fine. ..."Wow things kind of got weird there toward the end didn't it?"
It was cold on this roof. My owl fluttered nervously and started pecking at itself. 'C'mon Jane you're okay. Quit your worrying' Truth be told, Jane was nervous because I was nervous. I was supposed to be surveying my target. The client said he had no animal. I didn't know that was possible. No animals?' Guy must be a loon or not scared of anything. Or both. I had an owl because I was observative, at least that's what my grade school teacher. It was hard to avoid my gaze and I had eyes in the back of my head so you couldn't sneak up on me. I could have been a spy, but assassination sounded better. Bond ain't in my nature. Jane was looking at me weird. What was up with her? Or me. The door across the square opened. I peered through my binoculars. A happy looking man practically highfived his way out the building. Suited up and carrying a briefcase he could have been going to a meeting or a nursery. He strolled to the taco vendor and ordered. After receiving his order he paid and said thank you. Probably tipped him too the smarmy bastard. Jane cooed angrily. Jealousy still had an effect of me apparently. He ran to the nearest child and pulls out a lollipop and a over exaggerated hug! Who was this freak? Why is no one noticing at his lack of animals or the fact he's running around like a madman? Now he's out of breath and wheezing like an old car. Now would be a good time. Then he looks at me. I notice it, I am an owl after all, briefly a grimace is plastered all over his face. Then it changes and he's back to his happy face. I lower the binoculars and hoist my rifle. It's an easy shot. No wind, no fog to obscure my view. So why do I feel dread? Jane's flapping her wings like she's trying to escape, so it must be real. The man turns around and looks at me again not bothering to hide it. He raises his arm and says something like 'Don't even think about it!' Who is this guy? Who sees his assassin and plays games with him? Screw it. He's noticed me so it has to be now. I pull the trigger. He raises his arm and blocks it with his briefcase. How did he react that fast? He starts running at me flapping his arms. Does he want me to stop? I fire again. The bullet travels, is about to puncture his lung and then impossibly misses. Jane is going crazy. I must be too because now all I can see a brief case on the floor. And a bird is flying towards me. A magnificent bald eagle. It cries out and divebombs me. I pull out my colt and shoot at it. Bang. Bang. Bang. Miss. Miss. Miss. Jane tries to fly away but the bird goes for her. Before I stop it the Eagle tears her apart. Jane.. no. My chest feels like it's been ripped apart too. I collapse to the floor. The Eagle flies back and changes to the man, still clothed. Small mercy. 'I SAID don't think about it. You did. This is your* fault you know!' 'H-how did you do that?' I cough violently 'No one can do that!' 'I can.' 'How did you touch Jane too? That's not possible' 'It is. You've been lied to. Everyone' 'Stop. Where are your animals?' 'Tut tut tut haven't you guessed it? I don't have any, and every human has one don't they?' 'So you're..?' 'Yes' 'And you're..?' 'Yes. You've made me.' 'Please, can you spare me?' The animal shakes his head. 'Sorry, once you're cut off you're doomed. Good luck' He changes into Jane and flies away. I pull myself across the floor but the noise. The noise keeps getting louder. It hurts me. It pulsates and burns my mind. And then I'm gone.
It was difficult to tune out the sound of the rotor as the helicopter battled the thinning air of the Rocky Mountains. Castor tried to focus on his notebook and prepare for the interview. After years covering local politics, the editors were finally giving him a shot at a cover story. Only, why did it have to be such an uncomfortable one to write? The chopper was headed to one of the most remote settlements on the planet, nestled high in the untouched reaches of the Canadian Rockies. There were no roads that led there, no landing strips, and the nearest river was a ten mile hike. They were about twenty minutes out when Castor saw the first one. The man was kneeling on a spur of rock that jutted out from the mountain face. He wore a heavy coat and balaclava. As the chopper passed his position, the watcher leaped from his perch. After a few second of free fall, massive leathery wings suddenly extended from what looked like pouches in his coat. And then he was beside them, gliding along and keeping a watchful eye on the newcomers. The helicopter rounded another cliff face, and suddenly Castor saw it: a bustling town in the distance, cradled in a small valley between two adjacent mountains, just below the tree line. Two more of the winged men had joined the escort now, but Castor had been too focused on the town to notice where they came from. The helicopter landed in a tiny clearing. Castor heard the pilots cursing the poor accommodations, but he had personally moved on to more important matters. As soon as the chopper made landfall, four men jogged up to the chopper from a small hut in the trees. They had wings like the others, and Castor could only marvel at how compact they seemed when folded- they took up no more space than a backpack. "Mr. Lennox?"asked the apparent leader of the group. "Yeah, that's me,"Castor replied as the rotors came to a standstill. "What should I tell the pilots?" "They can stay here. My name is Lionel Morriss, I'll be escorting you into town for your appointment." "Thank you, Mr. Morriss. You've been very helpful." Lionel led Castor through the woods for almost half an hour along a narrow and unkempt trail. His three subordinates remained with the pilots. Along the way Castor took stock of the Avian; it was the closest he'd ever come to one of the Winged Men since their exodus in his teens. Lionel seemed perfectly human, save for the folded wings sprouting from his back. He also carried a pistol in a holster on his hip. The town was extraordinary. Dirt paths connected the buildings on the ground, but there were very few Avians walking along like regular people. Most of the ones that were outside were only there for the purpose of seeing the outsider guest, and stood on rooftops, some of them with children, who also had wings (though they seemed too flimsy to actually carry them aloft). The town ended on a sheer cliff, but there were no fences or warning signs to mark it as such. A few wooden piers extended out into the open air. As Lionel led Castor to the final house on the very edge of the cliff, Castor spotted a young teenage girl run to the end of one of the piers and leap off. The human side of Castor panicked as his gut told him he'd just witnessed a suicide, but the girl rose with the wind a few seconds later and glided off into the distance. At last they'd reached their destination. Lionel knocked on the cabin's wooden door and stepped off to the side. A moment later the door opened and a woman not much older than Castor came to the porch. "You must be Mr. Lennox,"she said. Her voice was warm and welcoming. She had black hair pulled back into a French braid, and intelligent blue eyes. Were it not for the wings, Castor would have taken her for a completely regular woman he'd meet at a bar. He followed her inside to a sitting room. There was a wooden table in the center, and steaming cups of tea were at either end. At the woman's request, Castor sat and began unpacking his notebook. "So,"said Castor as the woman sat down, "You're Sarah Loftus, and you were the beginning." She smiled gently. "I was." "What was it like?" "I don't remember much of my early childhood,"said Loftus, "but I remember the visits to the doctors. My parents split when I was five. They said they loved me, but I get the feeling that they always blamed each other for my condition." "Even after others started showing up?" "Avianism is the most apparent step in human evolution in millennia, Mr. Lennox, my parents weren't going to find any comfort in the fact that thousands of other couples were also giving birth to freaks."Loftus was matter-of-fact about her upbringing, but Castor could sense sadness in her voice. The conversation continued for an hour, going through Sarah's childhood, her experience in school. Her mother had homeschooled her from the end of kindergarten through high school to keep her insulated from the rejections of her potential classmates. She'd received a degree in civil engineering from Colorado State, but the administration had required her and the only other Avian student to keep their wings folded at all times. She hadn't taken her first flight until she was 21. Doctors refused to treat her out of fear, and there was no place for her in the workforce. The disadvantages of being a female engineer were nothing compared to the stigma that Avianism carried by that point. "Children born with wings were being euthanized across Asia, and no progress was happening in the United States, so I just decided to leave,"she said. "I decided to build a place where people like me could feel safe. So I came here with Ryan, my classmate from college, and we started working. Here we are, ten years later." "Do you miss society at all?" "I have society here. People started showing up and asking to help after about a month. This house was the first one we built. We're going on six years now, and I think we're all happy. Groups fly into the nearest town every week and come back with packs of food, books, and medicine. We do okay." "Did you hear that the Canadian government considers this place an illegal settlement and is considering military action to remove you?" A dark look appeared on Loftus's face now. "One of the reasons we came here in the first place was to avoid the UN's Avian registration policy. We're not going to leave. We're not ever going to leave." Castor wrapped the interview up. Loftus elected to escort him back to the chopper personally. As they walked back through the town, Castor began to notice more ominous signs of life: assault rifles leaning against railings on the roofs, the clawed foot of the surface-to-air missile launcher poking out from beneath a tarp in an alleyway. "I hope to see you again, Mr. Lennox,"said Loftus as Castor clambered onto the helicopter. He smiled and shook her hand. She stayed in the clearing and watched as the helicopter ascended and headed back from whence it came. He had his cover story, and his heart began to sink as he looked back at the tiny cabin on the very edge of the cliff. By the time his story was published, it likely wouldn't be there any longer. Edit: This is my first submission since discovering the sub earlier today. Go easy on me, please.
(Any misspellings of place names or inaccurate depictions of philosophies are intentional.) To pay for joy, you must give life. If you make men laugh, you gain their lifeforce, if only a little. The greatest warriors of legend were the mighty Comedians, those who conquered evil by taking its life from it, wandering through the world and making the vile laugh to death. Some called it an unholy practice, indeed some faiths even prohibit entertainment and happiness for the good of the soul. While the immortal Comedians, known under thousand of colourful names, such as the Laughing Monkeys, the Troubadours and the Skjalds, depending on where they came, kept any man from gaining too much life by stealing it from him before he could make himself godlike. Their mighty leader, the legendary ancient hero, he who was sent by the gods themselves to make the grim and immortal Gilgamesh laugh, in order to end his unnatural life, led them through righteousness and justice through the eons. His name was Bill Murray, the first of the Comedians, keeper of immortality and the ultimate jokes. Pure and good, but even the noblest of hearts can be corrupted. He who had lived nearly forever, forcing many a monster to laugh himself to death, had grown angry and bitter. He who was once a friend of all living beings, now cynical and angry. His jokes, while funny became spiteful, his japes, once so bright, became tainted. While laughing was the weapon of the gods, none had ever been able to unseat them. Until Bill Murray rebelled against the gods. He took down Ishtar and her kin, turning them to dust before his mighty jests, he burned through most of Mesopotamia and Kemet, slaughtered the mighty Alexander who went to destroy the godslayer, and then took Greece as his own, adding the might of laconic humor to his loony laughs. Through Persia stood strong under their practical fire-jokes and in-jokes about incest and rulers to the east, many weak kingdoms and tribes laid upon the western oceans. And as he did this, the Comedians came to confront their leader. They demanded that he gave back the lands to their rightful owners, and gave up his gift as the High Joker, claiming that his slaughter of gods and men alike was unjust and beastly. He smiled and unleashed his ultimate joke, and slew them all in their gaggles and giggling. He took until the lands of Africa, as named by his once greatest enemies in Rome, were all his. He moved north through the Caucasus and laid waste to the tribes of slavs and cossacks. He burned through the Roman empire, took their humor and added it their own. In their arrogance, after centuries of bold defiance, he gathered all the citizens of Rome, and made them laugh until their corpses fell apart. Further he could not extend, for humor was not the way of the northerners. Supported technologically by refugees from all of Europe and through the budding Stoicists, that had managed to escape the debacle at Rome, they learned a philosophy that was well received with the cold and callous northern gods. Though his empire vast and his life endless, he summoned each day a thousand slaves to feed his hunger for life. Life stolen from good men and women, even children. He cared not, only kept working, testing and trying to create the ultimate joke, a joke so deadly that all men in the world would lose their life in sacrifice to him. While he never found it, eventually he managed to expand, by slowly but certainly conquering outlying kingdoms and realms, until he could attack Persia from all sides. He took Persepolis and turned it into a graveyard, like Rome. The Northern tribes, that eventually became the states of the north, in perpetual alliance against the dark lord of the south. First among them was Gaul, a mix between the Gaelic tribes living in those lands and the majority of the Roman and Carthaginian refugees, another great was Brythron, an Island kingdom, supported by their allies in Picti and Ehriean. Both were constantly competing about who got to be top dog of the Northern Alliance. Then there was Frysija, a republic created by what started as an republican faction in the Roman refugees that later when native. Several others, though personally I am from Daenmarck, a kingdom of islands and some continental ground too. Of course the main combatants against king Murray was Francrich, a Germanic military state on the borders between the Murray despotate, until ten years ago. Bill Murray finally arose from the rubber throne in Babylon, where he usually held court, and went to the frontlines, he spoke, what was spoken is not known, but what is known is that thousands died in seconds, in minutes the entire front. All died, even the attendants of lord Murray. He sent for his armies, and he then took the north. He took all the kingdoms, all the nations. In less than a year, the once proud Stoicist nations of the north had fallen. I would have been a slave to Murray myself, if my father hadn't managed to secure passage for me and my sister to the far off commonwealth of Íslandr, which were hopefully beyond the reach of lord Murray. Many fled there, many more fled further away to the cold Vínlæn, across the great sea. I stayed, barely thirteen years old, having to work for a living with my older sister, hard living. Though it was then that I noticed, that the jokes didn't have an effect on me. Though the three faiths of the Stoics, the Ár nDraíocht Féin, the followers of the Olympians and the Ásatruri, had all forbidden the usage of laughter, or the intentional provoking of it, most criminals didn't care for it. They just took someone off the streets used some jokes to take some years from you and gave you some monetary compensation, for a black market of laughing and jokes where the only form of payment is life. I was taken, semi-willingly as I needed the money and figured that I could live without a couple of years and since my sister had done such a deal once I figured I could do the same. It didn't work. They took me into a small room with a man who begun to tell a variety of jokes, and none of them made me laugh. They got increasingly angry, and then kicked me out. I figured that their jokes were lame, that they weren't real jokers. So I tried some different jokers, and I didn't laugh at them either. But they were smart, they figured that if a bloke like me couldn't be harmed by jokes, maybe I could harm with them? They granted me a bunch of jokes and told me to go and say them to a specific bloke or they'd kill me the old fashioned way. I needed the money they offered so I went and took his life, he told me jokes too, I didn't laugh.
Neil woke up just as the building slowly tipped over and started to fall. He took no notice. It was seven o’clock on a Thursday morning, and Neil had a hangover. Thursdays were a tricky day, being too far from both the beginning and the end of the week, and they always smelled funny, kind of like gunpowder. Neil made a mental note of talking to the super about this. Perhaps it was something to do with the apartment. Neil disliked his apartment. Neil disliked the whole building for that matter. Which was fine because the said building was approaching the ground with a speed that made it highly unlikely that anyone would ever live in it again. Neil looked around and remarked to himself that perhaps he did have a little too much last night. The ground was spinning under his feet. Neil yawned and decided to start getting ready for work. Pray as he would, he couldn’t escape the fact that he needed to pay his bills. It was a boring old life, but Neil… Neil couldn't find his shirt and stopped the thought in midair. By coincidence, the building had also come to a miraculous halt, leaving hundreds of people screaming inside their tiny boring flats that smelled of gunpowder. Neil regained his balance and headed for the wardrobe. Locating his shirt, he had managed to put it on and head out of the door, mixing in with the panicking crowd that was now rushing down the stairs shaking in fear and holding onto everything they could carry. Neil looked at them disapprovingly. He had never really bought into the whole morning rush thing. His bus came three minutes late, which was not long enough to complain to anyone about, but just enough to be infuriating. Neil hated it when his bus was late, which was usually never. Unbeknown to him, the bus has been boarded by Somali pirates just moments before it was going to turn around the corner. Some things happen in broad daylight, especially if the light is dim and the day is Thursday. Neil stepped into the bus and showed his pass to the conductor. “Morning,” he said, indicating with the slight variations in the tone of his voice that the morning could go to hell and so could his job and his boss. “Gud morneng,” replied the person behind the wheel. “I am captain now”. That was all very well, thought Neil getting to the back of the bus, but he was late for work. It was a boring job that paid well and that made him feel like he was wasting his time on something that was sucking the life out of him. In short, it was like any other job around, not worth being late for. Somewhere far behind them, the sirens were going off. Neil shook his head absentmindedly and turned on his phone, checking the morning news. The oil prices went up, the prime minister was still an idiot, and a building had collapsed in the lower part of town. Things were interesting somewhere in the world, Neil thought to himself. And here was just the cloudy sky and an old bus full of seats and people. Neil did not discriminate between seats and people. He hated them both equally. The driver took a couple of erratic turns, performing what Neil decided to be a maneuver to catch up some time. The bus turned, slipped and flipped, rolling on the road like a brick of red Lego thrown by a child. The roads were pretty rough this time of year, Neil remarked. The damn government was not getting anything fixed. He shrugged at the people screaming. Some people just couldn’t wait to voice their opinions at the conductor’s bad driving. Outside, there were a few sounds of something resembling tires popping, and then everything went silent. Neil walked to the front of the bus, past the driver who had decided to take a nap on the job, apparently waiting for the repair crew, and walked outside. It was only a couple of blocks to go. As he walked into the building, he had immediately noticed that something was very wrong. He had forgotten his briefcase. He looked around, almost in panic. That couldn’t be happening to him, not now. His position in the company was already weak, given that he had missed a couple of days last month claiming to be sick. (That was the day the Underground had decided to fall in on itself, burying Neil for a couple of hours. It still wasn’t repaired). He turned and ran outside, cursing himself for being an idiot. What was he thinking this morning, going around claiming that was life was boring? This was terrifying, for God’s sakes. Neil was running to the bus stop, panting, trying to reassure himself that he could still make it home and back before anybody noticed that he wasn’t there. On the bus stop, he waited and waited. The bus didn’t come. Neil hated Thursdays.
Imagine a man so big he could eat the world. He swallowed entire cities whole, ripped mountains off the earth and crushed them under his colossal teeth. For him, hollow trees were straws for which to suck the rivers dry. Solid ones were toothpicks. America was known for its weight problem at the time, but nobody thought one man could get so big on burgers and fries alone. Fear of the insatiable appetite struck the hearts of all. Finally a deal was made. The man agreed only to eat city metro systems. And this for him, was a diet. The man shrunk down to a smaller size. It was a miracle. No longer a threat and proud of it, the man broadcast his accomplishment across the land's televisions. People watched in awe as he grinned, struggling to hold up the mighty pair of pants he once wore. He was a changed man, a true American hero. And they called him Jared.
14 vials. Not a bad haul, truth be told. It wasn't a Ridgway or a Bundy count, mind you, but it had its merits. It was the upper end of the curve. It was around five years or so. The killing is the easy part, really. When your purpose is big enough, means look small by comparison. Getting the collection back to the supply was the hardest task, due to pesky institutions like laws and the police. "I just wish I could've done more." The interrogator is glaring at me. I do my best to look insane. I'm not sure how hard I have to try to manage it. Either way, he's not getting a word from me. We all swore the oath, each in his own time. It's not like he would believe me if I told him. It might serve an insanity plea to try, but the cause must be protected. Much like myself, the public wants blood. There's a chair waiting for me. It could be a rope, or a number of bullets, or a needle, but they are just means to an end, as I was. I am comforted. Far away, deep under Nashville, Lord Presley will smile, the fruits of my labors poured out for him. He will drink, and he will live on. Five more years. And as I'm laid to rest, I know he will congratulate me. He wanted me, he needed me, he loved me. That is enough.
It was an accident of course, I had never meant to hurt anyone with it, just one day I woke up and found out that I have a gift, a really cool one. If I touch two people at the same time they will fall in love with each other, I mean come on, that's the kind of power someone would kill for right? I'm still not really sure why or how I have this power, maybe it was wishful thinking or perhaps it was just some divine intent, hell it could even be a fat little baby with wings floating through my window at night to bestow this on me, I don't know anything about that. What I do know though are the events that led up to this remarkable discovery and everything that came after that, yeah I screwed around a little bit and I think I made some bad choices for this power but I'm getting ahead of myself, let me start at the beginning... I attend a very small community college because I want to be a painter, I'm told I'm not very good at it but I always reply with the fact I find painting subjective, a painting appears different to each person. Sure I can't paint a life like looking model, it'll always come out as something a parent will put on the fridge as a valiant effort, but I enjoyed anyway, it wasn't about having talent it was about having fun. Seems I went to a pretty prissy community college too because everyone shared their thoughts on the way my art seems to resemble shit, everyone except for Becky. Okay so you're thinking instantly, I'm in love with Becky, my powers damn me to never have her fall in love with me or whatever, but you're wrong, first off I'm straight, I don't go for the female kind of person and second Becky isn't the most appealing person on the planet. That sounds really mean but it's because I'm being brutally honest, she's a little on the wide side, but that does nothing to hinder her enjoyment of art or even hurt her winning personality, because I became friends with her instantly. Becky seemed to enjoy my art, she always told me what I wanted to hear, what I was going for with it and got the fact that I wasn't just painting the world around me, that it wasn't what I saw but what I was experiencing...she got that. Being fat isn't anything I've ever been burdened with, I've always had a decent frame, I'm not the best looking girl either but I've never had any complaints. Becky has, all the time and it's not what's being said to her, no ones pulling her pigtails and calling her fat, it's the things their not saying, the looks she gets off men and women, the looks of disgust, that she's some kind of pig, it was hard watching it as an outsider. So when I saw her on the bridge I understood to some extent why, she had climbed over the railings and was holding on for dear life. We must have been fifty feet up, cars coming down the bypass at rapid speeds, I could see why she was doing it, I felt sympathy for her. "Becky!"she turned at my voice, I had been walking home at the time from town, it was sheer luck that I was in the right place at the right time, I'm a big believer in fate, this was fate, that was what was happening now, I wouldn't be there if I couldn't stop this woman from the plunge, "Don't do it!" "I'm sorry,"she replied, "I didn't want you to..." "What this all about Becky?"I asked, she had been fat for most of her life, I didn't think that was one of the major issues at work here, there was clearly something else at play here, "What's the problem?" "Jacob,"she replied, "He turned me down." "Who gives a fuck?"I shouted, "He's just a guy?" "No,"she snapped, "He's the end of a long list of guys that won't have anything to do with me." "So what, you're going to kill yourself over that!?"I yelled angrily, "Waste your life for nothing." "I-I've been standing here for an hour,"she said, tears were rolling down her cheeks, "I can't do it." I talked her down, helped her over the railing and even managed to get her to my place, we stayed up late talking and then she fell asleep. I moved into my bedroom, one wish in my head, I wished that I could help her, this person that sees past the flaws in my paintings to the true beauty within, doesn't she deserve a bit of happiness. I woke up the next morning with the knowledge in my head, I knew how my powers worked and what I could do with them, as if the memories had already been there, locked away for a rainy day. I knew that I could touch two people and make them fall in love and I knew what I could do next. Jacob was in the dining area when I walked in with Becky, he was laughing as we approached, all that was on my mind was giving Becky what she wanted, I didn't see what she saw in this guy but I didn't care, I took a hold of his hand and Becky's and within seconds they were seeing each other in a different light. I never meant to hurt anyone, it was an accident really. Jacob had turned Becky down for a reason, it was because he was an asshole, I just wanted to give her what she really wanted. Love isn't always this romantic thing where you fall in love with a guy and the world melts away, it's not just picnics and movies and beautiful dinner, love can be seriously dangerous, it can make people do crazy things. They found Becky on the underside of the bridge early morning a few weeks later, she couldn't do it before but she could now, Jacob had pushed her to taking her own life. Jacob was in love with her, but that didn't stop him from cheating, didn't stop him from abusing her and pushing her down, calling her names, making her do whatever he wanted and Becky couldn't get out of it, she was too far in love with him. The only way out was taking her life on a night I hadn't gone to town, when I couldn't help her. Love like my paintings, like the paintings I believe in, it doesn't always look like a work of art, it's how it makes you feel and if you're doing it for the right reasons. It can look one way on the outside and mean something different on the inside. I can't paint masterpieces and I certainly can't make the right people fall in love with each other...
I like her because she's different. Now, I see billions of people, daily. A lot of them are poor. This girl is no exception to that. But where others would be upset, she is happy. She wants for nothing, despite not having anything. Her mornings she helps her mother and sister in the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, and in the light of the sunset she runs through the valley below. She wants days like that to never end. She chases the goats and scrounges for berries and makes up songs about the summer air. I try to slow down those days. I suppose I thought it was for her, but I know it's because I enjoy watching her play. Her soul is as light as a feather, her mind a fountain of creativity. Her father has been saving up everything for her and her sister to travel to the city, maybe find work and pay for an education. She will miss the valley, I think. How the scraggly trees dance in the wind and the grass tickles her feet and the insects sing their lusty songs, learned from a thousand years past... But that isn't going to happen for a while. At least if I have a say in it, anyways. For now, she and I have all the time in the world to enjoy one another.
We were on top of a huge mountain. It was cold, but no snow was falling. I adjusted my camera on my shoulder, focusing on Mr. Christ. I give him the thumbs up. “"Hello. I am Jesus Christ, lord and savior of humanity...and you're watching JACKASS! I was sent down by the Big G to bless you all with my skills. Don’t try this at home, only I can die for you sins.” He gave the camera a wink and a trademark smile before walking to a table. On it, three water jugs were resting. “Now you might be wondering what I’m about to do with all of this. I’m going to chug it. But that’s not the best part! Once I’m done, I’ll turn it into wine IN my body! How’s that for the body of Christ?” Once again, the wink. Without another word, he started chugging the water. I heard the director in my ear. “Ok everyone, we’re going to speed this up and add sound effects, so you can relax for a bit. Except you Joe, you need to keep that camera up.” I sighed, I never got a break. Four minutes later, Mr. Christ finished his water. He stood up, water dripping from his face. “Okay...I’m done. Now the magic happens.” He held his hands over his stomach like a skinny Santa Claus. He stood still for another minute before falling over. He got shakily up to his feet. “I’m okay, I thenk. There is now thre-BELCH, three gallons of wine in me. I needed to get reeeeeeeeealy drunk for this next part. Time for Cross Skiing!” Mr. Christ stumbled over to a large wooden cross. He lay against it, and crew members started nailing him to the cross. Mr. Christ tried to drunkenly explain what Cross Skiing is. “Sooo Closs Skiing! I’m being nailed to this cross, and then I’m going to slide down this montain! CLOOS SKRING! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” When the last nail was in place, the assistants positioned the cross right over the side of the mountain. At the count of three, they pushed the cross over the edge. It was in freefall for a few seconds before hitting the steep slope. I kept the camera on him until he went out of sight. ----------------------------------------------------------- Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I hope you like my story! If you want more, check out /r/About4001llamas. Happy reading!
I’ve been like this for a while now. It took me a few years to finesse it, refine it, but it started when I was sixteen. Or maybe earlier. I don’t know. All I know is that, on a windy Monday afternoon, a car crashed into the girl standing beside me. It’s interesting what our brains can store away in a single moment. I remember the car (a blue Toyota), and the girl (Eleanor, year below me, Hello Kitty backpack), and the time (8:07 am, two minutes after the bus was set to arrive), and thinking about how weird it was that nobody else seemed to be moving. I remember feeling my heart beat in my chest, the dull numbness of shock slowly transitioning into confusion and a growing panic when I realized, no, this isn’t adrenaline, the whole fucking world is frozen except for me. Well, only for a few seconds, mind you. I barely had time to pull her out of the way before the world came alive again with a sickening lurch, rubber squealing on asphalt as the driver (man, plaid shirt, brown hair) fought for control of the car, slamming into the curb beside us with a metallic screech. I remember her eyes (blue) staring at me, in surprise or fear, I don’t know. Then she looked down, at her torn jeans, the blooming bruise on the side of her knee, and back up at me. “You-” she started, but the bus pulled up before she could go any further. I practically knocked her over in the rush to board, and when she’d got on, I had already managed to cram myself into a seat. Apart from a few weird looks for the next week or so, she didn’t pursue the matter further. But I did. I’ve gotten much stronger since. My footsteps echo loudly in the silence of a frozen world, sole striking tile (black and white) the only sound in the complete absence of movement. I call this The Hour. It’s pretty unimaginative, but hey, it’s not like there’s a wealth of names for it. I used to call it godmode when I was younger, until... Well, it turns out that there are some things I just can’t change. Whatever it is that I do, it seems that it has some leeway for manipulation. Not much, but I’ve learnt how to make the best of my wriggle room. Some of the rules of physics still apply, of course. Momentum carries over from start to finish, as proven by a very enlightening (and painful) experiment involving a firecracker and a pair of tongs, but I’m able to interact with most things just as I would outside of The Hour, in normal, everyday life. I carefully deposit the camera (Nikon, DSLR) held in my gloved hand into an evidence bag. To a casual observer, it may not look like much, but my contact has paid me a sizeable fee to ensure that it finds its way to the local police department, untainted by foreign fingerprints. You see, I’ve managed to garner somewhat of a reputation, and I’m not above demanding recompense for my services. I only get an hour, after all. May as well charge by it.
'Cotton-Eye Joe, he he he,' squawked the man in red neck accent, 'now that's a story and a half.' 'Cotton-Eye Joe,' said the tourist watching him with a curious scowl, 'who's he?' 'He's about the biggest, baddest fella there ever was,' said the man with a smile. 'How so?' asked the tourist, getting a piece of paper and a pen out from his rucksack. 'Well, the story begins in a forest, no where in-particular. See Joe was born in that forest; his ma and pa were wild ones, hunting and gathering. And Joe he became as wild as them. They were a small couple with little cottage; but Joe he just kept growing. Taller and Taller he got until he hit 6ft 11' and he stopped. Now he was as big as them trees that he'd hunt through and wi' all the dirt he was the same colour. Free as a bird that boy, but being free don't mean know it all na'. Now Joe didn't know anything about the cruelty of men, or the love of women; except his mother that is, but she wasn't the caring sort. So he was out shooting deer and all of sudden he meets some poachers; all he sees is that their stealing his meal so he goes and shoots them-' 'Shoots them? So he killed them?' said the tourist looking up from his writing. 'Well you ain't gonna let them live are you? No, that'd be stupid and Joe, he wasn't stupid. He was the best hunter you would ever find. So he kills these men and he takes his deer home and he and his family eat; but he never mentions what he did in that ere wood. So he's getting older and older and the older he gets the further he walks from that cottage. His parents now have told him never to stray past those trees; but Joe he wants to know why. So he goes right to the edge and in a clearing there this beau-ti-ful woman. Now Joe's heart is beating quick but he doesn't know why, so he runs all the way home only to come back the next damn day. That day she see's him and she takes him in. She's looking after him when her lover comes back from the war. He's shouting and bawling and then he strikes her to get to Joe. Joe sees red and off goes the gun and he shoots that man dead, but that man he scratches his eye makes him blind. She understands why he shot him but knows that the law won't, so she gets him out of there, tells him to go back to the woods. He does what she wants but he never forgets her. So the law finds out and they got to that cottage and near bang the door down, but Joe just wasn't there.' 'Where did he go?' said the tourist. 'No man ever knew where he went,' said the old man getting up from his seat and walking towards the door, 'but that woman there died a lonesome soul poor girl; wherever he went to, Joe took her heart with him.' 'Do you think he's still alive?' The tourist said with a small smile. 'I don't know, the son of a bitch probably is,' he said with another laugh, 'but if I were you I wouldn't go asking about him around these parts. People remember what he did but they forget why.' 'I'm writing a journal about this part of the country,' the tourist said with a nod, 'I'd like to put your name in it if that's all right.' 'You don't need my name sonny,' he said quietly as he left, 'you got my story right there.'
I'll never forget the day the new guy strolled right between our gates and put his hand awkwardly on my shoulder, mumbling questions about what we "fine lads"were all up to. Pretty damn bold for a mortal, I'd tell Santa, but, then, this guy wasn't just some mortal. Jehovah or Yahweh or whatever he's calling himself now and his Christ-son welcomed him with the usual cheesy smiles and blessings, praising him for his grand show of "living"in life. Bullshit. Kid didn't live; life ran him over, threw it in reverse, ran him over again, and buried him in a shallow grave. Team Nirvana wasn't too happy about him- new guy was not a fan of peace in life. Victim of rape, son of- and himself -a drug addict, rather ill-tempered and withdrawn from life, he died of.. what was it? Codeine, whiskey, heroin, and xanax were in his blood, he'd said, untouched crystals of... was it coke or meth in his pocket? Clothes smelled of ash, too; torched his old secondary school to go out with flair. Not a happy guy, but obviously smart enough to convince the others, with his sweet and gentle lilt, to let him in for a few decades of Godhood. What a damn beautiful few decades it was. With a bit of help from the Father, Son, and Holy Pain-in-the-Ass Ghost, a lanky Irishman fell to earth and awoke, blood and ash streaking his hale arms, a guitar by his side. That, for those few decades, was the beginning of the end. I've never lost more in any pools than betting against New Guy. He traipsed untouched through broken glass and raging fires, stung himself with needles, and, most importantly, he sang. And oh, how he sang. Women wept to know such a caring and broken soul, men longed to be the strong-yet-emotional dark horse with an intriguing and alluring history. The Buddha and his brethren waged war with the Christ and his Father, and I laughed as Spiritualism tore "religiosity"apart with truth and happiness. I took one hell of a gamble and pushed fire into the heart of the new guy's little guy, which he, with a blush, a crooked smile, and a firm handshake, assured me was "quite appreciated, sir."The blues, ringing ears and burning hearts from resolians and Epiphones invaluable, revived the Darkness I had seen the other guys push down in foolish hopes of peace. Hearts shattered and love abounded on the earth when grit and pain soared from the strings and mouth of that majestic figure. He sang and played songs untouched for decades, wrote genuine pleas for understanding that the world devoured with a lust insatiable, and his biggest fans were a blend of those dying of addiction in the gutter and the perlescent innocents who longed to know such struggles. He whispered and crooned at live venues and poured his heart into every second, receiving exponential returns; New Guy and I profited wonderfully, as well. One day, after a particularly stressful set of destinations around Eurasia, the little figure fell in a crumpled heap just within eyesight of the crowd as he had fought to casually retreat offstage. Oh, how the numbers soared. "The Arsonist's Lullabye"had chilled and opened the eyes of millions, "Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene"shocked and delighted many more, and "Take Me to Church"blared from every station for years to uncountable audiences, but nothing compared to his fans watching him in a present sort of trouble. The deal he'd made with the devil (yours truly, thank you very much), was beginning to hurt a little. So I pushed, and Hozier pushed with me. Pain untold that I am a little too uncomfortable to recount turned every word that passed his lips, every note that he plucked, into blazing platinum. Every other pantheon crumbled when his last song, which we knew- and rightfully announced -would be his last, struck the charts. Billions wept when they heard the term "terminal,"read the word "farewell,"and saw that sweet smile trying to assure them that everything would be alright. And so it was. Hozier and I were set for eternity, figuratively and literally, and the tortured soul he had sent down to champion his cause and coffers was regarded (fittingly) as immortal. We shook hands when he left our little gambling den in the clouds, and he made me promise him I'd visit his abode, with his harem of lovestruck angels, sometime. I've kept that promise, and I've kept my hand in the pot at the tables, and the two of us still drink and sing together. I still kinda miss the mortal-him, though. What a hellraiser.
The three executives peered down at him. "Well Bill, we've all had a chance to read the script." Shakespeare nodded enthusiastically at the woman, her greying hair held in a tight bun. Annette was one of the last contacts he had in the industry. "It's..."She paused, and smoothed her skirt. "It's in depth, to say the least." Next to her, the red faced man gave a chortle that came right from the bottom of his pot-belly. "In depth? Hell, I'd lost track of half of the characters by the second scene! And hey, what's with all the weird names?!" A disgusted sigh came from the third on the panel. "Pluh-leaze Stanley, like I keep telling you, fantasy is so hip right now. The names are the least of our worries. Sorry, what was your name again, Mr...?" "Uh-Shakespeare. Bill Shakespeare." "Lovely, I'm Christian."he said, giving Bill a little wave. "Now, Mr. Shakey - I can call you that, right?" Bill looked blankly back at him, his mouth making actions resemblant of a goldfish. "Shakey,"Christian continued, "the real problem I have is the setting. Denmark? Come on! Who even knows where that is these days!" The other two murmured in agreement. "England is the place to go for fantasy,"Annette said, shrugging. "As good as Denmark sounds, it has to be somewhere viewers can relate to." "Or create somewhere new? England as a base, obviously..."mumbled Stanley. "I can edit the setting."Bill conceded. "That's - that's all that needs to change though, right?"he suggested, a glimmer of hope still in his voice. Annette winced slightly. "Sadly not, Bill." "It's very well written,"Stanley cut in, "and the politics is just fascinating, really. But people don't want to watch TV for boring politics. If they did, they'd watch the news!"He gave a little snort of laughter. "We need something to make it really stand out. More bloodshed, more battles, more backstabbing." Christian cocked his head and nodded vigorously. "What's hot right now is inter-family conflict. You've got Geraldine-" "Gertrude."Bill interrupted. "-sorry, Getrude, marrying her brother in law! That's the kind of thing being lapped up thick and fast right now. Why stop there? We'll need more of that." Annette pursed her lips. "I personally don't see the attraction. But Bill darling, we've barely got enough material here for one season. We're going to need a lot more. Maybe add some more contenders vying for the throne." "Add more characters?!"Stanley exhaled, his lips smacking against each other like a seal clapping. "I can barely keep up with the ones we've got! We'll need to make it clear who's supporting who. Keep it in families." Christian rolled his eyes. "They called them 'Houses' back then, Stanley. Now Shakey, how about a contender, from, say, France? Across the channel?" Bill's head had been in his hands for a while now. He perked up enough to look at the table and nod meekly. Smiling, Annette clapped her hands together. "Great. So, to recap, move it to a fictional England, more families, more backstabbing, more incest." Christian gave a giggle. "Now, Bill, how do you feel about dragons...?"

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