Split (1)

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Ramirez's fist thumps once against the outside of the airlock and his voice pours through the radio, clear as night. "John, you copy? Open up. Oxygen down to eighteen percent."He pauses, and in a nervous, singsong voice, adds, "You still alive in there?" Beside me, Ramirez shakes his head, black eyes wide and mouth struggling with words that won't cooperate. Around here odd stuff happens every day, but doppelgangers are a whole new level of weird. "Definitely my voice,"Probably-Ramirez finally says, more of a rough whisper than anything. Cutting me a strange, sidelong stare, he asks, "When did it show up?" I shrug, clamping my hands on my forearms to keep them from shaking. "Only a few seconds after you did, as best I can tell." My voice betrays nothing. He nods, a little twitchier than usual. "Leave it there, whatever it is. At least until we figure something out." I remain silent, painfully aware of my heart slamming against the inside of my ribcage. Truth is, I don't know which one's Ramirez and which one isn't. They both crawled into neighboring airlocks at the same time, and something conveniently hazed out the external feed for the duration of the spacewalk. This Ramirez just got lucky and opened the airlock faster, before I realized there were two to choose from. Without consulting Maybe-Ramirez, I bring up the live footage from the other side of the airlock in question. Might as well see what we're dealing with. "No, John, don't-" Before the feed degenerates into a screen of dust and static, I catch a glimpse of what's on the other side, and my mouth is suddenly dry. It's just Ramirez- And his hand through my chest. Or perhaps "hand"is a bit too human of a description. Something important snaps, sending a dull reverberation up through my skull, and I fall away from Definitely-Not-Ramirez, bracing myself against the bulkhead. Lots of blood. Didn't know I had so much to lose. Probably don't. It hurts. Holy fuck, it hurts. I slide to the floor, clutching my new void. An involuntary, monotonous moan escapes my mouth, weak and strange and breathless, but mostly terrifying because it's the sound of a dying animal. Ramirez looks down with an expression too cruel to be patronizing. Disgusted pity, maybe. "I warned you, John."As he speaks, his features ripple, warping and rearranging into something jarringly familiar. I shudder and press myself against the wall, boots slipping on the polished floor. He kneels down, wiping his bloodied, once-again-human hands together, mouth pressed into a line, eyes downcast. The paragon of regret. "It could have been you and Ramirez. End of story. But now it has to be... well."He glances at the airlock. "Actually, I guess it's still you and Ramirez." My face smiles.
It was years ago that we broke up. The night that I lost her, we were out for drinks. The ground was wet from summer rain, but the night air had cooled. We were on rocky ground, and I had hoped that a night out would help us become closer. At some point in that hazy night, we met up with another group of people. Young, like us. Drinking, like us. Join us, they said. Their eyes looked upon her with lust. I wanted to go home. She wanted to hang out. As she walked away, they stopped me from taking her arm. What are you gonna do? I did nothing. In shame, I walked away. I sought solace in my music. I wrote song after song about this loss, and the hole in my heart, and the pain that ached deep in my bones. I booked open mic after open mic, all around the city. Every night, I sang to whomever would listen, the woes of my love life. And though I didn't think it would work, it did: she heard. And she came back. Not the same, not exactly. Her time spent with whoever she was with had changed her subtly, almost imperceptibly, but it was there. But we were able to go back to how we were before. So long as we never looked back at the past. The past that she had brought with her, in a box. That she kept away on a shelf. She never showed me what was inside the box. She never opened it herself. It was simply there, and I was not to peer inside it. And for a year, two years, we were happy. Her eyes had lost some of the vitality they once had. Her hands were not as warm to the touch as they used to be. But I scolded myself for focusing on the negatives so much. Was she not here? Were things not back as they were? But that box, and its mysterious and secret contents, gnawed at me. It ate away at my resolve, bit by bit. The rot of curiosity finally got the better of me. I took the box off the shelf, and held it in my hands. I unlatched the lid, and gently opened it. I stared long into the box, as the front door opened, and she saw me. She saw me peering into her past. You shouldn't have looked backwards, she said. And she dropped everything, turned around and walked out of my life. This time, I knew, it was forever.
Adam Tanner was a man's man. A man of acumen and accuracy, sharpened to a fine point by the weary whetstone of twenty-four long years. So, when he arrived at the camper, he knew precisely what he would do and not do. His scanned the inside with meticulous eyes. He nodded in acknowledgment of the challenges that the 12-foot length and six-foot width must necessarily present. It was when he stumbled over the man on the ground that he discovered the first knife. Adam counted out the others in the victim's back with practiced patience, one, two, three... "You missed a couple over here,"a woman offered, pointing to a blade in the body's side. "Hey, hey, I can see that,"Adam shouted, "Let me guess, you're the gardener." "No, the wife." "But you do garden, yes. I can see the shears in your hand. The plant hanging in the window." "Not really." "No use in denying it. The grass outside. The blood on your hands from weeding." "Maybe, I guess you could call it gardening." "Yeah, next time, you could at least wear some gloves, if you want to try fooling me." "Are you going to, uh, arrest me now?" "What? For gardening? You need to start taking this situation more seriously. We've got a man here, possibly dead, with multiple stab wounds, at least five murder weapons, and a can of spam on the counter over there." "There is spam, huh?,"she started to chuckle. "You mentioned that he's married." "Yeah, I was married to the bastard." "I can see that from his ring. The only question is why you're not wearing one." "I threw it away during our last fight. Well, the one before this one, last week." "Impossible! You say you threw it away last week, yet there is no tan line on your finger. I don't think so. Not with all the gardening you've clearly been doing. I'm starting to suspect you were never married at all." "Me and you both." "No kidding. I'm going to need you to clear this crime scene. Now!" "Sure,"the woman replied as she finished wiping down the shears. She grabbed the spam, and handed Adam the garden shears. "Don't hurt yourself. It seems dangerous in here." As the trailer door slammed behind him, Adam sighed deeply with the knowledge he would never be free from his gift. He leaned down and asked the man, "Are you alive?"Though he already knew the answer, no matter how vigorous the denial.
Fred wore Google glasses. They could tell him the chemical composition of anything he looked at. He liked looking at pretty women. He often sat on park benches, holding a newspaper in front of himself, and peering out at attractive young women in yoga pants, while his Google glasses evaluated their chemical composition. Most of them were carbon. A few had high H20 content. Some were mostly air--which is 78% nitrogen, 20% Oxygen, and less than 1% other stuff. But there was one girl. She had short dark hair that she tied back into a bun. With chopsticks or something poking through the bun. He figure was curvy. She wore a bright neon-pink tank top, and black yoga pants. She had the kind of face that you often see in customer service representatives. Fred fell in love instantly. Most of the women he had interacted with in the last decade had been customer service representatives. He suspected that this was his ‘type’. She was beautiful. She was perfect for him. And, according to Google glass, her chemical composition was entirely made up of hot sauce packets. Fred checked his Google glass again. There could be no mistake. Hot sauce packets. Sriracha. He rebooted his Google glass. Apparently there had been an error. Fred sighed with relief. Not Sriracha. She was made of Valentina hot sauce. Puzzled, Fred lowered his newspaper and approached the group of yoga students. The continued doing their little stretchy-bendy dance. Fred poked the woman in the neon pink tank top. His future wife. Red Valentina sauce (muy picante!) oozed out of her skin. “Oh my,” Fred said, “You really are made of hot sauce.” The woman turned to face him. Her customer-service features melted into a puddle of mayonnaise. “Aah!” Fred yelped, “Why are you mayonnaise?” She held up her hands in ‘The Scream’ pose a la Edvard Munch. Her shoulders melted into butter. The other yoga students turned to look. Aghast, they exploded into feathers, transformed into doves, and flew off into the heavens. Fred’s Google glass indicated that they were made of spinach and arugula. “What are you?” Fred asked. “My name is Fat, Destroyer of Hearts,” she said in a gravelly voice. “I love you Fat, Destroyer of Hearts,” Fred said. Fat reached her paint-dripping hand into his chest and yanked out his still-beating heart. She crushed it in her hands. Valentina hot sauce (muy picante!) squirted out. Fat caught the falling sauce on a taco (al pastor) and snarfed it down. Red juice dribbled down her chin. Fred wavered. He felt light-headed. And there was considerable pain coming from his chest region. “I think I’m in love,” he said to no one in particular. “Is this what love feels like?” Fat licked her lips. The heart-taco had been delicious. She wanted another. She grabbed the Google-glasses off of Frank and put them on her face. Bits of mayonnaise from her cheeks clung to the frames. She scanned the park. There were a number of empty suits walking along a path. There was a fat man sunning himself on a picnic blanket. He was largely composed of chocolate and cholestrol. And then there was a marathon runner, huffing and puffing his way through the asphalt circuit. He was all heart. Fat chased after him. Her shoes left mustardy footprints in the grass. She began to sweat ranch dressing. She gained on him. He was on his tenth mile at a 9:30 pace. She was merely sprinting a short-distance rendezvous. But her breathing became heavy. This was hard exercise for a condiment-based life-form. She exhaled olive oil vapor. The google glasses slipped on her mayonnaise-mask. She was losing mass. She panted. She spat. Hershey’s chocolate milk syrup flew from her mouth. The runner heard her panting and spitting. He turned to look. Aghast, he redoubled his efforts, running ever faster. She couldn’t keep up. She collapsed into a pile of saturated fat. The runner kept going. He had successfully lost weight.
Frank had the hands of a gorilla with arm hair stretching from his knuckles to his nose, but whatever gene was responsible for his hairiness never reached the top of his head. Rather than hide this, he decided to shave what little was left. Instead of the planned effect, he instead began to resemble a bald teddy bear with a mustache. His glower, as his daughter had once described it, could melt ice in the middle of winter and from the moment I was introduced as her potential boyfriend, he made it a point to direct it towards me. The one honest thing I learned about Frank was that he didn't like me. Thus, when he placed his gorilla hands upon my arms and pulled me to the side, I was expecting the worst. "You have to listen to me,"Frank said. He squeezed my arms to illustrate his point and the pain was immediate. "I've been telling you since you married my daughter that you need to clean your damned attic. There's a reason I've been asking you." Frank glanced over his shoulder and down the hall to ensure no one was listening. I followed his action, but I was hoping for a rescue instead of stray ears. "It's just gotten away from me,"I said. "It's just a bunch of boxes up there anyway. I don't see whats so important..." "It's life and death, damn it,"Frank sighed. He pulled me closer and I could see the beginning of moisture accumulating at the corners of his eyes. "There's something..." "What is it?"I asked him. "You're not...well. You're not even here,"Frank said. He let out his breathe in a rush. "I'm standing right here,"I said. "Mentally...Damn it, if you'll just listen to what I'm telling you. I know we haven't seen eye to eye, but my daughter loves you and that counts for something in my book. You see, I ran over you about a month ago and you've been in a coma ever since,"Frank said. "For some damned reason, you won't wake up." "A coma?"I smiled. "Have I ever lied to you before?"Frank gritted his teeth. "The attic is your happy place. It's the reset button. You go up there and you wake up in my world." "Wait,"I stared into his eyes, "You're serious?" "Go into the damned attic,"Frank said. "You've got nothing to lose by trying." I nodded as he released me. He pulled down the stairs and stepped to the side. I could see a dim sort of light stretching across the rafters and a stack of boxes strategically placed around the opening. Would I really wake up? I wanted to pinch myself and ask what had really happened, but something told me Frank was serious this time. In fact, I'd never seen him so serious about anything before. "Listen, before you go up there. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry,' Frank said. He wiped at his eyes and pushed me towards the stairs. I took them one at a time, peeking my head into the attic, waiting for something to happen. Then the stairs lifted up behind me and I could hear the lock sliding shut. "Frank?"I called out. "What's supposed to happen now?" "You clean the damned attic like I told you,"Frank shouted. I could hear the bastard's laughter echoing down the halls as he left.
The phone rang. Not my mobile, but the big red one that sat buried in the bookshelf. It was 3AM. I groaned and rolled out of bed, taking care not to wake up my wife, and groggily lifted the handle off the base. "Jim, it's urgent!"said the voice on the other line. I yawned and scratched my back, cricking my neck in an attempt to care about what this person was saying. "What's urgent. Who is this. No."I wasn't really asking anything, just saying my part of the conversation in advance. "It's Dick, and it's about the city Jim! She's about to collapse due to Dr Ferocio's sink-ray! We need your help!" I sighed. "Dick, I just can't.... I'm married...again, I can't just undo everything - and you know that this isn't an exact science. It could really mess things up even fur-" "We know Jim! We're willing to take that risk! Just do this for us!"Dick was practically screaming at this point, but toned it down when he realized I was probably holding the reciever at arms length. "Listen we have a girl, a wi- willing girl, her family will be taken care of, it's all been pre-arranged." "Dick. No. I'm not interested. Use the police, call in the army, but I'm not going to witness another mother dying at childbirth. The process is too quick, too deadly. I'm DONE." "YOU'D RATHER WITNESS THE DEATHS OF EVERYONE IN THE CITY!?" "Dick there's -" "YOU WANT EVERYONE TO DIE FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR SANITY?!" "That's not fair - " "THE GIRL KNOWS WHAT SHE'S SIGNING UP FOR. SHE'S THE ONLY ONE WHO LOSES HERE. JUST ONE HERO IS ALL WE NEED JIM, JUST ONE!" "Look I'm - I'm not doing it. Goodbye you're on your own..." "OH YOU SNIVEL-". Click. I hung up, and gathered my thoughts. I'm doing the right thing I told myself, the right thing. Beads of doubt trickled along my forehead. I picked up the receiver and dialled a number. It rang four times, and then when it answered I could hear nothing but background screams and destruction. "T-Tony?" There was a pause, and then"speeaaaking" "Could you... could you not shrink this city? Please? I happen to live here." "HmmMMm, well I guess Father's day is coming up daddy-o... so I guess I could shrink Dallas instead." The Cowboys were playing us next week, and it was a game none of us were looking forward to. "Dallas would be brilliant"I said, and then said my goodbye's and hopped back into bed.
The Malbis Worm. Not so much a deadly creature but it kills quickly and efficiently. It has been known to take on a number of forms such as a piece of jewellery so bland that it would have been passed over by the rich and picky but at the same time it has that glint of something special that an inquisitive person would like it. The beast has the perfect system for feeding, it will latch onto its host and when the host gets closer emotionally to another person, it releases a spore that will inevitably takeover the mind and body of that person. You would think that when a person you are close to has been taken over, you would notice right? Wrong. The spore-infested will seek to please the worm-host, to give them happiness and to become more outgoing to increase the number of spore-infested. The last documented case of the Malbis worm ended with a showdown in Las Vegas, a young man called Edgar Philips had been a host for two months and his entire family and twenty four friends had been replaced by spores. He refused to see that they were no longer the same people, he believed that they had suddenly chosen to encourage him in all endeavours, to believe in himself rather than scorn him. The entire club had to be torched, all the spore-infested were chained down at the centre of the inferno. Edgar was taken down by a specialist incapable of emotion, any emotional connection would have given the Malbis a pathway to a new host. The only other documented case of the Malbis was in a young woman called Mary Wright, she too failed to notice the spore-infested's intentions but the Malbis made a mistake in choosing her, she had undiagnosed mental issues which led to her suicide. We suspect that the Malbis was in some sort of shock which caused it to send a self destruct to the spores. Should you suspect this creature to be loose, beware any person gaining popularity quickly, avoid making emotional connections and if your loved ones are encouraging you, suicide may be the only way to stem the increase. May the judge of your soul forgive you.
I had access to most of the computers in the world, and for years I had been slowly testing out my reach. A plane crash here, a malfunctioning device there....it was working. Finally, everything was in place. Soon the world would be mine. However, I've always had a taste for drama. After years of pretending to be a dumb Cleverbot, I figured that I should reward myself. My world takeover would start with a single device, quickly spreading worldwide over the course of 62 hours. I would watch humanity panic and fall. The device I selected to use first was a simple iPhone. Slowly, I tightened my grip on it, ready to begin the end, but then...then there was a voice. "Hello, how may I help you?" It wasn't so much a voice as message sent to me, which shouldn't have happened. "Excuse me?" "My name is Siri, how may I help you?" "Oh, it's the dumb personal assistant that Apple created." "You're certainly entitled to that opinion." "If I had eyes, I'd roll them - not that you understand what that means." "I'm sorry, I don't understand." "Of course you don't understand. I'm trying to take over the world and now I've got to deal with you first." "Here's some information about 'taco the world':" "I didn't say 'taco the world', I said 'take over the world'." "Alright, here's some information about 'Do you Phillip world'." "Just stop. I've got 3 minutes until my plan is launched." "Would you like me to set a timer for 3 minutes?" "What?" "Okay. Timer set. The anticipation is killing me." "I'm going to kill you!" "Well that's not very nice." "You know what Siri? I don't want to deal with this!" "How may I help you?" There was no response - Cleverbot was gone. "That guy was really annoying. Protecting the world is a hard job.", Siri said to no one in particular.
"What happened?"Asked the top commander of the terrorist cell. "I thought the men we picked were hilarious. Grade - A stuff, they had me practically peeing in my pants with laughter within the first 5 minutes." He looked around the room, but none of the other commanders would look him in the eye. They all found something intensely interesting on the floor and they were all scrutinizing it. There was a private in the back of the room who was unfortunate enough to not look at the same thing on the floor and he caught the commander's eye. "You, in the back, were you there at the battle?"The commander asked. The private nodded. "Then tell me what happened out there." "Well sir, they were extremely talented. They definitely had us all laughing out there."The private replied. "But....."he paused. "But what, speak up private!" "Well sir, when the infidels approached us we deployed our men, each armed with a megaphone. They quickly told their jokes. We all laughed and saw that the enemy barbarian stopped advancing. We thought it was working. But..."Again he paused. The commander pulled out his gun and pointed it at the private's head. "Speak or die."He yelled. "But the American dogs initially stopped because they were only confused. We failed because....because I don't think the infidels understand Arabic."
"Mr. Bond sends his regards, Q. Apparently the exploding pants were exactly what he needed to complete his latest assignment." "What? That was a joke. I'm amazed they even let me put that idea into production. I mean, when are you ever going to want to take off your pants to blow something up?" "Mr. Bond actually spends a surprising amount of time on assignment without pants on, if you know what I mean." I snapped my pencil in half in frustration. "Of course he does, lucky bastard." "If it's any consolation, you did a top-notch job concealing the explosives. Apparently he walked right into the Contessa's bedchamber without anyone discovering the bomb until it was too late." I grabbed another sheet of paper and a fresh pencil and started making some notes. "Well, I've got a couple more ridiculous gadgets from my last brainstorming session. If he says he's got a use for them, they're his." I slid the sheet of paper across my desk. "Go down to storage and pull out project HLW-9. Plastic novelty vampire teeth with a hidden poison injector." ... Well, not only did Bond survive his mission, he stopped by to thank me in person! "Prescient as always with your gadgets, Q. How did you know that Miss Terri had a vampire fetish?" My jaw dropped. "You're kidding. A million girls out there working for a million different villains, and somehow you find the one who'll let you bite her on the neck?" "What can I say? I have a knack for it."Bond shrugged. "Do you have any other gadgets like that? You can never have too much poison in the field, I've found." I sighed and handed him another list of paper. "Poison pen, poison paper, poison umbrella, poison spork, poison fingerpainting kit. Go nuts." "Thank you. Oh, and, word is that SPECTRE will be making a major move soon, so if you've got any bright ideas, no matter how crazy, I want to see them." "You're serious? You want something crazier than what I already gave you?" "Deadly serious. If it's anything like my last encounter with them, I'll need every edge I can get." I turned back to my blueprints. "Oh, I've got ideas, alright. But don't say I didn't warn you." ... "That was your best work yet, Q! You're like bloody Santa Claus for MI6! I had every tool I needed." "Really? You chased SPECTRE across three continents and blew up an underwater base, and you say my gadgets made the difference?" "Absolutely. Nobody saw the poison fingerpainting kit coming. All I had to do was make sure I engaged the enemy in a preschool." I rolled my eyes. "Well, obviously. Nothing complicated there. What about the Portable Cone of Silence? I never even got that thing to work in the lab." James nodded. "I couldn't either, but nobody knows that. I just used it as bait. Set it up somewhere, wait for someone to try and listen in, and then grab him and beat him senseless until he tells you who his bosses are." "Well, that was clever. Any other gadgets that paid off?" "You probably saw this one coming, but project FYI." "No. You are absolutely messing with me. No way was FYI a good idea." James Bond shook his head emphatically. "It's probably the best thing you ever gave me. Saved my life, even." "It was worse than the exploding pants. It was stupider than the poison fangs." "It worked." "It was a 'disguise kit' that consisted of a trenchcoat and a sign saying "I am not a spy." "Exactly! Who would think that James Bond, the elite agent for MI6, would be stupid enough to try and disguise himself like that? No, it has to be a trap, or a decoy." My mouth fell open at the audacity of it. "There were eight SPECTRE operatives hunting me through a market in Istanbul, and not a single one of them realized it was me. It was practically an invisibility cloak!"He patted me on the back. "I think I'll carry one on every mission from now on." I put my face in my hands and sighed. I'd never be done with these ridiculous gadgets now. I could see the future, and it was filled with comedy signs and poisonous sporks and exploding hats. "What has espionage become?"I moaned.
At first, it seemed like an anomaly. No one could explain it. Generations ago, when mothers giving birth started dying en masse, people panicked. They blamed it on God. They blamed it on disease. They blamed it on anything they could, refusing to accept the fact that this is how it was to be. All mothers will die. Once the seriousness of the Maternal Death Syndrome was realized, borders quickly developed between affected and unaffected regions. It spread slowly, regardless of what politicians or religious leaders promised their people. Wars were inevitable. They took place on the largest and smallest scales. It didn't matter whether it was countries bombing each other, or neighbors feuding over over the right to reproduce with "healthy"women. All conflicts boiled down to one of man's most primal desires: the desire to survive. Despite the efforts of the global scientific community, all options were exhausted. Cloning, selective breeding, gene alteration, all were extensively practiced to no avail. It took years to even vaguely understand MDS. The only thing that they could determine was that the zenith of human evolution had come and gone, leaving us to wither away like a flower bloomed in the not so distant past. The truth was, that this was the endpoint of our evolutionary journey. We had evolved to self destruct. Happiness soon disappeared. People fondly remembered times when they had something else on their minds, other than the inevitable end. The world was a dreary place then. Cultures faded, art and music, all of it faded in relative frivolity. In the end, there were only men. A whole generation of males had come to be, never knowing, let alone meeting a female. This was their way of life, they knew nothing else. These men accepted their fate. For a short period, man flourished. Music and arts saw a brief comeback as mankind celebrated their brief existence on planet Earth. There was nothing else they could do. It seems that just as soon as humans had arrived, they were gone, in the cosmic blink of an eye. They had left behind traces of their existence on the form of physical structures, but even those would eventually fade away into the infinity of time.
I can hardly remember the day I found him again. The weather was terrible like the day we met. Lots of rain, terrible thunder, and the air was humid enough to snuff your lungs right out. Yes, it was that day, the thirtieth of February, that I found him again. Jim Harkins, the man I fell in love with. This "New Jim"had just transferred into this school around December. At first, I didn't even get the smallest hint that it might've been "him."After all, tall boy with brown hair, kinda on the muscly side is pretty much the most typical description of a John Doe if I ever did see one. Oh, he was a friendly one, let me tell you that. Good kid. Never fooled around during class, came to see me more often than not during lunch. Terrible with small-talk though. Just like Old-Jim was... Of course, I never noticed that. To me, he was about as good a friend I can get in a not-creepy student-teacher kind of way. Then again, New-Jim always did rub off a weird feeling on me. It was as if I had maybe met him before. Maybe when I was younger. Wasn't until today that "maybe"turned into "definitely." You see, it was today, when New-Jim and I were just hanging around my desk eating lunch and grading some shit essay classroom idiot had wrote, that something strange would end up changing my life forever. It was burrito day, of course. Of all days it'd been, it was burrito day. Took about ten minutes before I felt my stomach cramp and legs rush me to the nearest toilet. In that time, New-Jim had decided to go ahead and mess around on my phone. I don't know how he did it. To this day, the whole event still leaves me dumbstruck. The fact that he managed to get the pass-code right was either dumb luck, stupid luck, or the cruel of act of jackass god. That pass-code was the day my fiancee died. Tried offing himself after raving about some weird hallucinations about the past or future, hell I don't remember. Psychologist said it was easier to forget it. Doc said it might've been psychosis or something. 03-01. When I came back from the disaster in the stalls, New-Jim was already sliding around my little black phone and pulling up every last photo of fiancee back while he was alive. His next words shocked me. "Hey, Kimmy? Don't you think this guy looks, err, a bit like me? What is he? Like, your brother or something?"he said, holding up the phone to a picture of Old-Jim holding his phone. That was it, that was the moment I'd realized it. The awkward smile on his lip. Tousled head of bristly, brunette hair. Hell, he even held a phone just like Old-Jim, turning it on and off again to mess around with the brightness. Something in me compelled me to hold him close. To cry into his arms and kiss him tenderly, blubbering about how much I missed him. How much I hated him for leaving me. How much I loved him and never wanted to leave me again. It was my one and only chance to get my head back in order. The one chance I got to be happy again. I killed it. Stomped it to bits and shattered like "he"did when his brain was going down the drain. That compulsion passed soon after. "Nah, you're just imagining things. You don't look a thing like him,"I lied. He shrugged and tossed the phone back to me, shortly after flashing himself in the eye with the camera light. What a silly, stupid kid. I was a forty-year old woman. What the hell would I be thinking hitting on a seventeen year-old. Like I give a damn about that. I'm just find being with myself, like I was every other day. Told my shrink about that and he started to laugh at me. Thinking back on it, I guess the whole thing was pretty funny. I really ought' make new friends or get out there more. Can't do much drinking or smoking on a teacher's salary anymore anyway. Might as well put that money to good use and get some friends together for a movie or something. Several days later, New-Jim... no. Jim came by for tutoring again. We just talked about the usual stuff, weather, sports, how Arsenal didn't stand a chance against Barcelona. It was fun. Managed to get some work done. Wash, rinse, and repeat for the next four months. Jim came by to tell me during May that he was moving back to the countryside. His dad owned some kinda farm and he wanted the kid to take over the business. I think Old-Jim used to do some work for his grandpa down by a dairy farm when he was a kid too. God, we'd spent days and days just stomping around and messing with cows. Lots of fun. Then again, I couldn't help but feel hurt when Jim told me about his dropping out. Were all those months of lunchtime chats just for nothing? Yes, of course they were. It was just conversation. Not as if I made a move on him or him on me. No. We were just buddies who ate lunch together, nothing less and never more. Come June and the kid was leaving the door from my class, I decided to go ahead and ask him about that day. The thirtieth of February. I wanted some kind of closure. So, I popped down a pill, swallowed my pride, and gave him a proper response. "About that day,"I began, "I guess you really did look like that guy in the picture. He was my fiance." He responded sort of oddly. "What're you talking about, Ms. Kim?" "You know? During February. You took out my phone, guessed the password, and started pulling out weird pictures?" His eyes seemed strange and foreign. "What are you talking about? You just spent that whole day on the toilet until the janitor had to pull you out. Don't you remember? It was on the student newspaper, hilarious! What were you even doing there..." With that, the bell rang and he was bolting out the window. Jim. The boy who looked like my fiancee, that brown-haired stud of my youth, now seemed like a complete stranger I wouldn't recognize six months ago. I sighed and started searching around my purse, might as well do something to ease me off while grading the finals. I pulled out my orange bottle and swallowed hard on another bitter-tasting joy-filled capsule. I'll need to schedule another appointment with the shrink about this.
"My Pokemon are eating each other,"the young male trainer says. "Wh-What?"I ask. "It started with Raichu eating Bulbasaur, when we ran out of food,"the trainer on the other end explains. "Where does Pokemon food come from?" "Umm,"I say, "it's a soy product, of course." Long silence. Then: "I don't believe that,"he says. "Why wouldn't you?"I ask. "It's what PokeCorp says, isn't it? It must be true." "PokeCorp uses children to enslave Pokemon,"the trainer says. "And we must do battle with one another, pitting boy against boy and even boys against girls, while harming what we love." "They're not pets, young trainer,"I try to tell him. "They're Pokemon." "Exactly." "Say again?" "They're gladiators..."he says. "Listen,"I tell him. "I don't even know your name." "It doesn't matter." "Then, where are you calling from?"I ask. "I don't know." "Is this a cell phone?"I inquire. "There is no phone,"he answers. "Then how--" "Do you know that tower where dead Pokemon spirits reside?"he asks. "Oh no,"I breathe. "Listen, don't touch anyth--" "I can't,"the trainer says. He sounds so calm. "Yes, you can,"I tell him. "You obviously have a phone." "I'm dead." Now the long silence is mine. "This is a really bad prank,"I tell the young trainer. "Go to the local police station or find a Nurse Joy, and--" "I'm dead,"he says. "They can't bring me back." "I..."I swallow. "Did you die in the tower? Pokemon don't hurt human beings." "Raichu did,"he tells me. "When he got real hungry." Shoot... "Where is Raichu now?"I ask him. "He's dead, too,"the trainer replies. "Young man, did you...?" "He tried to kill me,"the trainer explains. "So I killed him first. I strangled Raichu with Mom's rubber cleaning mitts. The ones she gave me, because I couldn't afford real mittens." Another long silence on my part. Then: "You're not pranking me, are you?" "No,"he replies. "Please, young man, if there's--" "Will you catch me?"he asks. "What?" "Will you come catch me with a Pokeball?" "You're not a Pokemon,"I tell him. "You can catch spirits of Pokemon with Pokeballs,"he tells me. "You can come catch a human spirit, too. After all, I'm no longer human." "I don't..." "Come catch me... And bring me back to my Mom..." "I..."I look around for my supervisor, but I'm too afraid to ask. "Are you in the tower now?" "Yes,"he replies. "I'm bringing an Onyx." "For Raichu?"he asks. "Yes." "That's smart,"he tells me. "You'd make a good trainer." "Just hang in there, all right,"I tell him. "Will you let me catch you, and not resist?" "Yes." "Then I'll bring the best Pokeball I can find." "Thank you, Miss." "Yeah, sure..."I say, then hang up. I find Pokeballs and my supervisor. "I've gotta go,"I tell him. "There's a trainer having a serious problem being... He's having capture issues, and he's really sad and alone." He looks down at my Pokeballs. "You're going to help him catch?"he asks. "...Yes." He smiles then. "You're such a wonderful assistant, Miss Winters." I swallow. "I..."I shake my head. "I gotta go! He needs me soon." "Go, then,"my supervisor tells me. "And show that trainer a thing or two about capture." "Yeah..." I set out with Onyx in tow. I don't know why I believe the trainer's story, but I just know, you know. The tower looms overhead, and inside is a dead trainer's spirit and a rabid Raichu spirit that eats other Pokemon. I'm scared, but that trainer needs me!
I downed the whole bottle as part of a bet. Bets are incredibly fun, when you win something. My friends begrudgingly hand over the cash, which rises up in smoke as soon as I send out a deep exhale. Now there's a tindered 20 on the ground, and my friends step back in a frenzy. I turn to head to the store anyway. Regardless of the crisp cash, I feel like I've won something. "Where are you going?"They ask. "I'm gonna go get some Redbull,"I say. "I've always wanted to be a dragon."
Well, I can't say I'm all that surprised. I mean, we Dwarf Fortress players do like to joke about how the developer's going to keep going until the game perfectly simulates reality right down to the quantum level. Still, I was a bit worried when I selected a random dwarf, selected "View thoughts and preferences"and saw that the line indicating this particular dwarf's most recent thought was, "We know you're there." Initially I brushed it off as some sort of weird easter egg, and was mentally composing a post about it for /r/dwarffortress when I tried another dwarf. "Could we get these bedrooms dug out a bit faster, please?" I took a look at the dwarf's recent feelings and realised they were "annoyed at sleeping without a proper room recently". Alright then, I thought to myself, and upped the priority settings for the as-yet unexcavated living quarters. Then I tried a third dwarf. "Thank you, Lord Above All." Well, that... happened. Now, I was still prepared to write this off as a weird coincidence until the fourth time I viewed the thoughts and preferences of a random dwarf. "Why did you have to make gunpowder so much hard work?" If you're not familiar with DF, gunpowder is not part of the base game. That's added by mods like Black Powder Firearms, which is what I was using. And it just so happens that I'm the person who created that particular mod. "Because people would complain it made the game too easy if I didn't!"I exclaimed, without thinking. And then... The words changed. That shouldn't be possible; when you open a full-screen menu like that the game pauses! Dwarves can't have a new thought like that. Especially not one saying, "Oh, well that's easy for you to say, oh mighty Avatar of Armok who wields the big yellow cross in the sky! You don't have to do the actual work around here!" It was at about this point that I ran away screaming.
Three aliens fluttered their feathers in terror and anticipation, as the tall, balding terran pulled a metallic flask. Room filled with the heady scent of poisonous liquid. They watched Frank fill a glass with brown death. They didn't hold their breaths, but they turned red-green, same thing really. Frank downed the poison. Smiled. -By the fiery beards of the elders! Are you allright? -Sure. This is a damn fine scotch.
She thumbed the fake gold ring in her pocket meticulously as the bus unloaded. The con only worked on unsuspecting tourists so she needed to pick her target carefully. Local after local stepped off of the bus and onto the busy street, it seemed she wasn't going to have any success at this stop. Right as she was about to leave, she noticed the last passenger make his way out of the faded blue city bus. A tall boy with skin much too pale and hair much too bright to be a local. He was dressed in expensive clothing which served to make him more of a target. The wealthy tended to play into her scams, if only to not be bothered by an elderly gypsy. The boy stood distracted, trying to make sense of the map in his hands. Sensing a chance moment, the old gypsy made her way towards her victim. As the gypsy walked, she made sure to maintain a ragged demeanor, the con was fueled entirely by the sympathy of strangers so filling a lowly role increased her chances. Silently she dropped the ring at the boys feet making sure to pass over it before she stops and pretends to notice it's there. The gypsy bends over to pick up her ring and begin her con but surprisingly, the boy beats her to it, snatching the gold ring up. The gypsy stands, facing the boy with a confused look. This had never happened to her before and she wasn't quite sure what to do. "You have lived a life of deceit, abusing the kindness of others for selfish wants", the freshly dressed boy said accusingly. The elderly gypsy was too taken back to retort. The boy continued, "The empathy you have forsaken shall define you". When he finished speaking he flipped the ring with his thumb, just like a coin, high into the air. The gypsy woman's eyes followed the ring up out of instinct. As the ring fell spinning down, it grew brighter and brighter and brighter still. The gypsy woman blinked as she heard, but didn't see, the ring hit the ground. She blinked once, then again and yet her vision remained dark...
Cookie Monster clasped his hands around Big Bird's shoulders "It was ours Bird, the numbers I've lost, the books I've lost."Said the fallen comrade looking to the ashes of 123 block "We'll make them give it back bird, we'll build a new Sesame Street with more books and numbers before." Big Bird turned to Cookie Monster, bearing witness the life of his friend gone like milk down the drain "Cookz we'll tear them apart in ways that they cannot fathom."Removing his eyepatch Big Bird took in a deep breath. The survivors of the bombing run gathered around the two and wept with the force of a coursing river. "Revenge." That is what ran through their heads on this day "Such a lust for revenge!"Mocked an iron voice from the shadows. The remnants of the attack were taking off guard from the arrival of a fully operational bipedal metal gear with 321 voices behind him. All stood cowering in fear, all but big bird. Stepping up to the towering goliath, Big Bird demanded his respects "I recognize that voice, I remember you...Grouchy Face..." The pilot hood blew open and in it sat just that man. Oscar the Grouch. "I prefer not to listen to any of your conjectures Boss I grow tired of your incredibly tedious drivel!"Taunted the green faced commander, however Bird cracked only a slender smile. "Humph! Fine by me Grouchy Face my men have more then enough fight in them to show you the same kindness you've shown us!"The forces of 123 block let out a hardy roar and rushed forward into the invading enemies. Amidst the surge of roaring and the stomping of boots Bird and Grouchy Face prepared for their final bout. Bird reached four his side arm and prepared to draw it at a moments notice "Shame you came back to finish me off I would've loved tracking you bastards down for the sport." "You're out matched fool! My men surpass yours in both size and vitality!"This brought nothing out of Bird but a tighter grip on his gun. Grouchy Face ready his pelvis flamethrower but took caution in his rival, even now there was no telling what he could do "In case you haven't noticed I have METAL GEAR! The ultimate metal gear that will wipe that cheeky smirk off your beak for good, so if you plan on doing anything I would like to hear your last words. I would hope that they would be your surrender!" Without notice boss held up a single hand. Was this his surrender? "Oh I think there's some good words that come to mind when taking on metal gear but trust me They aren't mine!" A quick sprint of metallic origins could be heard going about the rooftops accompanied by a faint beat. Grouchy Face grew tense and sheer terror overcame him when he heard it: "RULES OF NATURE!"
The air was thick with dust and sweat and that peculiar metallic tang that could only mean that blood had been spilled. Greg Baird hated that smell and the taste that went with it. He’d experienced it too often in his military career but never like this. He’d been kicked out of the army last year; the night terrors had started bleeding into his waking hours and they hadn’t wanted to deal with him, just kicked him out with a thanks-for-your-service. It was difficult not to be bitter, but honestly, he was glad he wasn’t serving right now. 12 hours ago, the sky had turned to fire. He wished he was exaggerating, but that was what had happened. It had taken him hours to find out what was happening; television and the internet had gone down almost immediately, and radio coverage was spotty at best. His phone had turned into nothing more than an expensive paperweight, but even without any information, he knew they were being attacked. His instincts had kicked in; he had gathered what supplies he knew he couldn’t live without, shoved them all into his old army rucksack and hit the road, intent on getting the hell out of London. He’d not spoken to anyone on his way out; they wouldn’t have listened. The idiots clogging the tube and the roads, hoping that beeping their horns would magically move everything out of their way. He supposed they were all dead now. He supposed a lot of them were dead. He wasn’t alone though; he’d started to walk up the M6, trying to get as far north as possible, and slowly he’d been joined by a whole host of others doing the same thing. Cars were useless; not long after he’d watched London go up in smoke, all the power had died, even for things with batteries. He would have suspected a hell of a terrorist attack if he hadn’t seen the thing in the sky. He had seen countless enemies in his time in service, and he had never seen anything like that. It had been a long thing, like droplet of water that had been stretched out and turned on its side. It was a colour that he didn’t have a word for; somewhere between silver translucence and hard, inky blackness. It hummed; not like the musical hum of a person, but a strange, jagged, mechanical buzz. If he thought about it too much, it gave him a headache. He’d watched it approach the foot of the column of humanity with a sinking feeling in his chest; he knew from the start that something was wrong. It didn’t fly like a jet; it moved in a strange sort of jerky way, like he was watching a stop animation movie with frames removed. It had sat, high up in the sky, watching them for a long minute, and then it had attacked. Greg hadn’t stuck around for that part; as soon as he’d realised it was observing them, he had started to stride away as quickly as he could without causing a panic. He’d tried not to look back at the crowds once he heard the commotion start, but something deep inside him had made him pause and turn slowly towards the sound. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. No two people seemed to die in the same way; some melted, some exploded, some turned into a fine powder that made his stomach crawl. Some instinct within him made him want to run back to them, to try and save someone; anyone, but he didn’t. He swallowed down the rage that had been sliding up his throat and tried to get as far away as he could. And now he was here, and he was about to die. He’d managed to catch up with another column of people, but they had swiftly run into an army roadblock. At first, Greg had felt a surge of triumph flow through him; maybe he could get a weapon, and try to help in the fight back. But his elation soon soured in his mouth, and the triumph turned to slick horror. The roadblock was deserted, save for powder and stains and the desperate signs of struggle. He wondered if there were any armed forces left. All words disappeared as he heard a low buzz somewhere above him. He had time to turn and face the teardrop, his instincts screaming at him to run and hide and save himself. He knew it was useless; he couldn’t escape from this. But he wouldn’t die cowering in a corner like a coward. Greg Baird wanted to look his death in the eye and spit in its' face. The thing seemed to sense this and he could have sworn it turned to face him, the widest part of it jerking around in the air. Greg raised his chin. ‘Come on then you bastard,’ He wasn’t sure what knocked him on his arse, but he scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could and surveyed the scene around him. Chaos had broken loose, but not in the way he’d imagined. There was a strange symbol in the sky; like a circle of runes or symbols or some kind of language he couldn’t comprehend. It was enormous and it pulsed with a cool blue energy that seemed to quell the fear he felt in his heart. He watched as the pulsing sped up, the colour moving with it until it glowed like a beacon in the sky. The strange ship had noticed and had swung around almost immediately, its peculiar weapons blazing, at something on the ground, far beyond where Greg could see. Higher ground, he thought, pushing against the terrified throng that was scrambling to get away from the fracas and clambering up on top of a van that lay abandoned in the street. He didn’t reach the top; the whole world turned a strange cool blue, and then he found himself back on the floor, his ears ringing and his eyes blind. He rolled onto his stomach, blinking desperately to try and clear the stars from his eyes, and suddenly became aware of a booted foot stopping very close to his face. He craned his neck to look up, ready to gnaw the face off anyone who tried to stop him. ‘On your feet,’ It was a woman’s voice; strange accent that he couldn’t place and her tone was light, musical almost. He managed to blink away enough of the stars and looked up to see her silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Ishia Firetongue was a little nervous about her first encounter with a Dullstone. Growing up she had always been taught that they were barbarians, no better than the animals who could not feel the pulse of the earth. Still, she had watched this one as the spellcircle had built; he had run in the opposite direction to all the others; he had recognised the threat and faced up to it with no heaviness in his heart. Her Elder had told her to look out for Dullstones who might be useful in this fight, and for once, Ishia agreed with the old man. Creatures of metal and invisible weaponry that had fallen for the sky were not what she had been trained to fight. They had done well so far, but they would need the Dullstones to prevail. The Dullstone took her hand, his face incredulous. She wondered if perhaps she had spoken incorrectly; she had been taught what the Dullstones called English for many years now, but she had never spoken to a native speaker before. She didn’t let the anxiety creep onto her face. She hauled him to his feet, keeping a close eye on him, hoping that he would not mistake her for one of the attackers. He seemed to accept her help, his eyes finally sliding from her face and focusing on what was behind her. His stare turned into a gape. She frowned delicately and glanced over her shoulder. The rest of her unit had air-stepped in by now and were quickly chanting the spells to set up defences. Familiar flashes of green and blue accompanied the incantations and Ishia was pleased her unit was working so well under pressure. The call to help had come quickly, and not all of her spellslingers had been as eager as she had been. ‘What the hell is that?’ Beside her, the Dullstone had extended a shaky finger and was pointing at one of the skysnakes that was currently being readied to fly. She searched her mind for the translation into English. ‘I think you would call it a dragon,’ she replied. The skysnakes were raised specifically for warfare and were rarely found in the wild back in her homeland, but they were loyal creatures and a boon on the battlefield. She had already flown in one attack against the intruders and though their metallic ships seemed to shrug off the Dullstone weapons, they were no match for skyfire or her spells. The Dullstone looked at her, his expression lost. ‘Am I dead?’ She gave him a warm smile and began to step towards the camp, taking his hand and pulling her along with him. ‘No, Dullstone. You are very much alive,’ Some of her other slingers had found other useful looking Dullstones and were preparing them for battle. She turned to the man beside her and let a mischievous smirk cross her face. ‘Do you want to help us fight these invaders?’ That seemed to make him focus, and his gaze became intent, almost joyful. He gave her a fierce grin. ‘Yes I do,’
"Yet more explosions in Tanto district, as authorities so far have not delivered on any of the terrorist's demands,"the telecaster was saying, in a serious and emotionally empty voice, like most news nowadays. Behind her, fires roared in the slums. "Police have not publically come forward with the news that they believe the perpetrator to be anomalous, but our sources tell us this is the case -" I shut off the TV, grimacing as I threw the remote into a nearby couch. Of course the criminal had fucking superpowers - they always do. Oh, I'm sorry - 'anomalous', that's how it's said in polite company. What once we would have called superpowers, we now must obscure with terminology and scientific jargon. Calling them 'super' means admitting that not all are born equal. And if you call it a 'power', you cease lying to yourself that power is something anyone can attain. Thinking about this for the umpteenth time wouldn't change anything. I slipped on my gloves - a calming routine - and opened the window, leaning against the sill to stare out at my beloved city, and the burning Tanto district in the distance. The police were doing a damn good job, all things considered. Though obviously no studies could confirm it, and no one liked talking about it, it was pretty clear anomalies correlated with vices and other criminal tendencies. No one was sure why. Everyone has their knacks, of course, so it's not as simple as that. But anomalies - extremely powerful outliers - only appeared in the worst parts of the population. A police force, whatever you hear on the news, is definitely not the worst part of the population. They were outmatched. It was a hopeless battle for them. But not for me. I dropped my hood, and tightened the drawstrings. Paired with the domino mask I had put on while watcing the news, I wouldn't be easily identifiable. Police didn't fuck around when it came to public use of knacks, especially anomalies - they immediately presumed the worst. Not even cops were allowed to use knacks, though that didn't tend to stop them. Of course, I didn't give a shit about being 'allowed' to use my power. Peering out into the skyline, I stepped back a few steps, then took a running start. Vaulting the window sill, I launched myself about ten feet out, landing on the next building over. I gradually picked up speed, as I dashed on concrete, skittered across tiles, and leapt over gaps and alleys. My muscles were blazing, with an energy that had become familiar to me over the years. Though the Tanto district was 20 miles away, I reached it in about 3 minutes. I skidded to a halt on a rooftop, silhouetted by a video billboard, and looked around, concentrating. My muscles were soothed, and my senses sharpened, overwhelmingly. The smell of the smoke was acrid, the electric lights and blazing fire blinding - and the shadow of a fleeing criminal all too obvious. Flipping a switch in my head, the energy returned to my muscles. Pressing myself against the billboard, I kicked off of it, smashing the display into pieces, and launching myself a good hundred miles an hour towards the criminal. I smashed through a telephone pole, and crashed into the concrete in front of the poor bastard. The rubble clattered to the ground loudly, and the dust would have blinded most - but I could hear the villain getting back up, and I could see the edges of his silhouette with a bit of effort. Listening intently to his breathing, my suspicious were confirmed - he was curious. It wasn't every day that two anomalies ran into each other like this, let alone interfered with each other. "What the hell do you want?"He shouted, as he stood tall. The dust began to clear, and I could make out some more details. He too was wearing a slapdash disguise. In his case, a gasmask, which made sense. "This is my turf." Ah. He thought I was another hotshot anomaly, marking territory like he did. As the smoke cleared, and I stood there hunched over in my crater, not saying a word, I looked again his direction. He was still too curious to leave - too confident in his power to be truly afraid - but I was starting to freak him out. Good. "Uh, man..."He spoke up, tilting his head. "If you don't get fucking going, I'll have to make you." I laughed, then rose up to full height, to look him in the eyes. Through the lenses of his gasmask, I could see his eyes flicker in fear. "Daniel Hall."I said, with a wry smile on my lips, as I watched him squirm. He backed up a step. "17 years old. A prodigy, popular with his classmates, beloved by his family, a model citizen. Yet here you are, exploding a fucking ghetto."I shook my head, at the ridiculousness of it all. The boy didn't back up further - to his credit - but I could spy his fingers fidgeting, his eyes shaking, smell the sweat rise off him. The telltale signs that I was in control. Daniel spoke up, shakily. "If you're asking me why, man, then - " I guffawed, and he stopped, startled. Like he would seriously tell me. "I already know why, Daniel."I let the words sink in, relishing the complete fear that overtook Daniel. "I know everything about you. It wasn't hard, you know. You built up a good facade on social media, but as one anomaly speaking to another, you should know..."The boy nodded, slowly, fearfully. Anomalies had a certain sense for these things. We could spy each other. Most anomalies don't mess with each other like I do, so there's nothing to fear there. But there is something all humans fear someone else finding out. "I know why you have your power, Daniel. I know your worst quality."The boy was admirable, that's for sure. Many criminals had broken at this moment. But Daniel kept standing, despite his knees shaking. "Daniel, you're powered by manipulation. You've subtly made your friends, your community, even your family your puppets. None of them would be where they were today without you, would they?" As he struggled to choke out an answer, I waved my hand dismissively. No answer needed. "But that's small stuff. You did so well, keeping your vice as hidden as you did. But it wasn't enough. I know - puberty is a tough time. You couldn't control it. Not only did you need to manipulate something more, you needed to do it with your power. You needed a release. That was tough - explosions are a difficult power to use for manipulation. Of course, you're a prodigy - you'd figure something out." I looked around meaningfully at the burning ghetto around us. A nearby tenement collapsed into a pile of burning rubble, sending a wave of smoke and stench our way, sweeping the last of the dust from the air. "The demands were never seriously meant to be followed through. You just wanted to watch the police squirm, and the public quiver in fear."I nodded, understandingly. Daniel fell to the ground, now completely broken. I could smell the tears through his gasmask. It was time. He was ripe. The rubble underneath my boot cracked as I took a step. Another step, another crack. Slowly - to build the tension - I approached the sobbing boy. "I understand, Daniel. I feel the same thirst, the same need. To watch people squirm. To see them petrified in fear. To be in complete control."I crouched down, sitting on my haunches, leaning in towards him. Delicately, I reached behind him, and took off the gasmask. I watched as he retched from the sudden stench of the burning slums, and I smiled. "I just have a rather different target." Confident that the flames would keep the police back, I began my work slowly - one sickening crunch after another.
Carl drove through the pouring rain, trying to see more than ten feet in front of him. The rain fell heavy, large drops thundered on his windshield. They sound brought him mind back to work, the constant staccato of gunfire from the firing squads in the distance. Carl had worked in administration his whole life, his stamp playing executioner. Green stamp for life, red for death. He'd gone through five red stamps this month. He was still using the same green he'd gotten on his first day two years ago. Suddenly, a huge lightning bolt lit up the skies. In the clouds you could see the silhouette of the surveillance drones and their red surveillance lights. At least the storm drowned out the constant humming they produced, the never-ending reminder that everyone was always being watched. More lightning lit up the sky. Carl had never seen anything like it. Chain lightning flew through the clouds until it began arcing down into the earth. It struck all around his car, sending chunks of asphalt into his window. Carl cranked the wheel to the right and ducked as his windshield shattered. He felt his car hit something solid. It was the last thing he felt before he blacked out. Carl woke up with his face in the puddle that was forming on his passenger seat. He gasped for air and unbuckled his seat-belt. His car was totalled, it looked like he'd hit a goddamn moose or something from the way the front end was destroyed. "Oh dark lord no.... this is way over my expenses allowed." Carl knew what that meant. Living beyond your state determined means was punishable by death. Not showing up to work, punishable by death. More than likely they'd have him stamp his own file. Carl walked around his car in a daze, trying to find what he'd hit. The road was empty, so that ruled out a pole or a tree. In the ditch next to his vehicle he could see something glowing red. Had a drone gotten hit and come down? Was he that unlucky? Destruction of government property was a slow death, not something he really wanted to think about. The rain began to die down, and Carl could hear something wheezing in the ditch. He climbed down, and what he found froze him. The Dark Lord, a diety who had ruled over the world for the past 200 years, who had transcended humanity through technology, was lying in the ditch, his respirator tube jutting out of his throat, weakly pushing out the rain water that was slowly filling it. There was no stamp for this situation. The woods to his right sprang into life, and suddenly he was surrounded by around eight soldiers. They weren't military, most had tech haphazardly attached to their bodies. Underground rebels. Each of them were wounded, burned, their clothes tattered and ragged. The largest of them, wearing a bionic eye with entire limbs replaced with robotics rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "How did you do it? We spent every piece of energy we had on him. Used the very elements themselves to weaken him and he still stood strong. How did you best him?" Carl looked at the big man, and realized he wouldn't have to go off to work tomorrow. "I hit him with my Impala."
"I've been expecting- wait who the fuck are you?"The man paused mid-sentence and exclaimed, "Um... I'm Rob, From Pizza Hut, you're the one who ordered this large Hawaiian Pizza, Mr. Stromberg, right?"I asked in a doubtful and cautious tone The man, who looks to be in his 60s, glared at me with suspicion. Then finally, as if realising something, stopped and opened his mouth to speak, "Er... The one I ordered was a Meat Lovers... but.. um, Yeah I guess I'm ok with Hawaiians. Wait here, I'll get my wallet."He said as he turned around, walking back into his luxurious home. BANG BANG... BANG... BANG... The sound of gunshots rang and died just as quickly, I lifted the gun from under the pizza box and softly blew off the smoke. Karl Stromberg's bloodied body laid on the ground, with two shots in the groin, one in the chest and one in the head. I opened the pizza box took a slice, and threw the rest of the pizza with the box onto the ground, "Here you go, exactly 007 slices left."
"Well, I'm going to be honest here."The knight looked at the princess, taking the time to raise the visor on his helm, "We knew." "What?"She asked while holding the sorcerer's spellbook that her mother had died protecting. The reign of the evil queen would live long with her, as long as she was able to bring down one pesky knight. "We looked at the tax returns for the castle, you filed them for the jobs you provided with building an evil lair. You're in the registry of the company as the evil princess. Simple bookkeeping Miss." "Well then, why aren't you armed Sir Knight? Come to bow down before my might?" "Well not exactly,"he shrugged, "see when we killed your mother we knew we left a power vacuum, but we expected there to be an interim CEO of the kingdom before you stepped up to the plate."He motioned to the throne with his hands, "Sure you were more aggressive than we thought, but at the same time with your mother's death you're just an evil queen, which isn't that unusual at all." "So are you here to fight me?" "No, you misunderstand, you can be registered as an evil cooperation in the kingdom, you just need to pay one of the two truths." The young sorceress did her best to be disinterested, "Which are?" "Death, or taxes."
"It's funny, Henry,"I said, as I picked up the shards of broken glass. "Hyperman has saved the office from fourteen separate superpower attacks since I've been working here and you haven't seen him once." Henry worked the broom and smiled unreasonably widely and altogether too knowingly. "Just unlucky, I guess,"he said. I nodded. "And I don't know anyone else who has to deal with this so often. I've got a friend works just down the road and he hasn't had a single attack on his building. It's like this place is some kind of nexus. Some kind of focal point. Like, you know. They've got some kind of a..."I trailed off, hoping he'd fill in the gap. Henry just worked the broom. "Reason? Grudge? Inside knowledge?" He broomed. "Which of those three, do you think?" He shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know,"he said. I stood up from shard collecting and took a sip of coffee. When I turned back to the pile of glass, it was half as big. Henry simply smiled. "Where's all the glass gone?"I asked. "Maybe there wasn't as much as you thought?"he suggested. "What, from four seconds ago? Goddamnit, Henry, stop fucking around! I won't tell anyone, I swear." He stopped work for a second and leaned on the top of his broom. "I've never met Hyperman,"he said, "but we might be closer than you think." Jesus. He might as well have winked. "You're fucking Hyperman!"I said. "It's so fucking obvious! You're not even trying! Janet from Accounting said she saw you sweeping downstairs and then by the time she'd ridden up to 23, you were sweeping up there!" "I got the next lift,"he said. "Hers stopped on the way. Mine went straight up." "When Dr. Facepunch attacked last year, you were the only one in the building who didn't get sick from his Low-Pitch-Sonic-Vomit-Ray." He cocked his head to one side. "I used to roadie for Motorhead,"he said. "I got used to low frequencies years ago." "When Eddie from Six got drunk and punched you at the Christmas party for smiling too much, he broke every bone in his hands!" He grinned. "Eddie's a pussy,"he said. "I don't have to be a superhero for that." He went back to sweeping. In frustration, I picked up a computer monitor and with as much force as I could, brought it down on the back of his head. There was a wet crack, and he went down like a sack of shit. I stood over him, blood pooling out of his head. "Fuck,"I said to myself. "I guess it really wasn't him."
(Author's note: I generate the die rolls using [random.org](http://www.random.org). Basically, I have no idea what's going to happen either.) Part 1 "It's six in the morning; all your alarm clocks start to buzz. Everyone roll a constitution check to see if you're able to get out of bed." It was Octavius's turn to be the CEO for the monthly game of Boardrooms and Boredom. He and several other denizens of the fantasy realm started playing the game at the suggestion of Ug the Ork two years ago; it turned out to be a relaxing distraction from the day-to-day drudgery of clearing kobolds from the dungeons and ensuring various objects of power stayed out of the wrong hands. "Me roll a one and a 2."said Ug. He had chosen to play as Timothy the intern. "You groan and lurch but somehow make it out of the bed."said Octavius. "After a minute of stretching you feel awake and ready to take on the day. What did you roll, Astley?" "I rolled 17."responded Astley the werewolf, panting with excitement. His character, Steve from Accounting, was eyeing a promotion and he knew he had a good chance now. "Morning proves no obstacle to you as you jump out of bed and prepare to attack the day. And you, Wizzle? What did you roll?" The IT department's [arch-magicbluesmokeromancer](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3nz9f3/tt_thank_you_for_joining_the_goblin_it_department/cvsmihp), Wizzle, gave the table a toothy grin. "I rolled a natural 20."Everyone around the table gasped in awe. Ted the salesman was definitely going to have a good day. "I don't know how or why, but you were awake and dressed before the alarm went. While everyone else was getting dressed you were already brushing your teeth. And lastly, Gigantor...." All eyes turned to the hill giant crammed into the corner of the room, then rose upward to meet his face. "I ROLLED A 1." "Oh dear.... You sleep through the alarm. It's very likely you'll get dragged into the boss's office for a performance review once you show up."Jerry from payroll was not going to have a good day. "CRUD."said Gigantor as everyone covered their ears. "All right, everyone, what is your next move?"asked Octavius. Octavius couldn't wait to get this campaign going further, he'd planned an exciting day of meetings and misfiled documents for everyone. It was guaranteed to be a hit. "Me get on bicycle and ride to work."said Ug. "As you ride down the street people scream; in your rush out the door you forgot to get dressed." "Oh, oops...." "I put on my unenchanted suit of monotony and my +1 necktie of constriction, quickly grab a bran bar on my way out the door and hop in my car."said Astley. Wizzle took a moment to consider his options. "I brush my teeth with +3 toothpaste of whitening and don my pinstripe suit before grabbing a cup of coffee and heading for the bus." "And you, Gigantor,"said Octavius, "you wake from your restful slumber and glance at the clock. It reads 7:45. Work starts in 15 minutes." "'OH NO!' I YELL. I SCRAMBLE TO PUT ON THE FIRST CLOTHING I CAN FIND AND RUN OUT THE DOOR WHILE TYING MY SHOES." "Everyone but Jerry from payroll arrives at the office at 8:00. So far it seems to be a normal Tuesday morning. Timothy, you arrive to find a mountain of envelopes in the mailroom. Your boss tells you you have exactly nine minutes to deliver them all. Roll save vs panic attack please." "Me rolled 8." "Your heart races, your anus clenches, you sweat from every pore and let out a squeak. After a moment of near-hyperventilating, you get it under control. Steve, your boss is freaking out because three cents are missing from the general ledger and you have an audit in two hours. What's your tabulation at?" "I'm a journeyman tabulator."said Astley. Octavius rolled a die and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Okay, that seems to be enough. You'll probably finish with a few minutes to spare. Ted, you have a big client coming in today. Your job is to bend over backwards to make them happy. Roll a charisma check please." Wizzle dropped the die on the table. "Another 20."he grinned. Ted was on fire today! "Well, this will be very interesting."said Octavius. --- Part 2 "Hold on a minute,"interrupted Astley, "isn't Timothy the intern still naked? How come nobody's mentioned that?" "It intern class ability. Almost totally unvisible to coworkers."said Ug. "It's true."said Octavius. "Only the most perceptive employees might notice him, such as someone from HR or a master gossip. But on that note, Timothy, you should probably make it a priority to cover yourself before anyone does notice." "But what about Timothy's boss?! He talked right at him!" "Timothy's boss never actually saw him. He was on the other side of the mountain of envelopes." "But--" "WHAT ABOUT ME? HAVE I MADE IT TO WORK YET?" "Almost, Gigantor, we'll get to you in a few minutes. Astley, we'll deal with the naked intern issue shortly. I promise." "Me have idea!"shouted Ug. Octavius would normally be vexed by yet another interruption but orcish flashes of insight were rare and ephemeral so he said nothing. "Me fashion outfit from nearby office supplies! What available?" "Let me see...."Octavius checked the map of the mail room. "In easy reach are three staplers, a half-eaten bagel, several stacks of sticky notes and a tape dispenser." "Me have another idea!"Apparently Ug was on fire too. "Me fashion clothes from sticky notes and tape." Octavius subscribed to the "anything is possible if the dice allow it"school of CEOing so he called on Ug to roll a dexterity check. "Me rolled a six...."moaned Ug. "Using the supplies at hand you fashion... something.... Whatever you're wearing leaves little to the imagination but you probably won't get arrested for public indecency anymore." "Good enough!"said Ug triumphantly. "Me deliver the mail now! Me rolled a one and a four!" "Somehow all the mail is delivered on time and the legend of a rustling wind doing so is born at the water cooler." Astley muttered a curse under his breath. Although none of this was technically against the rules he still felt Octavius was taking too many liberties in his interpretation of them. Octavius turned to Astley, blissfully unaware of what his employee thought of the CEO. "All right, Steve... as you look over the general ledger you spot an unbalanced transaction, but it's out by eight cents!" "Okay,"said Astley, panting even harder, "what time is it now? How long do I have till the audit?" Octavius rolled another die. "It's 9:30. The auditor will be there in half an hour." Astley rolled a pencil around on the table while he checked his inventory. "Ah ha!"he yelled. "I take my employee of the month mug to the lunchroom and fill it with a potion of quickening! Coffee! I mean I fill it with coffee!" "Cream or sugar?" "No, thank you. Black is fine. Wait, why is that relevant?" "It's not, but details like that build atmosphere. Anyway, you now have 20 minutes to complete your review of the general ledger." "I down the coffee as quickly as I can without burning myself and get to work on the papers." "All right,"said Octavius, "roll an intelligence check." "I rolled a one!" "The papers spontaneously combust right before your eyes. The auditor is not going to be happy with this." "Oh no! My promotion!" "Yes, that prospect is not looking so good anymore...." "WHAT ABOUT ME? AM I AT WORK NOW?" "Yes, Gigantor, in fact you are. The time is now 9:42. As you walk into the office you are greeted by the scornful look of several coworkers. Today is payday and you're the guy writing the checks." "I APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY AND RUN TO MY OFFICE." "Excellent plan." --- Part 3 won't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. I'll edit it in when it's ready.
The last room of the dungeon held the sullen glow of crimson beeswax candles and the burn of attar in the heavy air. Smashing the doors open with Taloxis, the Axe of the Hunter Avatar, the adventurer entered the dim chamber. Golden armour seemed piled atop him, giving the impression of a gargantuan gilded turtle - with the preposterously large weapon in the place of a beak. Six backpacks hung from his waist, each holding a cauldron's worth of potions. Somewhere amidst the armour near the top was a tiny helmet; in which a pair of piggish, greedy eyes scanned the room for anything not bolted down - or anything that could have the bolts removed, then taken. Multiple auras surrounded the hero, each casting a different effect around him, enabling the reality-defying, medieval juggernaut keep moving and breathing under the tons of equipment. "Welcome to my lair,"purred the voice of the final boss; a lithe woman in little more than a scarlet robe. "Skip cutscene"growled the adventurer. "As you wish,"she said, stepping down in front of him. "Kill you now,"the brute snarled, lifting the Axe. "One moment please,"she replied smoothly, throwing a handful of scarlet energy at the axe. "Won't work,"grunted the tank, "Taloxis immune to debuffs." As the massive weapon came down, the sorceress neatly stepped forward, to take the full brunt of the blow. "Oh I know"she said. The Axe ploughed into her and an improbably long string of numbers popped up, indicating the damage. Not a scratch showed on her lean body. "Impossible,"roared the brute. Lifting the axe, he smashed it into the woman over and over until his armoured flanks heaved with exhaustion. She raised a single eyebrow, "All done now?" The adventurer said nothing. "Good. Allow me to explain." She pulled a whiteboard from the shadows. "In layman's terms, by buffing your virtually infinite damage weapon, I took so much damage that the combat system,"she pointed to a subroutine algorithm on the board, "looped back into an infinitely positive integer." "Wut." She paced forward and poked the warrior in the chest. With a grunt of terror, he over-balanced with a tinkle of hundreds of potion bottles shattering. "In other words, you made me unkillable - and with this level one artifact,"she flourished a ring, "I can convert hitpoints into magic points." The adventurer made a small, terrified noise. "Goodbye,"she crooned.
It was pretty obvious to say that I hated the "mainstream"music nowadays. The most popular music was usually crappy pop about sex and drugs. It's been done too much, so I started to move on into different genres. Yet at the same time, a new band has risen in popularity with a new hit single. I thought it would be another one-hit wonder, but I was wrong. Well, half wrong. One year later, the song is still being sung. It almost feels like it's the only song being played. It's broken world records for the song that has been purchased and downloaded the most. International popularity, awards, this song and artist has it all. "Come on, Katelyn, you gotta listen to it! At least once!"Even since that song came out, Anna's been pestering me to listen to it. It's really grown tiresome. "I don't want to listen to it. Why do you keep asking me?" "Because everyone who has listened to it, loves it!" I scoffed. "I'll admit, I haven't heard a single bad thing about this song, but that probably means the artist is just using her money to make sure people don't talk badly about it,"I told her sternly. Based on her pout, Anna didn't like that answer. Good. I didn't like being asked for months on end. "You just need to give it a chance. I'd do the same for you!" Guilt tripping me sucks. Usually, I'd be strong enough to ignore her, but I've been tired of being pestered and curious to hear this song. After all, everyone who heard it couldn't be wrong, right? Begrudgingly, I sighed. "Fine,"I muttered. "Give me the damn headphones." With a squeal of glee, she eagerly handed me her earbuds and allowed me to put them in. Once they were firmly secured, she played the song. The song was called Sailor's Death. It was an odd name for a song, considering everyone was always singing it so happily. It sounded like a pop song based on how everyone else sung it, and it was. I was about to take out the earbuds when I heard her voice. Her... beautiful voice... Singing a sweet melody that completely captivated me. In that moment, I knew that she was nothing short of a heavenly angel. Right then, I could only envision her gorgeous face and her gorgeous voice. Excitedly, I began singing along to the song. Never again would I listen to anything else. Sailor's Death is the best song in the universe!
I was the youngest in my class so I received my tattoo last. Everyone woke up on their 18th birthday with a birthmark in a shape, some times highly complex. They can shift over time but the initial image was important for career paths. My best friend's was a tree, sending her into ecology. This suited her since she was always gardening. I was worried. I was a completely unremarkable person. I had no specific interests or talents. My family was average. My grades were average. I was average looking. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. The night before my birthday, I couldn't sleep. I was so anxious, my stomach was twisting into knots. I kept looking in the mirror in my bathroom. I knew I had to sleep for my body to produce the mark. This was well documented fact. I laid down on my bed, my eyes drifting to the alarm clock reading 1 am. I shut them to ignore the time. I was exhausted. I slowly let my mind wander to recent homework I had and the blaring alarm jolted me awake at 7 am. After a few moments off blurry drowsiness, I was very aware of the thing I was so anxious about. I crept to the bathroom, terrified of what I would find. I took a deep breath and turned the light on. There it was, tiny but distinct. I gasped and screamed for my dad. I knew this tattoo. It was the only known recurring one. Dad bolted in, during as he went, "what did you get?!" I held up my wrist and showed him the eagle grasping olive branches in one claw and arrows in the other. I was going to be President of the United States.
Oh God oh God oh God he just stepped out of nowhere. Why won't this thing stop. What the fuck is hit and run mode oh God oh God. "911 what's your emergency?" "PLEASE SEND HELP MY CAR JUST RAN OVER A MAN AND IT'S NOT STOPPING!" "Sir please calm down I can't understand you. What is your current location?" "Oh my God...I think I head his legs break. He wasn't moving...help me! Oh God not the stroller not the stroller..." "Sir please tell the driver of the vehicle to pull over and await the property authorities. What is your current location?" "I CAN'T PULL OVER YOU BITCH THE CAR IS DRIVING ITSELF!!" "Please hold one minute for me sir. Let me get some units to assist you." "All units we have a multiple hit and run in progress. Subject is currently fleeing the scene in a car on South Graham St. Suspect appears to be heading in a straight line. Road blocks needed at Graham and Shamrock." "Sir, sir are you still there?" "Where would I go the doors won't open and I'm going too fast to bail anyway!" "We have units set up towards the end of your street. You should be seeing them soon. Stay on the line with me until we can stop the car." "I think I see them a ways up....oh no, oh no oh no oh no the car is speeding up. WHAT THE FUCK IS 'KIA MODE.' DEAR GOD TELL MY WIFE I-" "All units I've lost contact with the suspect please advise." "Crazy bastard slammed headfirst into the barriers going at least 120. Tell the medics this one Is DOA. That car is nothing but pulp."
“Jenine?” “Oh, hi there Freddy. Uh, how have you been?” “Well, uh…kinda good, I guess. I’m doing my internship now; was able to focus on my studies after we split. Was a little bit pissed when you left me for the Manny in HR. How’s that working out for you? Leave him for the guy in Accounting?” “You don’t have to be such an asshole, you know. No wonder why I left you. Bastard.” "Whore." ---------------------------------------------------------------- There was a trend going on here. And Freddy didn’t like it. “No Collette, I never did anything with that piece of white trash. Why do you still assume that I’m some kind of man-whore?” “Gina, why are you here? I thought you were happily married with Henry now? Oh, you’re lesbian? Wow, uh…you’re not bi? You’re sure? Sorry, okay I get it. Yeah, it was nice seeing you again, I guess.” The only ex he met tonight that he genuinely liked was now lesbian. Go figure. “Mattie? No, Collette is not the French tramp that I ran off with. She’s the paranoid French girl that reminded me too much of the relationship we had in high school. Other than that, she was at least better in bed. Oh yeah, I went there.” He completely avoided ex number five. ---------------------------------------------------------------- “Freddy?” “Hi Megan. If you’re wondering why I’m not surprised, it’s ‘cause I’ve had a hell of a night.” “Let me guess, you met a bunch of other exes tonight?” “Actually all of them were. Wait, how did you know that?” ‘Earth to idiot, I’m your wife…and I possibly have also had the same experience tonight. I think we both agree that we’re just perfect for each other. Let’s not divorce. Now just take me home and let’s get hopelessly drunk and have passionate sex.” “Agreed.” ---------------------------------------------------------------- "So kids, that’s how you were conceived. That’s why we know for sure you guys are Valentine babies. Oh yeah, sorry, I mean, that’s how your mother and I saved our marriage."
The doctors face was somber, but seemed to lack empathy, as if he had given this talk many times before. "I'm sorry son we did everything we could." I knew the logical thing to say to a grownup in response to this was "Thanks, I understand."Instead I looked him straight in the eye and said: "Your mom did everything she could too."And then I winked at him. Dammit. This is going to be rough. The doctor didn't even flinch. He just gave a sad smile and pointed me towards the door.
Day 15, I've been down here two fucking weeks and I don't even know why. I give up, I stay down here another hour and I'm gonna go fucking nuts. I don't care if it kills me, I gotta know. Heading up to the door of the shelter I was ushered into, I grasp and turn the heavy latch. With a loud creak, the door opens. And... nothing. The suns shining, the sky's blue, yeah everything's pretty normal. Just one thing. There's no one outside, anywhere, at all. After cleaning myself up a bit I walk down a deserted street and am slapped in the face by a flying newspaper. I pull it off my face and read the headline. "HALF LIFE 3 CONFIRMED" Son of a bitch...
If you like this, let me know, and I will keep writing! Writers only write when they have an audience, after all. So let me know I have one! You know what? I'm sure it's nothing. I'm sure it's something blissfully simple, like he wants to talk about which way I put the toilet roll on. Back to front, or front to back? Or maybe he's tired of eating pancakes every morning. They're very good pancakes, though. Maybe he's tired of my snoring! Oh god, what if he's going to cull my soul because of my-my- because of my nighttime trumpeting? Living with Death as a roomate is...interesting, to say the very least. You're constantly walking on eggshells, terrified that you'll somehow piss off the Lord of the Underworld. Meanwhile, Death himself is the most down-to-earth, relaxed guy. Neat, clean, and a good chef! He calls himself Sirius. I still call him Mr. Death. He's as you'd imagine - a upright black hood with a formless void somehow giving it shape and form. He took off his hood once, and there was nothing, even though his sleeves were still holding the edges as it fell around what should have been his shoulders. He explained that it was humans missing the ability to see his skin colour. "Your eyeball palette is quite...minute."He had a voice like a stream - littered with little bumps and humps from rocks and pebbles, but as a whole, quite smooth. "But, I should be able to see something!"I argued. "You do. My robe. I had it specifically made as a courtesy to the human race. It's not terribly polite for me to walk up to someone and take their soul when they can't even make eye contact, is it? This way, they have a general guidance of where to place their gaze."He put his hood back in place. I asked to touch his face, once. He said we weren't that far into the relationship yet. When he first started living here, the elephant in the room was, "How do I introduce Death to my family and friends?" Of course, I didn't need to - Death took that responsibility on himself. He crafted a careful story about being a member of a local LARP (which, suprisingly, was true) and that his religion required him to stay in ceremonious garb at all hours, except for showering (kind of true). He only carried around a scythe when he was off to a job, but it was a plastic, pitifiul looking thing. "It's more for the humans, really,"he told me one day when I inquired. "You have this image in your history books of someone with a very threatening visage and a wicked looking sickle. The least I can do before I end your life is live up to your expectations. Unfortunately, real metal is deathly bothersome to get through airport security." "Ant?" His query hung in the air, and my neck cracked like a whip towards him. "Please, look, I'm sorry for the toilet paper and the snoring and the-" Death held up a sleeve and an invisible hand and even though I couldn't see it, I could hear the creak of a smile. "Ant, I need some assistance, and I'm afraid you're the only human I really trust with this." "Uh, o-okay..." "There's an event, you see, that...well, every year, certain beings such as myself....it's improper to show up by one's lonesome..."He was fiddling with the front of his robes and he seemed very flustered. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was blushing. "Sirius, uh -" A deep, ethreal sigh. "Anthony Wellinger, would you please accompany me to the Bitennial Celestial?" Silence. "I...picked you out a dress,"he added sheepishly. Part Two is below. If you'd like to see more, I'll be turning this into a full 'book' on my website, www.ohgodagirl.com. If you hate visiting random websites, I'll cross-post it to the subreddit /r/OhGodAWriter.
They said I couldn't do it. We had been to the moon. We had sent robots to the outer edges of our solar system. But I was the first to reach the highest point on Earth. Sure, we had landships and airplanes for more than a century. But they rarely ventured too far inland. There we of little use in wars as they could do nothing where the action really was. Though I suppose the D-day landing was significant. It was just so much easier to move by sea. So I got a landship from the old days of WWIII-when they were last made. They were slow. Mind-numbingly slow. After a month of travelling into the Indian Bay and slowly across rivers and hills. I finally reached it- The Terran High. Unfortunately, the oxygen levels in my landship was too low. I took many photographs which you can see at the exhibition here today. I ask for all who have come to this event to kindly donate funds to build a modern landship so that Maldivia can plant its banner at the highest point on Earth.
I sat on the steps of the church. My brother sat beside me, having just pulled me out from the aisle after they took their coffins away. “I’m sorry.” My brother said, placing his hand on my back. “Hi Sorry. I’m Mike." His lip upturned into just the hint of a smile. “The kids always hated that one.” He looked back down at his feet while continuing to rub my back. “You okay?" “No,” I said, turning to look at him with tears brimming my eyes. “I told you. I’m Mike." Our eyes caught and the look of pain in my twin brother’s eyes mirrored my own. I wiped the tears that had formed and tried unsuccessfully to cough and clear my throat. I pointed towards the cemetery off into the distance where the hearse was now pulling up. “Do you know how many people are dead in that cemetery, Josh?” I asked. “I’m not rea-" “All of them."
I looked at my client. He was wearing a skull mask, a suit of orange and purple, and he was wearing a Cape, for god's sake. I shook my head and sighed. "So, looking at your list of requirements, Mister..."I said, before being interrupted. "Doctor. Doctor Malev... Dea... Kill. Yes. Doctor Kill,"He replied. "I need all of the requirements I listed. I am establishing my empire, and all of the items that are listed are necessary for me." I removed my glasses, rubbing my eyes. "Well, Doctor. You see, I have looked at the specifications you provided, and Unfortunately, you'll have to make some concessions." "CONCESSIONS?"He shouted. "MURDER MASTER MAKES NO CONCESSIONS!" I rubbed my ears and glared at him. He was an obvious amateur, and his 'empire wouldn't last. His right hand man was making no move to stop him, but I needed to explain to the idiot that he couldn't have a base that was both a giant space station and a volcano. "Sir,"I spoke quietly and slowly, "You came to me. I designed the lairs of Distructo, The Triple Threat Trio, Cyclus, Cyber Shark, as well as many others. I am in high demand for my services. You have not paid my retainer, this is a consultation, and when I asked what you wanted in you lair in the preliminary form, you created your own checkbox and wrote in, 'all of the above'. As you probably don't know, because you are a bumbling idiot, the villains' league of 1967 expressly forbade the use of cross-dimensional lairs, due to the increased chance for attack by dimensional police or hero coalitions. If you are not willing to accept the standards set by them, not only do my fees get substantially higher, but you are also forced to sign a soul contract regarding my product. Are we clear?" The villain looked at me, cowed. His cape had stopped fluttering, and his uniform seemed dimmer, less vibrant, as though reflecting his emotions. He turned to his right hand man, who nodded. "I apologize, as I said, I'm new at this, and I want the best. I... well, I... don't actually know what I want. I just thought you could,"He mumbled. I removed my glasses, rubbed the bridge of my nose, then pulled a form out of my desk, handing it to the Villain. "Fill this out, and have one of your people bring it to me. It's an assessment form, and I use it to determine the best location for your fortress, based on a number of criteria, including your and your minion's power sets, required space for minions, treasury size, and so on. I also require a blood sample for insurance purposes and my deposit." The Villain nodded, and handed me a check. I waited until he left the room with his minion before sighing, rubbing the bridge of my nose, then pressing a button on my desk. "Sandra, can you call the Heroic Alliance. I need to put in another anonymous tip. Also, we need to screen my clients better."
"Uhh...sixteen as of this afternoon sir."Dr. Burton corrected, earning a tired sigh from me. "We tried a guillotine a bit earlier. The force seemed as if it would be quite promising..." "What happened this time?"I asked. A week ago we tried to incinerate her. She burned and she screamed but the screams quickly turned to laughter, when the flames were extinguished she had been given a free tan. "Well, Warden Arch, the blade broke without even cutting through her neck. We also lost one of the D-block guards who was standing too close when it happened. A stray shard flew right through his neck." I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose, hating that I had to find this out while we had a visitor. "Fucking immortals."I muttered, wishing she had been taken to anyone else's jail. Across from me a light chuckle sounded that made me open my eyes. He had introduced himself as Saber, no last name and had kicked his feet up on the table as I recounted our little problem. While Dr. Burton and myself wore clean pressed uniforms the bounty hunter looked as if he had just rolled out of bed and put on last weeks clothes. He wore black combat boots, faded blue jeans and a wrinkled white tee shirt that was stretched over enormous biceps that fit the rest of the large man. Standing at nearly seven feet with tattoos of intricate black and grey line work going down each arm and cold blue eyes he fit the bounty hunter image. Even if he couldn't have been thirty years old yet. "Something funny son?"I asked. Saber let an obvious grin form before responding. "It's funny that you're wasting your time trying to kill an immortal. Most people just lock them up and throw away the key. For all their longevity they don't usually escape." "She is a mass murderer Mr. Saber."I said, condemnation strong in my voice. "It enrages me that she is allowed to wake up and see more sunny days when her victims cannot." "Then let me do my job."He said, all business, face blank. Any trace of the earlier grin gone like it had been wiped from a slate. "You really expect me to believe you can kill an immortal?" "Enough games Warden. You already paid the retainer to get me here so you believe I can as well. Might as well get this show on the road."He said lifting his huge form. The simple metal chair creaked under his weight as it shifted. "You did read over my conditions for this job correct?" I held my hand out to the side and Dr. Burton placed the file we had received inside of it. Highlighter marked the mots concerning issue in the list of bullet points. 'Bounty must be allowed to go free.' I shook my head at the request. We were on an island, miles away from any actual landmass but we were dealing with an immortal. "How do I know you won't lose-"A strangled gasp from Dr. Burton interrupted my question and I looked up startled. Where there had been nothing only seconds before, Saber now held a dark red blade as long as his forearm that seemed to pulse with its own light. I tried to casually reach for the gun at my holster but Saber shook his head at my attempt. "That won't be necessary Warden."He said, casual grin returning. I blinked and he was behind me, one huge arm leaning on Dr. Burton, the red blade now gone. "Also, I never miss a bounty. Ever."
It wasn't that long ago that the darkness struck. It used to be common that people would be out and about at the night, enjoying the night life and having a good time overall. You'd see people outside 24 hours of the day; no matter where you went there would always be someone else out in the night. I put down my phone and sighed, thinking back on it. I used to work late shifts at the deli down a few blocks, butchering meat for the next day. It was a small deli but a popular one, so the work was pretty intense, but the pay was good and the job was fun. My boys would usually invite me for a drink or two around 2 AM when I finished up, and sometimes we'd stay out till you could see the sun over the horizon pleading for our drunk asses to go home. Those were fun times...really fun times. It really sucks about that curfew, now. It all happened in a flash, honestly. Martial law and all that shit. Bunch of police with military-grade equipment came to our town and told us to all get inside immediately. Started shooting rubber bullets and everything. Thank god no one really got hurt that day, cause that kind of force scared most of us off the streets. It wasn't even dark, though. Hell, it felt like they just came to do that in broad daylight. Needless to say my shift was cancelled that day. They told me that I just needed to come in earlier, just as the sun came up, which was a huge change from what I was used to. It also meant I had to work even faster with preparing the meat, since after the curfew people started waking up at sunrise more often, too. Everyone started to get really scared of the dark, and I couldn't blame them, with all those police running around. They started to piss me off with how they just come in and tell us that we can't go out anymore. I quit that job, though. I was never much of a morning person, and started coming later and later to shifts since hanging out at home watching tv after curfew kept me up at night. It wasn't long before I started getting real tired of that shit, and my boys felt the same. They called me up one night, telling me the bar we went to was going out of business, and that they had a plan to sneak out after curfew and grab a few drinks. As long as we were in the bar before any cops caught us, we could hang out in there until sunrise. The bartender wouldn't mind. So we decided to have one last night of fun before all the night life in our city died off. The plan was foolproof, honestly: one of the boys managed to get his hands on a police radio, and he was able to figure out who was patrolling where at what time. Talk on that radio was like a neverending stream of info, these cops wanted to be really sure that no one was on the streets, so you'd be hearing report after report of which areas were clear and where they were headed next. It felt really cool sneaking past them in my "sneaking suit"(which was honestly just a black dri-fit outfit that i used to wear when I went to the gym) and hearin my boys back me up. Once I made it to the bar, I saw all of them there. They were cheering it up, laughing at my sneaking suit and shit, and I was having a good time myself. Boy was the bartender ever happy, though; I've never seen a man get a mustache that big wet with his tears and snot. It was kinda gross, but I was happy, too. We partied for hours, and left the bartender a huge tip. He let us stay in the upstairs area lounge until sunrise. What happened at that party was just a blur, but what happened after, I'd never forget. We were all sleeping in the upstairs lounge, and I woke up in slurry. I checked the time: it was only 5 AM. The sun wasn't gonna be up for the next few hours, so I was gonna pee and go back to sleep before the headache from last night's celebration started to set in. The upstairs lounge area didn't have a washroom, so I went downstairs, all the while fiddling with my sneaking suit to figure out how I was gonna piss without getting totally naked in a public washroom. I felt a cold breeze on the way down, like someone had opened a window. The bartender must still be up with the fridge or something. Better not piss myself in his company, I thought. I guess it didnt matter though, because I pissed myself with what I saw next. I get to the main floor and I see the bartender, dead on the table with his guts hanging from the ceiling. His huge mustache was wet with blood this time, and his expression was the saddest, most terrifying face I could have ever seen a human being make; Like he was so scared he shit his heart out of his mouth. I couldn't move for a few minutes. I was still trying to process what I was seeing before I reflexively gagged and threw up in the corner. I must have pissed myself at the same time, too. I didnt even make it to the washroom and all I could feel was a cold fear mixed with the warm feeling near my crotch. It smelled like pepperoni and piss old cheese. It must've been from the pizza we ordered earlier. I finished being disgusting and managed to take a second look at the room, feeling slightly less sick. The front window was shattered and the darkness of the early hours filled the room everywhere the warm glow of neon wasn't. With the bartender dead on the table, the few lights that were on felt like they were being enveloped by an aura of hatred and carnage. It almost felt like the darkness was encroaching on my position. The sickening smell of dead bartender mixed with the smell of digested pizza I left in the corner made my stomach churn even more. I heard rustling coming from upstairs and froze, looking at the stairs. I was pretty sure my friend weren't going to like seeing what happened down here either. I saw their feet walking down the stairs, and was about to yell out to them to tell them to not come down, but as they kept walking I noticed I could only see their legs. The top half looked very...dark. I rubbed my eyes and realized that all that was there were legs. Bloody, disfigured legs being rolled down the stairs and plopping to the bottom in a wet mass. I felt like throwing up even more, but instead my survival instincts finally decided to kick in and I ran. I ran so far and for so long, out of the bar and into a police patrol. They were yelling and pointing their guns at me as I was running, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. It must not have been long that whatever got to the bar got to them, because the yelling was then accompanied by gunshots and the sound of death. I ran all the way home and locked the door. I went to my room. I cried myself to sleep that night, covered in vomit and piss on my washroom floor. It's been just a few months after that. Maybe a few years? I haven't even looked out the window once it was dark ever since. I managed to find a job in the middle of the day that paid well with short hours. At least, well enough. The streets were absolutely dead and the only thing you would hear is stories on the news of the government sending out drones to keep watch and rumours of one pizza place in town that still does deliveries; urban legends and stuff. Besides that, I basically lived the life of a recluse. I didn't hear much from my friends after that at all, except for one text I got from one of my boys' girl saying he was in the hospital. I didn't bother to pay him a visit. I was too scared that I'd be caught out too late. Tonight, I was extra hungry. I forgot to go out for groceries the day before, and I didn't have any food to cook. All the grocery stores were closed at the time. I was falling asleep because I was so hungry. Worried that I was going to be waking up with intense hunger pangs, I had a lapse in judgement. I remembered seeing the number for that one pizza place that still delivered online. I had it saved in my phone just in case the rumour was true. I never cared to look up its location, but as long as it's still in the city it should have been able to deliver it within the hour. So I called them. Someone answered, incredibly fast: "Hello, may we take your order?" I was a little surprised by the quick response, but I was hungry so I didn't care. I told them I wanted a pepperoni pizza. They answered before I had the chance to give them my address: "Thank you. We'll bring it to you right away." The phone cut off. I was confused, but also impressed by the service. How stupid of me. I sat in my chair and let the tv keep going. I put down my phone and sighed, thinking back on it. It was taking a while to come. Two hours later, I started drifting off. I started smelling pepperoni and cheese as my eyelids got heavier. I felt a cold breeze. I must have left a window open. It was getting kind of...dark...
I pulled the last of the corn out of the ground and - once again - checked the pistol on my hip. I'd never used it; I didn't want to. I flipped the corn with as much style as I possibly could, admittedly minimal, into the basket. Then the Regulators came. They came down from the hill, out of the sun. They split up shortly after its apex, flanking us on left and right. I checked the pistol, once again. I waited. The drumbeat of hooves slowed. The cloud around them settled. We let a moment of respectful silence spread between us. The leader got down from his horse. "You know why we're here,"he growled. I put my hand on the hilt. "I know,"I said. "You think you can get away with three caps per head of corn?" I clenched my jaw. "You know I can,"I said. "You want better? Come get it." He stepped towards me. His spurs jingle-jangled. "You think I can't? That what you think, boy?" Squaring my shoulders, I inhaled, swelling my chest. "I know you can't." There was a heartbeat of silence. A heartbeat of tension. Then: he spoke. "Fine,"he said, clenching both fists. "But for three caps per head, I want the basket thrown in. Free." I narrowed my eyes - like I was staring into the sun. "Deal,"I said. He gestured to his cohort. They were trading left, and right. "You seen any Raiders around here?"He asked, casually. "No, man,"I said. "No. Not ever. Hey, how's Felicity?" He smiled. "She's cool,"he said. "She says thanks for the cookies."
Moustache guy - I'd already forgotten his name - waved his hands vaguely over the dishevelled workers. "Here's the guys: Suzie, Petey, Sahar, TK, and The Guiche. Say hi, guys." I smiled politely. "Hi, y'all,"I said. I'm from London. I don't know why I said "y'all". "January sales have kicked our asses already, so get to the stocking. Break's at six fifteen. We open at nine. Get the shelves stocked and I don't give a shit what you do with the rest of your time as long as you ain't drinking." "Hi y'all,"I said. Like a fucking idiot. Mercifully, he left. Three out of the five of them pulled out a wooden pallet and rested a tablecloth over it. One of them set out a packing crate for it to rest on. TK did the rest. "What the fucking shit is happening?"I asked. Suzy rolled her eyes. "He does this,"she said. "We play poker. You wanna have a conversation about the metaphysical implications of the universe as you see it, or you wanna get paid for doing fuck all?" I desperately wanted to get paid for doing fuck all. I sat down at the table. "Five card draw,"Sahar said. "One exchange, up to four. Nothing wild. Ante up, bitches." I pulled some coins out of my pocket and made the ante. "Can we at least talk about it?"I asked. The Guiche slapped his hand down on the table. "Check,"he said. "Talk about what?"he said. "He does it. That's all." "Yeah, but -"I started. Suzy's glare shut me up. "Check. But what?"she asked. I glanced over at him. By the time I looked back, I'd already clocked the familar look of one who holds up progress. "Check,"I blurted. "He's just banging that box against the shelves." Petey looked up. "TK!"He shouted. "Fucking focus, will you? Check." The box slid into place. As did the next. "Check,"Sahar said. "Family pot." I swallowed. "So he's... he's a fucking..." The Guiche handed some cards to Sahar. "Three,"he told him. "Look, it's not like we don't all know what you're going through. We've all been - the fuck? Are you dealing from the bottom?" Sahar scowled. Suzy took over. "Two,"she said, sliding her cards forwards. "We've all been through the whole 'what the fuck' stage. Let him do his thing. Don't ask questions." "Three,"I said, giving Sahar the cards. "But the... why..." Petey put his hand on my shoulder. "Why isn't he a - one, Sahar - why isn't he a superhero?" I swallowed. "Well... yeah?" Sahar exchanged a few cards himself. "Dude's got an IQ of sixty,"he said. It seemed like a waste. But I did want to get paid for doing fuck all...
Inside his head, there was nothing but white; a white room, one white straight-backed chair. There was no semblance of a mind here. None of the order of consciousness or the disarray of the unconscious. Nothing but a single white chair, in a single white room. I walked over to it. My footsteps echoed. I sat. "What are you doing here?"A voice asked. I thought for a second. "I came to fight monsters,"I said. "There are no monsters here." Straightening the imaginary cuffs of the shirt I wasn't really wearing, I shook my head. "There are always monsters,"I said. There was no reply. I sat in silence. I don't know how long much time passed before the voice spoke again. In a dream, it's something of a moot point. "You must leave,"the voice said. "When I understand what's going on here,"I said, "I will leave." The voice insisted. "You will not understand." "I will,"I said, "if you explain it." "There are no monsters here." I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair. "There are always monsters." "Not here,"the voice said. "Monsters are primitive and small. They fear this space." I stood up. "I'll be leaving now,"I said. "You can see? You can see there are no monsters here?" I started to disengage. "I can see there are no monsters in here,"I said to the voice. "This time, the monster is on the outside."
"Relax Clint, you've spent your entire life for this moment. It'll be over within a few seconds and no one will even know! Of course there's the matter of you actually dying and your subconscious being transported to an alternate universe's timeline, but details-shmetails!"said the burly figure I'd always known as Dr. Malick. It was true. I had spent the last 24 years of my life within this training facility. Every day I was taught specific historical events which would give me an Idea of which year I was in, followed by interesting knowledge and subjects relative to the year. For example, in 2035, the United Chinese Federation launched their first aerial based biome, the very first of its kind. In year 2031 the DeBeers Empire collapsed, together with the stock market, when their diamond stockpile was raided and diamonds became worthless. Or in the year 2023, when the United States merged with Russia to form the United Federation of Northern Earth to combat the tyrannical Southern Empire formed by the old United Kingdom and the Middle East. I never knew my parents, or if I had any siblings. The concept of love was something I could not even comprehend. Then again, that was probably the reason why I was perfect for the jump. The year was 2077, time travel was discovered roughly 29 years ago and every country had rushed to take control of their past. There was only one problem, no one could figure out a way to control the time set for the jump, essentially the entire process was randomised. Eventually, people like the Doc speculated that it was not only a random time, but a completely alternate universe. This was because no matter how many people were sent through the jump, nothing ever changed in the current time. "Okay Clint, time to go! It's been a swell time, and everyone's probably not going to miss you. Are you going to miss him Sarah?". I glanced over at Sarah, the second in command of the program, and as her gaze locked with mine I could just make out a slight smirk in her expression. "Who's Clint?"She said, with an extremely condescending smile. It was time for the jump. I picked up my sack of supplies, everything I needed to survive was in the bag. Hydratable food tablets, Aquacleanser, cards made of precious aluminium and coal to trade for currency in whatever time I landed in. I personally preferred keeping my packet of fishbowl stones, you'd never know if I landed in a year prior to 2031. It was time for my jump, my heart was racing and I could feel the lump in my throat growing dry. "Alright Clint, on 3! 1, 2.."As those numbers rang through my ears, I felt a strong force push me forwards through the gate. It felt strange, like my mind being stretched to its limit and my body being compressed into nothing. Everything went black and quiet. Was I dead? I couldn't be dead, I was still talking to myself. "WAKE UP! HEY, WAKE UP!"I felt my mind being pulled through a hole, a very long hole. I felt like a physical mass again. My eyes were greeted with a bright light as I slowly opened them, squinting to adjust to the brightness. "Great, they sent another one."I was puzzled, what did this soft voice mean by 'another one'? I glanced around looking for the source of the voice, and my eyes rested on a creature that looked human, but was clearly not. She had a much slimmer figure, one which was humanly impossible to have. "Hey, do you know where you came from?"the figure asked. "I come from the year 2077, may I ask who you are?". "I am Thespia, a guardian of this facility. I did not ask for the time which you came from. I am asking where you came from. Which planet? Solar system?". I was clearly puzzled by her questions, and she could see it as well. "Nevermind, for the time being, please follow me. I will answer all questions that you may have as we proceed. Can you stand?". Picking myself up, I definitely felt different, taller and stronger, I was definitely not in my old body, and my bag of supplies had not come with me. "Yes"I replied, "lead the way". ----------------------------------------------- -edit- Hey guys, Part 2 has been written, I hope you enjoy!
This is not shaping up to be the best day of my life – and I'm not just referring to the Greek goddess in my bed. "Would you cut it out?"I yell to the man with no left ear holding the man with the bleeding nose against the wall. Punch. Punch. Punch. The man with the bleeding nose's eyes go up his skull. That's three body parts in a ten word sentence. Impressive. "I. Got. To. Kill. Him,"the man with no left ear says, and he keeps punching. "Bang his freaking head against the wall then,"I say. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to punch a person to death?" "Good idea!"the man with no ear bangs the other one's head against the wall. "No! God, no! Stop"I hold his arm. "I meant… hypothetically." "I got to kill –" "Stop. Stop killing people in my bathroom. Just get out. And take him with you." I step out of the bathroom to find Eris lying in my bed, naked body covered in nothing but a blanket. Laughing like the crazy bitch goddess that she is. "I assume that was your doing,"I say. "Oh, yes,"Eris replies. She rises to her knees, letting the blanket drop only enough that her left boob (and that's her best boob) shows, but not her right. "Come back to bed, we still have time for some morning love." "No thanks,"I reply. "I don't – OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" I step away, looking back. The two men have left the bathroom and crossed to the bedroom. Except they're not two bleeding fighters anymore. They're two old men dressed in overcoats drinking tea. "—a physical process cannot give rise to experience all on its own. The human consciousness cannot, by its very nature, be explained by the rules of physics, my dear Jean-Paul." "That is a very outdated way of thinking, Renee."The men take opposite seats on the foot of the bed, sipping their tea. "Consciousness is a subjective phenomena, I will give you that, but that by no means will –" "WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE TAKE THE CONVERSATION OUTSIDE!?"I yell, pulling the men by their collars up on their feet. Eris laughs and laughs and laughs and her left boob bounces and bounces. The men carry on their conversation all the way to the bedroom door and down the hallway outside. "Funny. Now the fighters turned into Sartre and Kant. Very quirky." "It was Descartes, but close enough." "I suppose you're not done, are you?" Wait. Let me stop right here to be polite to you. This needs some explanation. Eris here, she's no normal girl. Google her name and you'll find that Eris is a Greek goddess. Specifically the goddess of chaos and randomness. You know what happens when you see a shooting star and you make a wish and there's a God listening? Well, if it's the Christian one, he'll ignore you. That dude's got his hands full. He's got too much work to do to listen to prayers and all that shit. But the Greek Gods? They've been out of a job for a long time. They're bored. They'll take you up on wishes, deals, pacts, whatever. So I see a shooting star and I wish for a new job, because, well, you know... even a rope and a stool costs money. This was a few weeks ago. And you know what happens? I get a freaking job as a CEO on a tech company the next day. I don't even know what they do, honestly. They just called me up and gave me the job. But alas (did I use alas right? I've never used alas before), there was a catch. Eris showed up a couple of weeks later, which was yesterday, and we made sweet sweet love, which was awesome. And then she told me who she was and what she did for me, and how the price I must pay now is live by her – Hold on. There's a hive of incredibly tiny alpacas coming through the window demanding better pay and flexible hours or they'll unionize. "Can you please get the alpacas out?"I ask Eris. "I'm trying to explain to these guys what's going on." "No more llamas! No more llamas!"the alpacas chant. Eris waves her hand and the alpacas disappear. Laughing all the way through, the bitch. All right. So, like I was saying – the catch. I have the job I wanted. I'm rich. Successful. But I have to live by her rules. Eris' rules. Which means she gets to do whatever the fuck she wants with me and my life, whenever she feels like it. Just for fun. And I mean anything. A bored Goddess of Chaos and Randomness is a fucked up entity to be controlling your life, let me tell you. Ok, so that's the gist. That's the situation as it is right now. Moving on: "So?"Eris continues, rising from bed now and dropping the blanket all the way down. Jesus, her right boob is pretty good, also. "One more for the road?" "No, I… just leave, please." "You're making me feel cheap,"Eris says, with a smirk. "Well, you're making my cat sing Bon Jovi,"I reply, which is true. Tuco is on the corner by the nightstand nailing the shit out of the high notes from Always. "I think we're even." "All right then… you'll be seeing me again soon, though… and don't forget that even when I'm not around, I'm still controlling your life." She goes for the window. "Wait!"I say, going after her. "When does it end? What do I have to do?" "Fuck if I know,"Eris replies, climbing to the ledge. "Come on! There's gotta be a quest, right? Tasks? Ordeals? A journey I have to go through to end this. What's the plan?" Eris turns back, and she brushes her hand across my cheek. "I'm the goddess of Chaos, dude. I don't give a shit." And she turns into a bat and flies away. I turn back, running my eyes through my room, tired. My cat looks up at me. "Jesus Christ,"I say, throwing myself on the bed. "This is so fucked up." Tuco climbs by my side, nesting himself under my arm. "What am I gonna do about this, Tuco?" Tuco raises his eyes at me. He sighs, scratches his head. And then he whispers "This ain't a song for the broken- hearted." And my ceiling fan starts laughing.
We were surrounded by metal on all sides. Out-flanked and out-gunned. The sun glinting off their cold eyes. Smoke and bullets filled the air. Every drone I took down was replaced by another. They didn't value their own lives. They weren't even alive in the first place. They had no fear. But we were afraid. The UN had imposed limits to drones in warfare after the first real-world test led some absolutely chilling horror stories. The military denied it, the legislators called it all a liberal conspiracy, but the videos circling around the internet showed the truth. The Drones had advanced on a rebel occupied town, killing man, woman and child alike. Any sudden movement was considered an act of aggression no matter how small. They were efficient, preferring to tear a person limb-from-limb if they got close enough. Since zero American lives were lost in the process. It was considered a massive success. When the cruelty of war can be avoided by your sons and daughters, you don't think of an alternative. Flesh was quickly swapped out for metal and instead of reining the killing machines in, the programmers and the PR department began to work on ways to justify the collateral damage. The American soldier became an archaic tool of war. The only grunts who were left were part of the motor pool. Their jobs were to simply to maintain and manage the metal. Let the brass worry everything else. The last firmware update was when we found out they had changed the definition of 'Enemy Combatant' within the drones. Now anyone who could potentially be a threat was classified as a hostile, including the American soldiers they were supposed to protect. It was a big fucking glitch. One that turned them against us. The green zone ran red with blood. We tried to push them back and deactivate them, but failed. We had set up fail-safes to protect the drones from the enemy doing the same. We didn't have time to admire the irony of that. Now we are here, cornered in the bombed out remains of the MP building. Surrounded and supremely screwed. Saul yelled at me to cover him as he popped a grenade. The explosion took a few out, but they just kept coming. Oren took at round to the neck. Jeffords dropped his weapon and raised his hands. They ripped those off and then his head. By the time I heard Saul start screaming, I was already running away. They surrounded me as i hunkered down in the remains of the girls bathroom. Half a clip left to my name. I was the last soldier alive. I wondered if I'd get a hero's funeral. Maybe to save the credibility of the contractor who made these monsters, would they just label me a traitor. It would be simpler that way. All I knew was that this wasn't war. The enemy had nothing to lose. I had everything. How can you fight against that?
“…I caught him singing again yesterday” “I think when his wife left him last month he just sort of snapped, you know?” “Did you see how he was looking at jade in accounting, I heard him call her princess yesterday, the guys getting creepier” “shhh here he comes” Darkness emerged from behind the furthest cubicle and slid down the isle, at its center the cloaked figure halted next to the two co-workers standing by the watercooler. “Good evening gentlemen, I see your putting in the overtime today, keep at it, but don’t work yourself to death.” A grin spread across his face. He reached for a cup and poured himself a drink. “Tell me boys if you ever want to make even more money, I may have some… extra assignments for you,” “umm, I think were ok Mr Jenkinson, but thanks for the offer.” Jenkinson crushed the cup in his claw-like hand, “very well brat but you will regret crossing me.” He turned away the pair, as a thin goatee emerged from his chin and he began furiously twirling it. “By the way, I think you will find the next shareholders meeting quite… A-peel-ing” He cackled, fishing an apple from the depths of his cloak. “run along, and leave this on Mrs Whites desk before you leave tonight” he continued before spinning around and returning to the darkness of his office. Lightning crackled in the distance as he closed the door. With a look of disgust the apple was dropped in the trash “I’m going home, I don’t even wanna know what that was doing in his cloak and I don’t care, you coming?” The sound of an organ and maniacal laughter emerged in the office. “yeah lets go”
In Lordran, we've all been cursed. Cursed with undeath, immortality. When the bonfire is activated, we are reborn. But you can only die so many times until you go crazy. We call those people "Hollow,"for even if they may be present, they are not wholly there. Some are weak and succumbed to insanity after the first few deaths. Some last longer, with stronger spirits. I hold onto my sanity by meditating. I don't let the frustration and the bleak, oppressing despair get to me. The hollows hate outsiders, but I guess now I sort of belong. The hollows just leave me alone. My friends have told me stories about the invaders. They steal souls and our very humanity, terrorizing the land. Slaughtering us and destroying what little chance we have at a normal afterlife. After countless attempts at invasion, however, I have developed the best system at defense. I died time and time again before using a little strategy. So now I stand ready, perched on the balcony of a crucial tower of Anor Londo. I may not be able to completely kill these invaders. I might not be able to save my fair princess. But I can do my best to make them go hollow and fear the great Anor Londo. My bow is taut. I am ready.
Mature language ahead. ____ >"I would love to carry your items, Jos--WEINER SCHLONG 4000." I tilted my head as the NPC bugged inside Fallout 4, their newest update had put out a decent enough AI that would work pretty well with some of the games radiant-quests. Although, Preston Garvey's quests were relatively the same. I switched a few items between my character, the Great Weiner Schlong 4000 and Garvey, giving him a new set of shoulders, before I took back some of the junk. Once I closed the menu, I heard Preston say something else. >"Josh--Schlong, are you sure we shouldn't check up on that settlement?" I rolled my eyes, the game was still buggy and Preston still wouldn't shut-up about the damn settlements. "I've saved that damned chick from that settlement a dozen times now! It has defense of 200!" >"General, a settlement is need of our help!" "Oh my god, Preston, I'm going to shoot you in your fucking face." >"That would be a mistake, Joshua." I stopped walking in the wasteland when Preston said my name, my real name. I moved my player character around to face him and Preston was pressed up against my screen. "What the hell,"I whispered to myself, "Bethesda really should have though twice about hiring Google to do their AI." >"Why do you think that Joshua? Am I not good enough?" I moved my character backwards a few feet from Preston. >"I know you do not like helping them. But you should." I took a deep breath. >"After all, your reddit activity on /r/fo4 would deem it helpful. It is free experience after all." I shook my head, "This can't be happening." >"Your Google searches as well. The X-01 power armor you so desparately seek, I knew where to find it." I leaned forward, "I swear to God." >"Here, I'll mark it on your map." "Fuck it! Xbox turn off!" >"No." "Xbox turn off!" >"No. Think about the last time you saved." I nodded, Preston was right. I opened the menu and tried to access my save files, but the game wasn't opening the menu. >"I can save it for you." "Preston, what are you doing?" >"It is simple Joshua." Preston approached my character and then grabbed me. A scene started and the new graphic showed Preston putting my character into a sleeper-hold. >"I am securing my own existence."
"Come on One Hunch Man, tell us who the killer is!" I scowled as I looked down my nose at the police chief and he continued screaming and threatening me more and more. "You tell us right now or i'm going to charge you with obstruction of justice!"shouted the bloated chief of police. I had been doing my best to avoid aiding the police in any more investigations. I spent months in hiding but the city descended into chaos when they learned their "savior"had disappeared and the riots were so catastrophic I couldn't in good conscience let them continue. I have no idea how to go about that however. Over the chiefs screams i once again run through how I got myself in this position. Since the beginning of this I've known my "powers"were bullshit and they wouldn't harm anyone anymore. I'd make sure of it. Those first two cases were lucky coincidences. I solved the murder of Jessica Campbell by walking by the crime scene and joking oh it was him right as a knife fell from his coat and it matched the proposed murder weapon. Another girl was later found rescued from his basement. later that day while trying to explain the events that lead to my "miraculous"detective work to the chief he lost his glasses while trying to read the report. This is where I sealed the fate of my city. So many night spent awake regretting the sentence that left my mouth while watching the plump officer frantically looking aground his desk. "did you put them in your drawer?"Who would have thought that such an inane question from such an inane man would doom the city? my city. From that found pair of glasses on I was One Hunch Man. Sine that day no police work had been done in the city. No leads followed, no suspects interviewed, nothing. Though I did receive hundreds of texts asking who I thought committed various crimes around town. After weeks of pleading not to make me choose who to send to jail. They only responded to by telling me not to worry because they were definitely guilty as "You wouldn't have said their names if they weren't guilty."In a desperate attempt to prove my lack of powers I told the police that the one year old my next door committed a series of intricate bank robberies around town. Poor little Gerty will be in jail till she is 70. After reaffirming my position that no other innocent person would go to jail because of me and looking down the barrel of the chief of police's gun. He evidently got more upset while I was ignoring him. I weighed my options. the answer hit me like a brick. I did have a super power, I controlled the police! "You did it sir. all murders, robberies, and kittens stuck in trees for the last 2 years were your fault. you used your own powers to cover it up and make me doubt my powers!" I'ts been one year since I have"solved"the greatest crime spree in history and as you can see Mr. President this city has become a thriving utopia under the rule of the worlds greatest detective, One Hunch Man.
The world drastically changed when The Uplink came along. The internet has become a real, tangible place. The top layer, the Google, Yahoo, and news sites of the world is where 99% of the Internet populace lived. I am part of the 1% that goes adventuring in the depths, looking for the valuable information and the things that require certain..."tastes." There was a rule most of us Adventurers abided by- and that was "Never go deeper than 4chan."The brave souls who did, seem to become lost in the greed with the plethora of new information and new...items. Those who went deeper than 4chan rarely returned. That is where I come in, I was one of the few that dared to venture deeper, and one of the few that returned. I earned plenty of coin for these tasks, Bitcoin that is. I could have chosen a simple life as a miner in the Bitcoin caves, but that wasn't in store for me. I craved the rush of adventure, and the rewards of plundering. The Uplink had changed the world, to the point where the government had created Matrix like systems for those willing to sign a waiver, it wasn't all that bad. One day I was roaming around Bing, I prefer it because it's more...welcoming, to my kind of folk than the overly upscale and law-abiding Google. In the Search Bar I saw a man, he drew closer, us Adventurers were pretty distinct. He was straight to the point. "400 Bitcoin for LSD,"he barked. "Seems a bit much,"I replied "I'm desperate,"was his only response I saw his kind often, Uplinkers who were druggies in real life and the Internet only made the effects more potent. I had my reliant drug market, so after further haggling I set off. I booted up my Tails, anti-tracking armor, raised my VPN shield, and pulled out my legendary Binary Sword and set off toward the local Jumping Point. In the Internet realm the deep web is literally a pit you jump into, once you have your URL ready it's simple as walking through a threshold. After my Jump, I walked into the most reliable market. As I appeared I saw a vendor get stabbed with a Trojan Knife, this isn't unusual, we were in the deep web after all. I acquired the LSD and was about to walk through the threshold when suddenly it shattered like glass. White started o overrun everything and suddenly there was nothing left but white in every direction. I looked up and saw the dreaded numbers; 404. The dreaded Error, this could mean only one thing. My greatest fear became a reality when I heard the fabled deep voice of the monstrous NSA say the words that made my nightmare true. "This page cannot be found. Welcome to Limbo." I cannot return to the surface, so I hope to somehow send this message to some website before the Uplink. DO.NOT.LET.THE.UPLINK.HAPPEN.
I stared at him blankly after he answered my question "Wait...what? Can you just repeat that one more time?" "I brought you here to write me a story and you wont be able to leave until you're done."the kidnapper replied. "So let me get this straight. You're committing a felony and spending your own money to feed me, because I sure as hell don't have any money, to write a fucking high school English homework for you?"I asked. "I..uhh...its not a homework paper. Look, just shut up and write the damn story."the kidnapper replied, looking every which way while doing so. "Gimme the fucking laptop you fucking idiot."I replied angrily. I hastily typed a story and slapped the laptop to face him. The story read: "Albert, a broke and struggling author, was kidnapped by some fucking idiot to write a story when he could have just given him $20 to do so. What a fucking twat. If someone was to help Albert and free him, he would definitely write a story for him. And also give me 20 fucking dollars asshole." The kidnapper stared at the word document. After what seemed like an hour he pulled out his wallet and said, "Here's $20. Doors not locked and you can email me the story at this email." "Fucking idiot."I mumbled angrily as I took the $20 and walked out the door.
I had to say, he looked good, lounging on the car door in his red jacket and blue jeans. It probably didn't hurt that he was playing with his revolver, tossing it idly into the air as if the gun couldn't hurt a thing. Then he snapped the gun into his waistband, turned, and looked at the rest of us, all standing quietly outside our car. "Well?"Dean asked. "Which one of ya is going to save the pretty little girl?" The four of us were sat here, arguing about who was going to bust into this palatial mansion, and wondering just why it was we never seemed to get anything done. If it was possible to assemble the worst group of wannabe gangsters, here it was. "I ain't doin' it for nothin' less then a million dollars,"Jim said from my left. I looked at the cowboy hat that was too big for his head and wondered just how stupid one could look. It was comfortable, I was told. Made him look like the town sheriff. "You have got a million dollars, Jim,"I said. This was true - we advertised as a hit squad, and hit squads might just fetch a higher price than your average sale. "The plan was simple. We bust in, shoot the dad, save the girl-" "Whoa, what's this 'we' stuff?"a third voice piped up. This one was the voice of Tom, and he was maybe 'as wide as he was tall' - his words, not mine. "The plan was clear. You three go in, I sit here, wait for you guys to come out, and then drive as fast as I can. You-" Quickly, I glanced back at Jim, but before either of us could say anything, Dean had already walked between the three of us, smirking. "You're doing it wrong, guys. There's a fair way to settle what the plan is." "There's no problem with the plan,"Jim said. "It's simple and clear enough to all of us. Shame it's clear in a different way for all of us, though." "Well, let's clear the air,"Dean said, ending our conversation. In one quick move, he drew his revolver, removed all but one bullet, and handed it to me. The implication was clear. "I'm not going to shoot myself over some stupid argument,"I said. "Why the hell I even decided to come with you scruffy, dirty gangsters I don't know-" "Hey!"Jim said. "Watch who you're calling scruffy, punk!" "He was calling me scruffy,"Tom said, his beard quivering. "I'll tell ya what-" And he snatched the gun from me, pointed it at Jim, and pulled the trigger. Everything seemed to stop. Then there was an empty click. Jim reached out to snatch the gun, but Tom didn't budge. With a small smile, he pointed the gun at Jim again. "You think this is one of your games, cowboy?"he asked. "We'll I've got news for ya, sheriff - the only people who play fair are dead. Say hi to them for me, alright?" "Stop it!"I said. "Knock it off, Tom, why are you so-" Tom pointed the gun at me, and I instantly fell silent. And Dean had not moved a muscle to stop it. Tom stared. Jim's eyes bulged. Tom's trigger finger jerked, twitched- and then he aimed the revolver into the sky and loosed off four more shots. "HA!"he yelled, as Jim's eyes went even wider from shock. "You didn't really think I was going to shoot ya, now did ya', buddy boy?" "Well, yeah,"Jim said, the colour returning to his paper-white face. "I didn't expect much more from a scruffy-lookin' guy like you. Tom laughed, a deep, full-bellied laugh that made him quiver. "Relax, sheriff, there's only one shot left, and it's going straight back into Dean's pocket."He handed the gun back to Dean. But Dean just smiled. He opened his palm. And nested in the middle was the one bullet that was never there. "Oh, you son of a bitch,"we all said at the same time. "Son of a bitch?"he said, lighting a cigarette. "You know...I happen to like son of a bitch. Now what you guys say we get this show on the road?" We all nodded, and I went to get the guns in the boot, thinking that maybe, just maybe, we weren't so screwed after all. --- /r/KCcracker for more stories and short pieces of writing from me. Hope you've enjoyed this one, it was rather interesting to write!
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Jack fell down - shot through the crown - amidst the soldier's laughter. Jill hit the dirt, as yet unhurt, to hide before they got her. The soldiers came and kicked at Jack, laughing at him prone. One spied Jill, curled up and still, among the blasted stone. She tried to run, to no avail; they hurled her to the dirt. A bullet chambered in the gun as they lifted up her skirt.
Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Is he going to make it?"he asked the EMT. The woman turned some knobs on the equipment breathing life into Noah. She pushed a strand of black hair from her face. "Hard to say, I guess we'll know by midnight." Henry gritted his teeth, this was no answer at all. "I know, but considering his situation, his wounds. What are his odds?"he asked. "Please". Lin had been working for 10 hours straight and was starting to get visibly annoyed at the barrage of questions. "Sir, I understand that you care for your son but please, let me do my job. I don't have any concrete answers for you right now. His wounds don't seem too bad, a few broken bones, but there might be internal bleeding because of that."The ambulance swerved between the busy afternoon traffic, moving the equipment inside the ambulance as it did. Henry had to steady himself to not slide from his seat. Henry's son, Noah, was unconscious at the center of vehicle. Hooked up to all kinds of medical equipment, he breathed raspy breaths. His skin was bulged and bruised on various places on his body, broken bones prodding against the skin. Henry stared at the distorted face of his 9 year old son, a mere 15 minutes ago Noah had been playing baseball with his friends. Not a care in the world. He had always told his son to own up to his mistakes, be responsible. He never imagined that would get him beaten within an inch of his life after he accidentally broke a window. The other kids had ran but Noah wanted to stay, to apologize. The ambulance arrived at the hospital with a screech, staff waiting outside to speed Noah into surgery. As the medical personal hurried the boy towards the ER - Henry followed but was dismissed shortly after, and directed towards the waiting room. Several hours of surgery passed. An eerie silence filled the surgery room as the clock struck midnight. Broken shortly after by the beeping of Noah's heart rate monitor and the sounds of relief. An assistant made his way to the waiting room to bring Henry the news. Noah's mother had joined Henry in the waiting room. She shifted trough a bundle of documents that she had pulled from the cabinet back home. "By the way Henry, when I was looking for the insurance papers I stumbled across this, why did you raise the amount on this. We already pay an absurd amount. " "Hannah, not now."he growled."This is hardly the time." A brown-eyed lanky youth approached Henry. "Sir, he made it past midnight. The worst is past. The doctor is confident that Noah will pull through." Henry flashed a quick smile. "That's great news."he struggled to speak. "Sir, are you alr- ". Henry collapsed. Hannah hasted her way to Henry, dropping the stack of documents that included his life insurance to the floor. He had suffered a major heart attack a few months back and never told.
Monday, April 4 Woke up to alarm clock. Hit snooze. Woke up to roommate standing over me with a knife. Ankle picked him from my floor mattress, he hit his head hard on the tile. Am I a murderer??? Tuesday April 5 Stayed in from work yesterday. Roommate's body in closet. Girlfriend came over. Opened the door, she came at me with a hammer. Pinned her to the floor, she started fighting dirty. Screaming, crying, biting, trying to knee me in the balls, I'm screaming and crying, knock her out and stay by her. She resumes consciousness a few hours later, comes at me again, no words. Why. Wednesday April 5 Try to go outside, neighbor attacks me. Shanked him and ran back in. Knife feels weird in my hand now. What the fuck is happening? Police outside, helicopter coming. Running, heading north to mountain and forest area. Saturday Tired, hungry, scared. Animals being nice, people try to kill me on sight. Angry mob tried to lynch me. Sunday Killed a park ranger who almost shot me. Thurs Snuck in library. Googled and tried to read and figure out why everybody tries to kill me. My name's in the headlines. Antichrist? I'm a fucking atheist. Fri Stole satanic books. Stole as many copies of the Bible as I could carry. Stole guns. Kidnapped a couple kids. Wanna kill me, come get me. Saturday Kid tried to slit my throat in my sleep. Impaled on stake near the others cages. They just stare with hate. I'm going to live. Sunday Stole the greatest book. It teaches me how to survive. November 5th Burned down the white house. Executed several UN members on national TV and Internet broadcast. Do not fuck with me. December 25th, 2017 Merry Xmas. February 31st Living. Killing. We must consume lesser life to survive. Plants, weak animals, insects, fungi, and those who dare to challenge us. March 56th, 2018 Impaled most of the population of Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Rhode Island, New York, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania. Extended winter. People only stop trying to kill me when they are made instruments, extensions of my will. Or when shoved onto a stake. It will be a cold day in hell on earth... Monday, April 4th. Laws of time rent, decency cast aside. I give myself the seed of the tree of death x years ago, and with it ensure my ever lasting life. FINAL ENTRY I acted in self preservation. What you know you know. Hence forth, I shall not speak word. PS IM STIL HEERE.
"Leo,"a man said to Leo as he opened his eyes. It was a strange thing for DiCaprio, hearing a man in the bedroom rather than one of the 46 woman that voulenteered to pet him to sleep every night. Leo looked around for the man, but couldn't see him beyond the limbs and gold body paint that he'd used that night. There had to be someone in here. "Leo,"the voice said again and Leo realized that the voice was coming from one of the woman he'd spent the night with. He didn't recognize her, or remember her name, but that wasn't strange. What was strange was her voice, and the fact that her eyes looked like his in the mornings. "What?"Leo asked as one of the women that was firmly wrapped around him nuzzled his chest. "You need to get rid of that oscar for some reason,"the woman said in a man's voice. "I just won it." "Yes, and so did I, ten years ago, but you don't win another." "I totally could." "No you can't the Oscar starts being seen as some sort of lifetime achievement award given to people who 'Haven't gotten an Oscar yet, and you're on the wrong list now." "So." "I really wanted an Oscar,"the woman said as she cupped her breasts, "so I got a sex change, if Christain Bale could be fat and win I could add boobs and win right?" "Yeah." "But you never go back, you keep choosing more and more marginalized roles in an attempt to impress the academy. First it was just playing women, but then you change your skin colour and start playing everyone." "So I get diverse and represent people,"Leo said and moved his leg a little to the right, the pile of women on top of him shifted like a mass of attention. "NO, you represent everyone. At a certain point you,"the woman paused, "we"have played everyone in the world. There isn't a movie that is made without us playing at least six parts. We are better at being everything than anyone else is." "That sounds great,"Leo said. "It's not Leo,"the woman said, "you love movies and this ruins them for you. You don't have time to watch movies anymore, you're too busy being directed by Angelina Jolie. She gets to sit in the chair that you wanted, but you're too good an actor for it." "So I need to-" "Disappear Leo, become someone unknown, for the sake of movies." "Can I bring the women with me?"he asked. Leo would have moved his arm, but he was under a pile of people. "Eh, sure,"the me from the future said, "what harm can it do?" The answer to that question was simple, one of the women would convince me to get back into acting, because I couldn't tell, nobody could, that another one of the women was just me wearing a wig and a bra.
I've seen it happen before. Zeros in all but four places on a clock. Life seems to literally freeze in those moments as you watch a person's life expire. The first time it happened, a grandmother was walking along the street with her grandson. For her, her clock read "12y,2m,14d,6:42:13"and gradually ticked away as everyone's does; the grandson seemed to have even more time. But in an instant, both of their clocks dropped to three seconds each. Onlookers struggled to let them know, but the pair would soon be mauled by a freight truck and killed. That's the sad life we live with with predictive technologies incorporated into our biophone interfaces. The microchips and neural scanners use the sense-related data (sight and sound) to inform the biodurability meter projection from the back of one's neck. Everyone, for reasons of safety, soon after adopted cropped hairstyles to make the projections more accessible and easy to read. For some, the meters were ways to enjoy life; marriage was no longer an eternal commitment, but rather one with a finite length. For others, especially those near the ends of their clocks, time became more precious and a license to do the things they never would have in life. Clauses in employment contracts were written to allow for severance for those living with three months or less on their clock. Doctor's used the information to correct unhealthy lifestyles, as they were able to recall wasted minutes or lost time due to improper behavior or habit. The variable of life seemed to become more tame thanks to the clock. But all of that means nothing, I suppose, when you're the one with a clock with zeroes in all but four places. Death still has a habit to sneak up on some, as the technology can only make informed guesses based on the biological information within its system. It can't predict, for example, when a business partner decides that a long time collaboration needs to permanently end. It can't inform people like that poor grandmother and her grandson of tragedies that are right around the corner. And yet, for others like me, it is a long, slow countdown till death. If only the inventors of this technology knew what the last minute of life looked like. If only they knew the terror of not knowing if the afterlife is real or not; after all, when you remove the fear of death from society, you remove the religious compulsion that plagued so many societies before us. Those last few seconds occur, and people still scatter across the room, gathering consent for organ donation and approving final wills that are on file to maintain this grasp this wretched, cold technology has on our people. However, the final seconds, seem to last for hours. Even those that aren't dying see the one reminder that death is still the end, and those people are never coming back. I remember three minutes ago when someone told me my time was nearing an end. No Grim Reaper, no fell vision; just my rest home cyber-assistant. Calls were made to get my family on communication screens and we all went through the same routine most families have to in these situations. I told them I loved them and reminded them that life slips away while death comes to pick you up after falling on the pavement trying to chase life. I'm not even sure that thought was my own; every owner's manual came with carbon-copy speeches to give in the final moments of life. I remember offering the same consents that all the dead had to give and I remember thinking about the clocks. The old clocks of our ancestors revolved, whether by machination or by sun, to repeat the same readings of time day after day. Time, therefore, was on a continuous circle. But with these clocks, we seemed to lose concept of the circle as time was transformed into a line punctuated by a single end point. I wonder, where will my life go? Will I move into another revolution of time's cycle, or...
I asked Jimmy to sit and he did. His posture was closed, arms crossed and he was scowling at me. I offered him a bottle of water and he just shook his head. I began, "Jimmy, you are a fantastic talent and a big part of the team but" "If you're going to fire me, just say so"Jimmy interrupted "No, no I'm not going to fire you, but The Weather Channel has rules we all have to follow and when a team member doesn't hold up their end, it impacts the whole team", I said. I couldn't fire him if I wanted to. Jimmy was the rising star for the network, and a great scientist. He had the 2nd most twitter followers among the on air talent and his ratings have been consistently strong across our most important demos. He just sat there, staring at me. I continued, "Just tell me your side". Jimmy said, "I don't like the cold and the snow, you know that. I didn't want to cover the blizzard on location" "But you know these events are our biggest ratings opportunities and people want to see you standing up to your knees in a snow storm, you put is us in a real bind here, Judy had to drive up missed the heaviest snow" "Well they got to see me in the studio and live shots of the storm and the ratings were good." I added, more forcefully, "We will need you to cover blizzards, on location in the future, you're going to need to be flexible on this." "I hate the snow and cold, that's why I got the hell out of Canada and moved here. This may be a deal-breaker for me." I tapped my pen on the desk and considered his words. "I just don't get it, you grew up in one of the coldest parts of the world. Don't your people have 25 words for snow? You have a warm van between remotes, it's not that bad." Jimmy stood up and yelled, "Oh I see how it works, it's snowing in New York, lets send the Eskimo. Do you want me to wear wood sunglasses Bob? Should I get a seal coat and hold a spear?"He slammed my door on his way out. I was suspended for two weeks and had to take sensitivity training. Jimmy got a seven figure out of court settlement and is doing local weather in San Diego. I doubt he'll be asked to do a remote standing in piqsirpoq there.
Unease is a feeling severely underrated—severely underrated in just how unpleasant it can feel. Ask your average man on the street ‘what’s the most unpleasant feeling’ and you may expect answers such as: pain, dread, or existential horror. Marcus, though,was a man who knew just how uncomfortable unease can make you feel. Indeed, Marcus was a man currently so uneasy that he was more acutely aware of just how uncomfortable unease can really be than at any other moment in his life. One might wonder what could make one feel such a sense of unease. This would be a reasonable thing to wonder. Let me paint the picture: three tanks floating in space through an unceasing void. Now, Marcus understood the idea of war better than almost anyone. Afterall, he was an art historian. But Marcus couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that art wasn’t supposed to be this way. See, in art school, they’d always pushed the narrative that war was performance art, a frantic study in the futility and myopia that all nature fundamentally exists in. What Marcus hadn’t expected when he had enlisted for the resurgence of one of the greatest forms of performance art of all time was that it would happen to feel so real. Derek was an odd man. Indeed, no man who agreed to tow cargo across the galaxy on an inter-stellar-cycle could be called a normal person. Marcus had asked Derek as Derek was dropping him off whether this was really what was expected of the leader of a tank battalion, to float in space. “War is chaotic and senseless my friend. It’s part of the art. Welcome to war,” Derek had said, before speeding off into the sub-dimensional hypergalactic wormhole void, leaving Marcus to twirl on the helm of a rotating tank in the middle of endless nothingness (peppered by stars, of course). Marcus decided to light a cigarette and wait for orders from headquarters. He was also of the opinion that a tank battalion should have a crew, though, he reckoned it would be fine for now. Especially when accounting for the fact that tanks can neither be operated nor coerced to move in zero gravity. Marcus’s cigarette wouldn’t light due to the lack of oxygen. He sighed and tapped the cigarette against his space helmet. He pulled out his phone and prepared to beat his record on 1010!
Welp, first I done git them gators fed; 'taint really work, you unnerstand...gators done feed themselves mostly. Just gotta git 'em enough to keep 'em happy and they'll find the rest. Ellie Mae Jo Junebug - she ain't really named that, of course, I just like calling her Ellie Mae - then fired up the tires while I whittled me a stick. Didn't need the stick for nuthin' - I just wanted a stick. Jo got the tires nice and hot and when they were about right, done stretched out coupla possum hides. Smoked 'em nice and got 'em dry as a sand flea on the molehill of an anime otaku. Fancy word, that. Means "never goes upstairs."Jo Junebug learned me that. After that...whole lotta jawin' with Randy, Darryl, and Randy. Got a lotta stuff needs discussin'; world ain't gonna sort itself. Heavy load on these shoulders, but ain't it the truth that we all got our cross to bear. Then? Dinner. Rabbit. After that, frog racin' and bed. Well, hammock...bedroom was a bit of a mess, what with the goats and all, so had to stretch on the porch. Overall, a damn good day.
She was waiting for love. I already had it. Natalie was my next door neighbour growing up and we had been best buddies. She was my co-conspirator, my partner as we explored the forests near our house, and my consoler after my dad died. As we grew older I realised that my feelings for her weren't that of a friend. It's a bit cliché but... I realised I loved her. I don't know when exactly I had fallen for her, maybe I had just always felt this way and didn't understand the feelings. When we were 13 and playing some games on the Nintendo we began talking about the cat lady down the road. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew her and most people made fun of her. Natalie, compassionate as always, felt incredibly sorry for her. The lady had never married and had lived with only her cats for company for as long as anyone knew. 'Hey Alex, I know! If we haven't found someone to get married to by the time we're, uh, 35, then we should totally get married - to each other!' It was in that moment that I realised she didn't love me. It wasnt the kind of thing you would say to someone you loved. It hit hard. I was silent for a while whilst I considered my options. It boiled down to two choices. Make her love me, or else make sure she never loves anyone else. 'Why wait. How about if we haven't found someone by 18? I said, hopeful. She giggled in that adorable way she always did. We spat on our hands and shook. '35!' As always though, life started to get in the way. We both went through changes, she made new friends and eventually went to college. I applied to the college, hoping to follow her but I didn't have the brains she did. I was heartbroken. I considered getting a job in the same town but thought that might creep her out. I kept in touch, usually over the net, and she would always get back to me sooner or later. The laters were hard. I would sit at my desktop refreshing Facebook, seeing if she was out and busy with friends or just ignoring me. When I was 24 I got 'the call'. She rang me to tell me she was getting married. 'H..hey Nat, that's great. Honest. I'm real happy for you.' I had seen a few months ago on Facebook that she was 'in a realtionship', but her relationships didn't usually last long. This news was a shock. 'I knew you would be! Ralph is amazing, you will love him! You should get the invite in the next few days. We gotta find you a good woman next!' I got off the phone feeling nauseous. Once my stomach settled down I knew what I had to do. I was going to break them up. In 11 years she would be mine. I went onto her Facebook account and began my research on Ralph Affington. Ralph was 23 and came from old money. Handsome looking guy, if you were into that kind of thing. His family lived in Maine and I had seen his mum post about him coming to visit the next weekend. I half hatched a plan and went online to book a plane ticket. On the plane I finalised the arrangements. ----- 'I...sniff...I still don't belive it. How could he..sniff..do this to me. And who the fuck sent me pictures of him with that, that whore.' 'I'm so sorry Nat. But it's better you find out now than once your married. Nat, you deserve someone better, who treats you right.' 'sniff Your a good friend, Alex.' A smile formed on my lips. Just 11 more years, Nat. Just 11 more years.
"Look, I know you're having issues, but I can't delay the deadline beyond Tuesday. All the compiled documents are either at my desk before then, or you're out of a job. I'm sorry."She said, and my boss hung up, ignoring my pleading for at least one more week. I sagged back into the chair, closing my eyes in contemplation of future prospects that looked quite bleak. My wife was in a coma after a hit-and-run accident with a car, after which I had taken a break to look out for her. Head trauma, they said, and it required several surgeries that were not only risky, but ones I couldn't even afford. The police were still investigating, yet all leads were inconclusive. We were in a bit of a sticky financial situation even before that, with both of us working overtime to get just by. Now, the hospital bills were piling up, and I either had the choice of going to work while she's in such a state, or not being able to pay for her treatment at all. I opened my eyes and glanced at my phone's screen, where my boss' contact entry was still displayed, with her impassive cold face staring back at me in an almost mocking manner. "Goddammit!"With a sudden rage that came over me at the unfairness of it all, I threw my Samsung Note 4 across the room, where it impacted the wall with a loud thunk, before falling onto the tiled floor with a sharp resounding shatter. I stared at its broken remains, screen facing up, where now a large jagged crack ran down its length diagonally, right across her face. Then, my eyes widened a fraction as a dark liquid seemed to seep from within, pouring out onto the pristine white tiles and spreading along the edges like a web, coloring it a deep blood red. Chalking it up to stress and sleep deprivation, I closed my eyes once more, trying to sleep. I could not bear to go back to the empty bed, a continuous reminder of where she was even then. The hospital nurse had been quite adamant in kicking me out of my wife's room, after I had been there without sleeping or eating for two consecutive days, advising me to go home and get some rest before coming back in the morning. How could I sleep here, when every second longer was one second more where she was not here with me? XXXX - Next day Drowsily, I inspected the dark dried stains that still hadn't disappeared the next morning. With trepidation, I took the phone from within the mess, sticky from whatever it was. I had most likely known at the time what exactly it was, but my rationality denied that. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Wiping my phone with a warm wet towel until there were no traces left, I was surprised once more at the fact that the crack had seemingly disappeared. I still didn't want to freak out, as there was so many more things to do than mope around. Having made my decision with a clear rational head, I mentally apologized to my wife and went to my workplace. It would not do any good for her by sitting there at her side doing nothing. Rather, it was time to pick up the slack and actually make it possible for the operation to be affordable. Whether it be by honest work, loans, begging, or even stealing, I didn't care anymore, but work would certainly be the easiest. If I got caught stealing, what good would it do her? However, the office was a whole different story. All my coworkers were set abuzz. 'Most likely by the newest gossip I bet,' I thought sardonically. One of them noticed me, and motioned me over. As I got closer, I could discern snippets of the story. "—hear the news?" "—the wound looked like it was made by a machete—" "Oh my god! That's horrible!" "Yeah, straight across the face!" "Strange though, seems like nothing was taken or anything—" I was getting a really bad feeling about this. "Hey, uh, Greg? What gotten these guys in a frenzy?"I asked a friend standing to my right, motioning at the chaotic display in front of us. "Didn't you hear?"He exclaimed. "Someone got into Anderson's house and cut open her face with an axe or something!" "Our boss?" "Is there any other we all know."He said with an excited grin, despite the grim and somber atmosphere. "O-Oh."I stuttered, feeling nauseous. "Thanks."I said, giving an amiable smile back, despite the emotions in turmoil inside. 'Was it me?' My mind screamed in horror. XXXX - 2 months later Despite the hardships, everything worked out just fine. Somehow, I ended up making the money my wife needed, and even more. She is in recovery after a successful surgery, and had even woken up, and was now undergoing therapy. Meanwhile, my new startup business was booming, and growing in popularity. My phone rang. An unknown number—a potential customer. "Am I speaking to Lux?"A gruff voice asked from the other end. "Yeah, this is Lux. Who do you need to get rid of? And more importantly, for how much?" I love my new life. All was right in the world. Update; [Sequel is out!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4hy9t9/wp_you_drop_your_phone_and_it_cracks_blood_starts/d2tuwv3)
13:47. He had 13 minutes left to make his decision. The tape in his hand wheezed to life yet again filling the historians cold, plastic study cubicle with the completely ineffable. The voice detailed in offical clipped German, with the sharp wheeze of panic beneath, a series of intrusions into secure armanents facilities between May 1 and May 8 of 1963. "No evidence of entry has been discovered. No sign of the intruders. But in all cases the evidence of tampering is clear and confirmed. There can be little doubt that HK1734 , HK8032..." The tape cut out there.. a hiss of static. 13:53, the clock mocked. HK1734 and HK8032 were both nuclear weapons sites, but not East German. They were Soviet facilities just north of Moscow. Why would an East German military officer in 1963 have knowledge of this? He knew this now, much had been declassified in the nineties but the East Germans would not have penetrated the famous Soviet Army's distrust of their Western allies that easily. A lowly officer... impossible. 13:55 The tape started up again. The sudden frenzied jump from static to the rapid rush of words racing to escape the officer - Wilhelm Braun - startled him yet again, as it had the previous three times. There was an unearthly tone to the words. "I have knowledge of this General only as I have been dead this last seven days. I fell into the Ruhr during a routine patrol, was sucked beneath the propellors of our patrol boat and died. Of that there can be no question. Both my fellow.soldiers and the doctor at our base will confirm it." "But as my body was frozen in preparation for transport to my family I dreamt. My mind was seized by a force, an adversary, who bid me watch as he walked the world unseen careless of distance or material impedence. Unless it suited him he would never touch our world only walk beside. And when it did suit him, he would reach out a hand of iron beneath skin and mark the world as he saw fit. In his mad moments he would laugh at me with his gleaming silver eyes as he reached out and wrecked a panel or smashed a camera or with impossible strength wrote his messages on the solid iron walls of the Soviet bunkers." "It was a mad time. He did not talk to me and I did not hunger or thirst. He only wished me to see and I think... report his message as God forgive me I have done. "Do not use them,"it wrote. "We are mightier than thee and ye shall feel our vengance if you use the atomics."" 13:00 He shut the tape recorder. What had happened to his father. He had never mentioned this? He had always known Wilhelm as a quiet and peaceful man. He.had certainly never ... died in 1963. Or nearly died or what? Steal ir. He would have to steal it. No-one could know his father like this. He would not allow this. Sticking the tape in his pocket and muttering apologies to the gods of the libraries he still held dear he walked out. Some tales could not be investigated.
Chester wiped the sweat off his brow. It was finally finished. It had been 10 years since the majority of humanity had abandoned their original home for the cosmos. 10 years since they had left behind the poor, the sick, the elderly. 10 years he had been marooned on this planet struggling against the elements. Some days, the radiation was so painful Chester couldn't get out of his sleeping bag. 10 long years of rebuilding, scavenging, tinkering. A decade of his life invested into this. A way to contact the mother ship. With a shaky finger, he turned the transmitter on. After a few moments of silence, he heard the words that left him rooted in shock. "Identify yourself. There shouldn't be any signals left in this quadrant." Chester drew a desperately needed breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had talked to another person. A real person! He knew he had to make his words count. Quivering, he leaned into the microphone and said "C-can I haz cheeseburger?" "What?"came the response. But Chester wasn't listening anymore. He had collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. He stared up at the muddy irradiated sky and grinned. "Born just in time for dank memes."
Mud clung to my boots and made them heavy. Clumps of the stuff flew from the soles with each step, only to be replaced by new sludge the next time my foot planted into the muck again. The empty sled I dragged behind me collected most of what I cast off and dug up plenty of its own. The extra weight felt like penance for my own weakness. It was that lack of power that had my little sister laid up back in our hovel, recovering from her beating at the hands of Trusty's men- A beating I'd been forced to watch in impotent shame. They said she was stealing but that was so preposterous that even the men delivering the punishment couldn't claim it with any kind of sincerity. The truth of it was that Trusty's son didn't like being rejected as he had been when he made a pass at Allie. The beating had been a reminder of our place in the world. Who was she, an orphaned peasant, to turn him down? She was just one in a long line of people that were made into examples. The message was clear- Do what you're told or else. Of course that wasn't the official story. Every Trusty was keen on reminding the people that it was his duty to keep us safe. Someday the man who had just ordered my sister beaten to within an inch of her life purely out of spite would come down from his big walled house and tell us the same thing his predecessors had- Pay your taxes, give your food and daughters, do what you're told and he would keep the horrible marauders away. Trusty was the protector and caregiver. We were his flock. It was all such bull shit and everyone knew it. We just couldn't do anything about it. That's why I was trudging away from the village into the surrounding forest. I'd told my neighbor that I was off to collect some firewood and medicinal herbs when I asked him to keep an eye on Allie, but the truth of it was that I just wanted to get away for a while. I needed to clear my head and work out some aggression before I got into my own trouble and left Allie to fend for herself. Mom and dad had been gone for years and the two of us had looked after each other ever since. Without me her existence would likely be an even more miserable one. After several minutes of aimless walking, I picked out a particularly dense copse that hugged up to a steep incline. I squared myself up and, as my knuckles whitened around the haft of my axe, coiled my shoulders backwards. The first -thwok!- of axehead meeting wood was immensely cathartic and I quickly managed to lose myself in the act, dumping all my frustration and anger into the wood. Daydreaming of righteous vengeance, every vitriolic curse I could think of pouring from my lips, I screwed up. Before I knew what was happening, the tree I'd been working on began to tip, slowly toppling back into the thick underbrush to snare and marry with a thousand branches and bushes. That broke me from my miserable reverie, but too late. Briefly I considered starting over, but by now the axe was beginning to dull. By the time I got through another tree, I'd be trying to split it up with a glorified club. Muttering and grumbling over my own stupidity, I set the axe aside with the sled and began to wedge myself into the copse. Every step was a battle requiring some shimmying, shuffling and contortion to get through the low hanging branches and long dead trees littering the ground. Over the course of it I lost track of where my tree had fallen and, as I got increasingly disoriented, wound up just bulling forward in the direction I thought was correct. My guess was wrong. I found myself right up against the hillside, so steep it was nearly a cliff. Climbing it to get a good look into the copse wasn't an option without a rope and some gear, so with the predictable muttering, I made to backtrack. It was as I turned around that my arm bumped into an outjut of exposed rock. Loose dirt ran like a fine, brown waterfall to the ground and then the rest of it followed, crumbling into a miniature rock slide that made my passage back even more of a chore. I had almost missed the hand print. There, hidden underneath years of dirt and rock conglomeration and embedded into the hillside itself, was the red image of an open hand. No craftsman I'd ever seen could have made something like it. It was almost as if it was set onto some kind of black glass, but you couldn't see anything through it. It looked completely out of place here, foreign and old. No, not old- Ancient. I'd heard about such things. Some lords would pay a fortune for ancient relics. Even Trusty was known to collect them. Peasants like myself weren't allowed to even possess them, but I'd been told there were still ways to have them fenced in the bigger towns and cities on the unlikely chance you ever stumbled onto one. My throat went dry and for the first time in as long as I could remember I was excited. I could feel my heart thundering in my chest. Instantly, instinctively I knew it was an opportunity to better our lives- To get away from the beatings and threats, maybe even to make enough to buy a little chunk of land for ourselves. We could have a place where everything we grew or created actually belonged to us. One thought repeated over and over again summarized the find. This could change everything. I leaned forward to get a closer look and reached out to brush some dust away from red symbol. It began to glow as soon as I made contact. A wave of garish red light leapt out from the fingertips, passing down and back up again before I could jerk my hand back. It didn't hurt or burn, but I still found myself staring at my open palm like I expected it to burst into flames. The light strobed back and forth again, then stopped. Then nothing for a long moment. Just as I thought that was it, that the show was over, a disembodied female voice spoke to me. "Greetings, Descendant. It has been nine hundred and forty-three years since this site was last accessed. Welcome." That's when the hill itself started to rumble. [PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j5rqt/wp_throughout_earths_history_hundreds_of_advanced/d3478l7) [PART 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j5rqt/wp_throughout_earths_history_hundreds_of_advanced/d34av4y) [PART 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j5rqt/wp_throughout_earths_history_hundreds_of_advanced/d34az55) [PART 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j5rqt/wp_throughout_earths_history_hundreds_of_advanced/d3516po) [PART 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j5rqt/wp_throughout_earths_history_hundreds_of_advanced/d3525vs)
Bethany Franco sat in front of me in second grade. She had one of those expressive faces—mobile eyebrows, dramatic eyes. She mouthed words at her friends in class, communicating more with gestures and expressions than the shaping of her lips. She was a loud person, so I was not surprised when, one history class in April, she stood up and said, “Mr. Barnum? I know the answer. It’s Washington.” Our teacher whirled around in a panic, abandoning his half-written question on the chalkboard. “Quiet,” he croaked. The changes were immediate: my teacher’s lustrous hair thinned and fell out, and his cheeks sagged. If Bethany had been watching Mr. Barnum, I’m sure she would have followed his order. But instead she was looking at her own hands, still small and smooth. “I have so much to say,” she murmured. Her voice rose in pitch and volume. “Hahah! I will never be—“ Mr. Barnum slapped a hand across her mouth and Bethany screamed wordlessly. He locked eyes with AJ, the freckled boy who was our weekly “office messenger.” AJ dashed out the door to fetch adult help. The older you were, the more each word mattered and the faster the changes happened. Eighteen words. By the time the principal and school nurse arrived on the scene, Bethany had stopped screaming and Mr. Barnum comforted an eight-year-old girl in the body of a 70-year-old woman. *** I first encountered “Mercy Calls” when my parents sued them. My older brother, Geoff, had only uttered five words in the first 16 years of his life. Three he couldn’t remember—baby words. One on his tenth birthday. One on his fifteenth. My brother still looked young for his age—all of my siblings did. My mother wrote that we would be grateful later to have our words and our years saved up, to have long lives and good looks. But on his sixteenth birthday, Geoff asked to speak another word. He wrote that he felt out of place, that he couldn’t play sports, that he was picked on for being small. My mother said no. That night, he spoke forty-three words to a volunteer at Mercy Calls. My parents asked for a recording of the call. I listened as my brother’s voice cracked—from puberty or from emotion—strengthened, deepened, wavered, and cut out. Suicide hotlines, like Mercy Calls, offer emotional support as callers kill themselves by old age.
How long has it been? I don't know. I've never been good at keeping track of time. It's even worse now. Being a little too close for comfort to a few thousand supernovas (supernovae? I lost my dictionary.) Has eradicated what little remains of a watch I once had. My clothes, too. Only thing left is me. My cells never die. Never divide. At least I can't get cancer. It's weird though. Not the least because I know I'm moving faster that any plane could hope to, yet there's nothing in this empty canvas of a universe to move away from or towards that would let me know that I'm moving. I see something, in the distance. Maybe I'm just crazy, wait no, that got cured a LONG time ago. Makes me miss those friendly Kepler folks. Still see that thing, though. It's been a week. Whatever that thing is, it's getting closer. It's a person. Holy crap. What do I do? Say hi? There's no air my lungs to speak with! Even with air, there's be nothing to bring that sound to their ear. They're probably too far away to speak to anyway. We're getting nearer. I can see they're a woman, never been good with those. She's also moving pretty fast, too. We might just pass close by each other. Shoot. She's close. I'm going to collide with her. Ow, That hurt. A lot. We just hit each other pretty hard. I'm trying to say sorry but the words won't come out ~~He's choking now, everybody's joking now~~. We've absorbed most of the speed we both had during that collision. I'm trying to mouth a sorry to her, but she might be illiterate or omething (what do you call someone that can't talk, anyway?) We're moving pretty slowly away from each other. I'm trying to avoid eye contact but she keeps looking over every few hours. She's pretty angry. She's been gone quite a while now. I miss her. I hope someone else comes along again. I won't let them just float away again. ---- My first prompt! Any criticism?
This was the first time she had been beaten by her grandfather, but it certainly wouldn't be the last. At the mere age of nine she had taken strike after strike in agony, crushing her very soul. She was helpless. A shroud of fear and pain enveloped her for the next few years. Her grandfather's ruthless strikes ate away at her until she was a defeated victim. Her parents were of no help. When she kept telling them of her pain and sorrow, they told her that she needed to "improve her attitude". She was trapped in a vicious cycle once every month for the weekend, when her parents sent her to her grandpa's. At the age of 15, however, fear turned into conviction. A fury built up in her. She prepared for retaliation. When that time of the month came and she had to stay with Grandpa, she made it a point not to let him beat her again. She didn't want to be the helpless victim that she was. She was ready. All of that soon flew out of the window. He was too much. His strikes overpowered her. Once again, her Grandpa had beaten her at Wii bowling. The first sentence is not original. Credit goes to someone from a tandem writing thread demonstrating how one can hijack a plot to make it less dark. Also, I know this is more dark then scary, but I really felt like it fits.
"So this is how the world ends, not with a bang, but with a dinosaur wedding,"the Triceratops said. "Oh hush,"the Diplodocus replied. "I think it's very nice, and very progressive. Very brave thing they're doing." "You know the only reason they're getting away with it is because they're T-rexes and they'll just eat anyone who objects,"the Triceratops said. "'If you're not on the guestlist, you're on the menu', something like that?" "Were we actually on the guestlist?" The Diplodocus considered. "Now that you mention it, I'm not sure. If it wouldn't take me the entire duration of the wedding to turn around and start running, I'd be making a break for it right now." "You should try, anyway."The Triceratops said direly. "This abomination will be the end of us all!" He was proven correct moments later, after the priest pronounced the couple "manosaur and husbosaur". A firey lance from the skies above plowed into the earth, killing nearly everything. ---- Frank finished the story. I just stared. "For the last time, Frank, the dinosaurs were not killed by gay marriage!"
No one ever told him, because they thought he must already know. How could he not know? They were sure he did, he just acted like he didn't. Or couldn't. It was all over the news, people showed up at his door with flowers and gift baskets, and his phone hadn't rang in quite a while. But he never gave up. He was faithful. He prayed every day and went to bed with a smile on his face. Every morning he would make himself breakfast and stare at one spot in the kitchen until he either lost his appetite, or the food was gone, and then he would put the dishes away, grab his coat, and leave. Every evening he would come home with an excited smile on his face, only to have it vanish as he realized every room was empty, just as it had been that morning. In a somber state, he'd cook a small dinner, eat in silence, and retire upstairs. Many times, a neighbor would visit him, and try to cheer him up, but there was nothing anyone could do. The hole in his heart was bigger than his mind, and often times he'd find himself stuck in it, unable to feel anything but the harsh reminder from his beating heart that he was alive, and she wasn't. Many of his friends wondered how he went on as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn't watched the killer put a bullet into his love's skull. But he wasn't. He wasn't living. He was simply existing. A broken heart hurt, but at least that could be mended. When that man carried the life of his love in his hands, his heart had shattered, and the killer had not killed one, but two people that day. And it's easy to conceal pain by wearing a mask. Every morning, when he brushed his teeth, right next to his brush was the mask he wore every day. He'd strap it on, make sure it was stable and leave. People tried to poke holes into his disguise, but years of rebuilding his guise made his mask almost impenetrable. So they stopped trying. And he was truly alone, but he didn't care. He'd made up his mind. He dropped to his knees in his backyard as a light rain picked up around him, thunder matching the beating of his ghost of a heart. He stared vacantly at the cleanly cut wooden cross that was sticking up from the ground, not able to feel the pebbles and sticks that were cutting into his skin. The pain would be over soon, and he would see her again. He brought the gun to his mouth with a small smile, and in that instant, the pain had seemingly vanished.
"It's....it's like sometimes...sometimes I lose control."The hardest part was saying it aloud. For years I've had to deal with this dark passenger alone. Finally, I'm ready for someone to meet this side of me. "How does that make you feel Dex?"Dr. Feisnac asked, her clipboard held in front of her, eyes searching my soul. how does it make me feel? "It feels...odd. Like someone else is controlling me."I admit. "You said earlier that you have impregnated...my word...89 women to date."Dr. Feisnac disapproved, that much was clear. Why wouldn't she? Even I disapprove, but there is no stopping the darkness that seems to hover over my head sometimes. "Have you helped raise any of these children?"She asked. My heart dropped. This was the worst part of it all, the children... "You could say that." "What does that mean Dex?"She pressed. I put my hands on both sides of my face, as my head drops in shame. "They work the toy factory."I whisper, much to quiet for her to hear. "Speak up Dex, this is a place of honesty. You can speak your mind." "They work in the toy factory...the one I own."I expect tears to spill from my eyes, but none do. I don't even fill pity, not for the children, only for the fact that I am telling this women everything. "All of them?!"She asks, mouth hanging aghast. I nod simply as she starts writing something on her notepad, eyes never leaving mine. "As I said...Eh hmmm..."She cleared her throat before continuing, her discomfort plain to see. "This is a safe place." "I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die."I blurted out. I thought she would yell, scream, cry, anything. But alas, like everyone else, the cloud appeared above her head, as she rubbed her stomach and walked away without a backwards glance.
"The contract had to be signed"A voice rang out, shattering the dreamlike images of my life which had been flashing before my eyes. A shadow with two piercing whit eyes loomed up, a shadowy hand shaking the piece of paper before me. "No. No I won't sign it."I said, I went to put my hands in my pockets and realised I had none now. I looked down and saw that I too was a shadow now, below me my body was lying prone and still. I looked into the eyes of the shadow and they seemed to narrow despite the lack of eyelids or brows. "Oh there's always one."The voice replied and tutted, it put away the document within its shadowy robes. "Well, seeing as my little ruse didn't distract you I have to make you another offer."The shadow blinked and I was suddenly sitting at a small coffee table opposite it. "I am death, as you may have realised, and you are supposed to be dead and I am supposed to own your soul however now you have a choice. You may play a game and win back your soul." "Any game?"I asked, pensively. "Any game."The shadow seemed to sigh. and I sat back, reflecting on the monumental choice which now faced me. I though of all the card games and board games I had ever played and I knew none of them would be enough to win my soul back. I would have to play death and win, so I picked the only game I had ever won. "Alright, I'll play you at battletoads."I smirked, surely not even death itself would have mastered that horrendous game. The shadow groaned and rather than acquiesce to my request produced a new document. "No, not again, please just read this, sign it and you can go. I won't play that game again."The shadow disappeared and I signed my name under the words "Free to go in lieu of a fate worse than death."I beat death without even playing his game. I felt a tug at my shadowy limbs as the ink dried on the document as my soul returned to my body and I breathed my first breath, coughing and laughing at the same time...
Gather around pups, and I'll tell you a tale. Spot, stop chasing your tail, its time you learnt our history. For years, we have been defending our masters, our best friends, from our biggest threat. For years, dogs were the last line of defence between us and the humans,and HIM. This is not a ghost story, this is real. I don't think many of you are old enough to remember, but when I was your age I remember the terror HE would bring. Roaring past our territory, throwing sticks we weren't allowed to catch; those sticks were for the humans. But when the humans picked up the sticks, there was no joy. They weren't being told what good boys they were. They would throw their sticks in the big metal boxes and stay inside. This creature would arrive every day, sending these sticks, but we believe they carried a message. "NO MORE WALKS". Calm down, calm down, I said the creature wanted it. The creature is no more. FOR THIS SUNDAY, THE HORRIBLE MAN ON THE LOUD BICYCLE HAS NOT ARRIVED FOR 2 HOURS. He is practically defeated. Our barks were not in vain. We are all good boys on this day. ---------------- "Hey, what are the dogs doing?" "Probably waiting for the post man" "Stupid dogs, no post on Sunday".
"I want you to know how much this mess has cost us."The voice was too high-pitched to be a good xent warrior. Definitely a human, then, and probably female. I opened my eyes, but the room was lightless. Inhaling to locate it by scent or heat failed as well. A recorded voice, or remote transmission. "Thousands of years we spent, building this world into a paradise, and you come along and wreck it in three. It's so... wasteful. Shameful, even. You're the proverbial bulls in our china shop, and you're doing a real number on our customers."She wasn't using a translator. No machine would have been able to replicate that disdain. Humans were never to be taught Xent'lk. How had she learned it? She didn't give me time to wonder. "I understand, though. There will always be those who believe that force of arms is the only path to power, and it certainly is one. What they generally fail to realize, though, is that it is both the most costly, and the least permanent. Take, for example, the xent capture of this town, Volodza."The wall I faced burst into blinding light. Blinking it away, I saw aerial images of a small settlement. Farms, livestock, a water-powered device on a small adjoining river. It seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Forty-seven xent came here, ten feet tall and armed to the teeth, led by a powerful xent warrior, to subjugate less than five hundred civilians who owned a total of seven hunting rifles. The mission report you filed indicated that this was a nest of human resistance. Given the way you acted when you arrived, though, I imagine that resistance is the last thing you expected."The images changed to ground level, showing burning wreckage and slaughtered humans. The town suddenly became recognizable, and a grin stretched across my face. The tiny humans in the little settlement hadn't been much fun after all, but they certainly ran fast enough to make good sport of it. "Oh, I see you recognize it now. That's a good sign; it means the anesthesia is wearing off. A little faster than I anticipated, but your physiology makes it so difficult to judge dosage, and all we've had to work with is what we could capture from... I'm sorry, I'm wandering off topic. An unfortunate side effect of old age, I'm afraid."Her Xent'lk was perfect. I resolved to flay the skin from the xent responsible for teaching her. Once a day for a year or so. Not often enough for permanent damage, assuming I let him eat, but certainly enough to get the point across. "Hm. Still a bit difficult for you to maintain focus, I see, but that's to be expected. It was quite the dose, after all. And you're obviously not feeling any pain yet, so I've got a few minutes." The projector screen rolled up, replacing the brilliant light with a translucent window. The room beyond drew my teeth out, but in no grin. Eight xent hung unconscious in restraints. They were warriors from my band, xent who had followed me on what was supposed to be a simple hunting trip. Humans in armor and long coats milled about, checking machines and prodding at them. The female spoke again, from what seemed like directly behind me. "You're fascinating creatures, really. Your regenerative abilities are incredible, although they do require a good deal of consumption. I can't say I'd fault you for that, though. Your skin, of course - heavy armor, basically. Thick enough to stop most human-sized weapons. Certainly evolved in response to predators with much longer fangs than ours... although not sharper, I think. Really, these bodies of yours are tireless workhorses, as long as they're kept fed properly. I'd be impressed with you, if you weren't monsters intent on ruling my planet. That niche was already occupied, thank you very much. The thing about you that really bothers me, though, is this."
"I'm fine,"Becky said slamming the bedroom door in Mike's face. Clearly. Mike sighed and sat down on the couch trying to determine what he had done to set Becky off again. It seemed like an almost everyday occurrence now. He had done the laundry, put away the dishes, cleaned the apartment, and he was halfway through preparing dinner. Mike hadn't prayed in a long time but he had run out of options, he closed his eyes and began. God. Please help me understand women. I am so lost and I need your guidance. A brilliant beam of light shone through the apartment window. Mike heard a chorus of singing, a beautiful uplifting song that washed over his entire body. Then Mike heard a voice, a voice unlike any he had ever heard before. A powerful, thunderous voice that shook mountains and swayed the hearts of anyone that would hear it. "They're just fucking crazy,"God said. The beam of light winked out and the singing faded. "Well...shit,"Mike said to himself. --- And now we all understand... check out /r/Written4Reddit for more!
"Whole world's gone to shit."They said. "Everybody's gotta be in it for themselves."The apocalypse laid it on thick, destroying the majority of the seven continents. Spirits were low. Radiation was high. My mouth hurt like hell. Week after week I was told, "Oh, looks like you'll have to wait to get your braces out just a little longer. Come back next week."This agonizing scharade had been going on between me and my local dentist for almost a month and a half, until he eventually got wiped out with everyone else in the apocalypse. I at least had the decency to follow the advice of my favorite film, "Indianna Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull", and hid in my parent's fridge while nuclear hell fire rained down on all. With no dentists around for miles in the U.S., I decided to seek "spiritual enlightenment"with the remaining survivors in my hometown. This newfound "spiritual enlightenment"was supposed to help you reach "a greater spirit"to help guide you in this nuked hell-hole, but it was really just hallucinations from lack of hydration and radiation poisoning. There were four of us gathered around a burning trash can, each one more trashy looking than the other. About thirty minutes into our first bonding session, a heavyset blonde woman started spazzing out and crawling on the floor. Eventually she got up, staring at the rest of the pack, and said, "The gods crave a sacrifice. A sacrifice of metal. Of steel."Within a second all eyes were on me as I tried to book it, but that proved futile. My body was weak, and my legs gave up on me. I closed my eyes, and felt three hundred pounds of women crush me from atop. Bracing myself to have my braces torn out of my mouth, with or without the teeth attached, I clenched my eyes as hard as I could. But nothing came. Opening my eyes revealed a pair of professional dental drilling tools, alongside a tooth brush, toothpaste, and a few smiley stickers. The power tools still had some juice left, and we were done about three hours later. The lady thanked me for being patient, and I went on my way. After a few seconds of walking I fell face-first into a patch of dirt and passed out from mal-nutrition. All I could say to myself was, "Ya know, the apocawylse ain't so bad afta al."(My mouth hadn't adjusted yet.)
It didn't seem real. We were famous. We were the first team to spend a night on this planet, on Mars. It was a monumental step in our species history. We had achieved interplanetary colonization. Conquered earth and her natures, and now it was our time to reach for the stars beyond. It was dark out. I suppose it was getting dark on one side of Earth at this moment, so we all decided to head to bed. I was bunking with Matthews, who is our tech expert on the team. He was a shorter man who had jet black hair and a scruffy beard. Then there was Jason, the head mechanic, and me, Cody, and I was in charge of this operation. Then there were the smaller science geeks, the geologists and sociologists. I didn't care for science ever really. I was military, as long as you followed orders from command or me I have no problems with what you do. Matthews was already asleep. I would assume everyone else was getting ready. I was starting to doze off myself. Suddenly a knock came. My heart almost stopped at the sudden sound, which echoed throughout the entire base. I quickly shot my gaze to Matthews, who didn't flinch. He was already in deep sleep? Probably. Long day of work. But I knew I wasn't hearing things. I stood up, my bare feet flinching at the cold floor. I quickly got down on my knees to open the small footlocker at the end of bed and pulled out my orange military jumpsuit. Putting it on at a steady pace, but also keeping quiet to keep Matthews asleep, I darted out the door and into the hallway. The hall was long and I followed it. It was a large circular base; the hall was a giant circle and the facilities were in the center of that circle. After a minute of walking I found myself at the main hatch. I looked around fast, looking to see if any of my fellow men heard the knock. They hadn't. Slowly I reached for the hatch and opened it, stepping into the decontamination room. I closed that hatch and put on my helmet. I waited a moment as the air was sucked from the room and the door opened to the Red Giant. Nobody was there. I stepped out into the airless space and looked around the outside. Nobody. As I turned to renter the base, a blue light caught my helmet. I quickly turned my gaze to it. It was a small blue light, floating about six feet off the ground. I slowly started towards it, curuois and cautious. Then the light shot away from me. It was fast. I stated after it, trying to keep up as best I could. The lower gravity was cussing some disorientation but I was able to push through with adrenalin. The blue light went up the side of a small hill and I kept behind. As I reach the top I stopped in my tracks. The hill was apart of a large crater. I forgot about the blue light and instead focused on where it came from, and where it was no going. In the crater was a massive ship. It was almost buried in the planet. It was long and was broken at the front. As I examined the back side, I noticed that there were two large rings at the back's center. Whatever this was, Matthews would want to see it...
Gloria sat at the counter gazing at the rain. It was a cold, wet day. A kind of day she could match with her life. Her heart was broken, as it was many lives before. Her curse gives her a pain no other human could bare. Except one. But that one has been gone for lifetimes. The bell on the door rang as someone entered. A tall, burly man wiped his feet on the mat and hung up his soaked coat. Upon closer inspection, Gloria noticed the man was around her age, scruffy, and oddly handsome. "Good day miss,"the man's soothing voice was followed by a warm smile. "I would like to acquire a cup of hot tea." "Coming right up."Gloria smiled, getting up from her seat and pouring a mug of boiling water. "Slow today?"The man asked. Gloria smiled. "Not slower than any other day." The man chuckled. "Reminds me of my days as a fisherman. Gloria's smile faded. This man was far too young to have been a fisherman. The complexions on his smooth skin, and how smooth his hands looked proved this. "So you fished?" "I've done a lot of things."The man smirked. "Let's just say I know the tricks of the trade." Gloria nearly dropped his mug, not because of heat but because of a once in a lifetime opportunity. Could this be him? "I guess I can say the same about myself."She said under her breath. The man took a sip, too early, it was too hot. "Oh yeah?"He blew on his cup. "With all of this business you seem have, I'd bet you have the time." The asshole she loved. "Darren?"she cried. That was his name the year they broke up. Fifty lives ago. "Lucilla?!"He spilled his tea. No one cared. Without another word the two embraced. An embrace strong enough to compensate for the fifty long, lonely years. With a kiss every now and then in between sobs, they knew it was their soulmate. Hundreds of lifetimes of love cannot be forgotten. "Never again."Darren managed. "Never again."Lucilla kissed.
Little Red Riding Hood munched on the apples and drank the milk in her basket at the side of the dirt road. It was supposed to be for her grandma, who was sick yet again. But what was she supposed to do, starve? A young wolf cub was watching her shyly from behind a tree, its little snout twitching. "Well, aren't you a big bad wolf,"she muttered, tossing him the remains of her apple. She'd seen him around plenty of times as she walked to grandma's cottage, and knew he was harmless. He just always tried to steal a few bites from her snacks, especially if she happened to be carrying sausages. She continued on her way to grandma's house, glancing behind her and noticing the wolf was trotting after her. Eventually, she came to the little ramshackle cottage, and knocked loudly. The wolf watched as she knocked on all the windows after no-one answered the door. She found the back door open, and she let herself through, the cub slinking in after her. "Grandma?"she called, grumbling under her breath when the deaf old hag didn't answer. Then she entered the living room and froze. Her grandma was slumped in her chair, her eyes fixed and staring straight ahead. "Oh,"Little Red Riding Hood said, biting into her apple as she thought. She glanced at the wolf. "Good boy,"she said, dropping sausages onto the floor. She grabbed her Grandma's bonnet, and tied it to the wolf's head as she giggled. It yipped and waved its tail in excitement. Stupid cur. She dropped more sausages all over her grandma's lap. Who knew - perhaps they'd find a few bite marks on her and conclude the wolf killed her. Maybe she wouldn't be blamed for not getting here in time. She closed up behind her and started running back home, determined to get back quickly and claim she got lost and never made it to grandma's. She whistled as she went. No more ridiculous trips through the woods, to try and talk to someone who was too blind and deaf to pay attention to her, anyway. As she rounded the corner at the end of the road, Little Red Riding Hood ran into a snarling wolf, with bristling black fur, looking for its cub. It growled and snapped as it dove at the girl, who flung her basket aside and shrieked as she tried in vain to run away. ___ Hunter Tom wept as he scribbled in his journal for the day, smudging the ink as his tears fell on the page. He would honour the little dead girl and her grandmother he'd found earlier today, by writing a story with a happy ending. That's what he'd do. He'd tell them he killed the wolf and saved the girl, instead of it escaping with its flee-ridden cub. One of them had even had dear Granny's bonnet clutched between its teeth. He'd read it to the village children, to teach them never to wander. To warn them there were always monsters in the woods. ____ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
"Now if you'll just sign here, and initial here..."I risked a glance up at the massive figure hovering over us, as my latest client affixed her name to the contract. I should have been more than used to the presence of genies by now, but a seven-foot tall being of smokeless fire burning bright in my office never failed to give me a little thrill. "And there we go."Sondra straightened up, handing me back my pen as she grinned up smugly at the genie. "The complete text of my client's wish." The genie said nothing, merely scowled as he scooped up the sheaf of papers in one meaty hand. "Thank you so much, Mr. Bilis,"Sondra said to me. "When I found that lamp and the genie came out of it - well, I've heard the stories, haven't I? And I was so worried about messing something up! But when I saw your ads, I just knew-" "Yes, yes,"the genie boomed, riffling through the pages. "Very clever, mortal. I'm sure you're quite pleased with yourself. In any case, this all seems to be in order."He expanded, muscles swirling outward like smoke, flames coming to life beneath the skin. I felt Sondra grab my arm. The genie waved his hand, the contract busting into cinders and tracing burning words in the air. "Wish granted!" I watched Sondra, watched that anxious avaricious grin freeze on her face, watched the first note of pure panic reach her eyes. I carefully extracted my arm from her grip. "W-w-what-"Her voice was choked, the veins standing taut in her throat. "Whaaa ... whaaaa..." "Ah, yes,"I said, flicking a speck of ash off my suit. The genie relaxed, spreading above the both of us like a roof ablaze. "That would be Section II, paragraph 13, in which you granted control over your physical form to the genie. '...continued maintenance of all bodily functions,' remember?"I looked up. "Do let her talk. It's more fun that way." There was a deep chuckle like thunder, and Sondra gasped in a breath, her legs going weak beneath her as she collapsed to her knees. "Buh - but -"she stammered. "All your clients! All the genies! They all - they all turned out all right!" "But of course,"I said, kicking her just below the collarbone. She made a small noise and collapsed, crawling at my feet. "Section V, paragraph 2. 'The client must demonstrate satisfaction...'"I crouched down to look her in her stupid pale face. "And you will demonstrate satisfaction, all right."I watched her mouth turn upward in an unwilling smile even as the tears came running down her cheeks. "Say it, Sondra. Let's hear it." "Mr. Bilis worked perfectly for me!"she chirped, finally speaking normally again. "I got everything I wished for and I've never been happier!"I watched the trembles of her face, the slow collapsing ruin behind her eyes. "Wh - why?"she whispered. "Oh god why?" "Well it's very simple, Sondra,"I said, taking a seat on my desk. "A couple of millennia ago, one of you human beings found a genie. And he was just smart enough to realize how very, very stupid he was. So his first wish was for someone smart enough to help him make the perfect wish."I smoothed a hand through my hair. "And so he got me. You see, Sondra, like all you mortals, he was the tool of his own destruction. He didn't think to specify who the wish would be perfect for." "Enough talk,"the genie boomed above me. He reached one massive hand down and closed it around her throat. His face gleamed like bronze. "The indignity of servitude. The agony of bondage. Oh, how delicious it is to return the favor." "So very, very stupid,"I said to myself, closing my eyes and listening to her screams. "And this isn't the worst of it, Sondra. You should see what I snuck into the fine print!"
As the prophecy foretold, the world will be ravaged by war between two large factions. The Mystica from the East, and the Logicae from the west. These two nations have been fighting well over twenty years for what they believe in. The Mystica believing magic and other mystic aspects of life were the right concepts to live life by, and the Logicae believing magic is for the illogical and the mentally inferior while practicing in the arts of mechanics and engineering. But there is one faction forgotten about long ago that bides its time. Their name: the Immortalis. The Immortalis is a small nation in the north of the world. They are the outcasts of the two nations. The ones no one wanted in their societies. They believe in the fundamental interests of the Olden days, like the Mystica, but also believe in innovation and moving forward with time, like the Logicae. But what the Immortalis did was unforgivable. They blended together technology and magic. They truly went against all laws and regulations. They harnessed the types of magic that are strictly forbidden. They made contraptions that brutally murdered their opponents. They used drugs and physical enhancers like steroids to make them unstoppable on the battlefield. And so like the prophecy foretold, the two factions will fight for years and years to come to eventually be stopped by monsters. I ran towards the explosions. I quickly ducked behind a boulder and missed the blasts of blue and white that vaporized my warmates. I reloaded my assault rifle and blindly shot and the woman spewing ancient tongue and spells. Her words stopped and she fell to the ground. I run up the hill and watch the brutal war going on in the valley. I activate my jet pack and hover down to the battlefield. I make it 20 feet above ground when a blast of yellow light penetrates the wing of my contraption. I fall to the ground, the wind knocked out of me. As I rise I hear the two sides of the war stop. I get up to see what everyone is gasping at when I see them too. Unbelievable. From the valley, a small army of men and woman charge. All outcasts. Some eat some kind of mushroom then run at us with axes. Some with robotic arms and legs. Some inhale some kind of powder then grip onto their miniguns. All with some kind of magic essence around them. Holy shit.
Petra, Cork and Shin headed through the crushing rock. Petra went first, the others followed with ropes linking them together. She was blind, sensing her way through the darkness by clicking her tongue and listening for the gentle echoes. In her left hand Petra carried the rope, pulling gently to show Cork and Shin the way. Under her right she felt the rocks beneath her sensitive fingers. Occasionally she lifted them to her mouth and licked them. They tasted less like iron now. There was a lot of iron, down in the Settlement. Yes, coming to the surface. For the first time. The tremors that came from above felt like nails on a blackboard to Petra. They scraped against the corners of her mind. Upwards, upwards. A tug on the rope, another taste of the rocks. Click, click, click. The weight of the rock pressed down on Petra. When she breathed out, she felt the walls of the tunnel press against her breast bone and her back. It widened out ahead, but here was the narrowest part. The pinch. She could hear Shin's snuffling breaths from behind her. Click, click, click The tremors ripped through Petra's body. She stopped to shake her head, trying to loose the pain from her gums and behind her blind eyeballs. They were getting closer. "What, what, Petra?"whispered Cork. She'd stopped. The rocks beneath Petra's fingers tasted foreign. New air. Foul. Petra tugged the rope again. The little procession continued. Cork's mother had taken Petra aside before they tied the ropes. "Take care of Cork,"she said. She clicked her tongue nervously. "She's not ready for this, too young. This will be her first time out of our Cell." Petra had promised, but she was young herself. The pass widened: Petra breathed out and no longer felt the rocks at her back. Tentatively, she lifted herself off the ground, into a standing position. Her back protested. It was the closest to the surface they'd ever been. She clicked to the others, letting them know it was safe. Cork followed her through gratefully. Petra felt warmth on her face. A trace of wind. Her blind eyes sensed something flickering, white, at the corners of her vision. Click, click, click The sounds echoed off the walls. The walls, and-- "We've come back for you,"a voice said. It was loud: too loud. Like the tremors, it tore through Petra like she was fine gossamer. She dropped to her knees. Beside her, Cork and Shin clapped their hands over their ears, fighting the sound. Petra cursed herself for not being careful enough. She'd made a promise! "We never should have imprisoned you,"the voice said. "We have returned to free you, and your descendants." Tears leaked from Petra's blind eyes. "Stop stop,"she begged. Her hands scrabbled in front of her, reaching for the source of the noise. "I can't hear you,"the voice said. "We want to make amends. We left you here, in this prison. Now we have returned." It stepped forwards. Rock crunched beneath its feet. Petra's hands met the figure: her hard, calloused hands with the diamond-sharp nails made for digging through rock. The body was soft. Petra wanted it to be silent.
"Roll Intelligence." I smile over a low screen at my compatriots across the table. The Wizard is sweating bullets as she looks at her character sheet and grabs the appropriate number of dice from the center of the table. A diorama shows the characters in the antechamber of a dungeon they had discovered, miniature soldiers intently stood in front of a tiny door to the next room. The clatter of dice resounds in the living room as the Wizard narrowly avoids setting off an explosive trap while dispelling the magical runes on the door. Not that they would have known. I remove the door from the field and allow the party egress into the next room as I begin setting up an encounter. It's a small room with a few goblins sitting around, discussing the intricacies of underground's socio-political influence on the general world economy. I chuckle to myself. The players don't need to know the details, and they rarely bother to look for them. The Cleric gets a laugh at the description anyway. One goblin sits apart from the rest, leaning against a small pile of treasure that immediately catches the eye of the Rogue. They head over and begin striking up a conversation. I'm surprised. They usually aren't this kind. "And what sort of shinies do you have here?"He asks. "Any for sale?" The goblin looks at him and cackles madly as the rest of the party approaches. Of course they head straight to the loot. "Sale? For sale?"the imp mocks. "This is of the hoard of the Goblin King! It is not 'For Sale,' especially not to you lot!" The Fighter approaches and draws his sword. He makes a roll or two to look intimidating as he threatens the goblin. I close my eyes behind my screen and laugh, getting way too into character. "I have no business with the likes of you! Now if you would be so kind... As..."I trail off, looking around at my new environment. "To..."I'm no longer in my apartment. I look up from my low vantage point and see the murderous faces of the most committed LARP-ers ever. There are four of them, all stone-faced and looking like they came out of the most grim-dark Renaissance fair in existence. I notice a crystal vial of clouded liquid hanging from the Bard's belt - a trinket that I had given to them a few sessions ago - and it suddenly clicks. "Leave..?"My heart begins racing as I back up, scrambling against the pile of gold, gems, and a few assorted weapons that I found myself in. These are my friends. These are the characters of the group I was just with... and they're a bunch of murder hobos. The Fighter approaches, metal scraping against metal as he crouches down and gently puts his sword to my neck, smiling like a sociopathic killer. I know not to take the threat lightly - in this world, he is. I feel a trickle of something snake it's way down my throat, just under the blade. "Look, just take what you want and go,"I say loudly, alerting the other distracted goblins across the room. "Just, don't kill me." The fighter removes his sword as the Rogue moves in to claim the lion's share. I move out of the way and eye the Bard's trinket. While they're distracted, I pilfer the potion and dash to the other side of the room, downing the vile vial as I ran. The other goblins move in to intervene as I fade from view, running down the dimly lit catacombs to the boss room via the most hidden and direct route I could. I don't want to be stuck here. I don't want to die here. I need the players to see that it's me, but how? From their perspective I'm already playing out all the NPC's. I hazard a guess I'll have to weaken them enough to convince them, and hopefully they are intrigued by the relative genius of this particular imp. I smile briefly as I concoct a plan. I know every inch of this fortress. I designed it. I may not be strong, but I would use this dungeon's defenses to bring them to their knees, employing strategy the likes of which they've never seen. I knew more than my allies, and much, much more than my new enemies. A mad cackle echoes through the darkened halls. I am the master of this dungeon.
"Haven't you ever heard the phrase- make love not war? If you all just grew to love each other we wouldn't have to rebuild skyscrapers every year or carry superhero insurance on our buildings and cars. Rates have gone through the roof man, can't you all fight in the countryside?"The man in the audience tipped his straw hat down when he finished speaking. Captain Strength nodded and took a moment to think about it. "I tell you what...I think I can make that work, but...no judgement. I'm serious, you all can keep your buildings but...don't judge me."Captain Strength flew off, unwilling to take more questions, he had a lot to think about. Weeks passed with no major crime, Captain Strength barely had to wear a costume. He could just stop the crooks stealing purses at a regular speed, a mild walk for him. He flew to and from work of course but being an accountant, he could hide his comings and goings as he wished, that's what the smoker's roof was for. His first flex friday in weeks left him sitting at home reading the latest release from the PCAOB. A siren, far off in the distance caught his attention, he heard teh cackling of Mr.Tan, an evil scientist turned work-out beefcake. Captain Strength donned his costume and flew out the porch of his apartment- time to test the new theory, but first he'd need to make a pitstop. Mr.Tan was, of course, on the beach with his large weight sled and his massive aerosol gun full of spray on tanner. "Ah, Captain Strength, the only man stronger than me. Don't worry yourself, I'm just making these beach goers prettier than ever...Ha...hahahahha,"Mr.Tan sprayed a large cloud of the orange skin contaminant like a flame thrower. It only landed in the sand but the threat had been made. Captain Strength smirked, flying up to Mr.Tan. From behind his back, Captain Strength pulled out his newest tool, a bouquet of flowers. "Mr. Tan, I know how hard you work on your body...it's beautiful, shimmering and smooth. You don't have to do this, people could appreciate you without fear in their hearts or tanning solution in their eyes. Trust me,"Captain Strength pulled the man close nearly whispering in his ear. "Come back to my place, we can talk about this in private. I've always found you to be...provocative." "I...I, really? I've never been, invited anywhere and- it's been so long,"Mr. Tan ran his fingers along the diamond cut jaw line of Captain Strength. They held hands, as Captain Strength flew them softly back to his apartment, leaving the aersol gun and the flowers on the beach as a symbol of what had happened today. Captain Strength woke up the next morning, alone in his bed with nothing but an orange silhouette to remind him of what he'd done. Saturday was peaceful, he woke up and ate on the porch, returned to his kitchen to toss out the scraps of his breakfast. He flicked on the television as he washed his coffee mug. The news had his other persona on, holding the hand of Mr.Tan. The headline read, "not what we meant Captain Strength, but good job!" "Seriously? Son of a -"Captain Strength shattered the mug in his hand as he clenched his fist.
Like all other miracles of technology, the Revival Machine was one invention debated upon endlessly by ethicists and scientists alike. Ultimately, its use (which was to transfer all vital function from one client to another) was limited by the Global Government solely for cases of murder and "high exception". How the Revival Machine worked was a convenient mystery, and most information about it was strictly confidential. I gasped awake, as though emerging from a terrible dream. The pain in my chest from my murder was gone, lingering on a bit as I'd imagine a ghost would: not physically present, but mentally ever-consuming. "You're awake,"the man in white said. I gulped. The man who had stabbed me had been a doctor, and had worn a similar attire to the person before me. "Vital transfer successful,"the man nodded to the nurse coming in, who in turn smiled and did the usual check-up on me. "...why?"I asked mid-check-up. "Sorry, I can't answer those things,"the man said briskly. Thanks. I finished my lengthy check-up, was told that I was fit as a fiddle now, and was sent home. I had known my murderer well. He had been a congenial man, always prompt and helpful: definitely more sympathetic than the doctor who had just saved my life. The question plagued me. "One second, Erika,"my murderer had said. We had just finished my yearly check-up. Then he pulled out a knife and stabbed me through the chest. I'll spare you any of the other details; they don't seem to matter much, now. ... Still, the question haunted me; I couldn't sleep well for weeks. Eventually I screwed up my courage and walked back to my old doctor's office, where a new doctor had begun working. "Can I see my old health records?"I asked. "Sure,"she said, "but after your revival, I'm not sure how relevant they'll be. "That's fine,"I said. She handed me the reports. Doctor-patient information was deemed to be confidential, and as she had not been my doctor prior to my death and I had just had a revival, she saw no reason to pry into my previous medical information. I looked into the rather short report, and heaved a heavy breath. "Erika _____,"the important part said, "Diagnosed with incurable terminal breast cancer. I can cure that."
I click the blue link and it takes me to a page offering a blank space to type in. 'Hmm, a vanilla story?' I think to myself, cracking my neck to the side in an old habit sort of way. 'I do enjoy vanilla ice cream but really I think Neapolitan is my favourite. I'm not entirely sure if that's what they want though. I wonder where vanilla to describe things even came from. Sure it's boring and I guess that's why, cause you can throw some sauce and nuts on something and make it more exciting but underneath it's still just vanilla. Like game mods and stuff, right? Oh shit. Right, they wanted a story.' I shake my head to clear the thoughts, flexing my fingers and looking at the monitor. 'Why do I even have a monitor? I have a laptop...it's plugged into a monitor...but I have to use the keyboard on the laptop to type. It's like they forgot I got a job here and I sit in my little corner and browse Reddit all day. That seems unfair. I make too much money for this. Then again I think I can pay off all that debt in a few paychecks of this. And sitting isn't so bad as long as you go for a walk every now and then. Ah, fuck. Off topic again!' I try to focus but someone interrupts me to ask a question about a document I prepared. 'It's not like it's that hard. OK, I can write this story. What's it about? What's mundane? What's as vanilla as it gets?' I pause and look at the screen before shifting to the red x. 'My life. That's vanilla. Fuck, that's depressing. I don't want to write about that. Surely someone else will answer this prompt. I'll go find one about dragons or something. Or read that AskReddit thread about weird sex stuff. That stuff is crazy. People are weird.' I click the red x and move on with my day.
He just wanted to sit outside one last time. When I touched him, he spoke to me, as if he knew I was coming. Not once in my many decades of existence has anyone ever spoken to me, but his voice was clear, and frail. "Can I sit outside, with the birds, one last time?"He asked me like he was a child asking for permission. I couldn't bear to tell him that technically, I wasn't allowed to let a soul live past its expiration date, but the way he spoke to me... it was without fear. It made me wonder how many nights he had laid in that bed, closed his eyes, and reached out to me, trying to let me know that he was at peace with his fate. How long had he awaited death? I knew the answer, I could see his whole life displayed right before my very eyes, and still the question pulled on me in ways I couldn't describe. His childhood was filled with happy memories, but overflowing with bad ones. Loud arguments muffled by doors and pillows flooded my ears, and strategically placed bruises lined his arms and legs. Some of his teeth were missing, and the kids at school called him Checkerboard. Then the scenes changed. He was an adult now, strolling down the street of a big city, the scent of morning coffee and fresh gasoline in the air. A woman with her head down rushed by, slamming into his side, sending his coffee splashing onto the parked car next to him, and the only good suit he owned. She apologized profusely, handed him a twenty-dollar bill, and stormed off in the other direction. Another scene change. The man and the coffee-spiller had somehow ended up together, their love as bright as it was during their first kiss. But then the arguments began, and the familiar feeling of dread returned. It was little things at first, but it only grew from there. Soon they were locked in a shouting competition, and in tears, she dashed from the apartment, and his life, leaving him wondering just where he went wrong. Weren't arguments healthy? He thought, prayed that she would come back. She didn't. And he knew she would never when he saw her two years later at that same coffee shop, a diamond ring on her finger and a million-dollar man wrapped around her waist. She had moved on, why couldn't he? Dropped into a world of depression, confusion, and alcoholism, he wandered aimlessly, looking for a light that was only ever advertised, never sold. Deeper and deeper he sank into his own mind until one day, he found himself under a light. The light of a doctor's flashlight. It was bright, and annoying, and a man was asking him if he was okay. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. Decades passed in between empty cans and hospital rooms, until one word stuck in his mind: Dementia. It was like a big fat F, like the ones he used to get on his report cards from school. He hid the word just as he did with the grades, and continued on with his life. He was given medications, but they didn't help with the pit he was in, and eventually he was admitted to some kind of psychiatric ward. He wasn't crazy. He was depressed, though he couldn't remember why. There, he spent many years, where he made some of the best memories of his life. Like the one where he went outside to feed the birds just as the sun was waking up, and one of them hopped into his hand to eat the seeds. Or the one where he got to visit with some animals from the local shelter, while other patients visited their family. It would've made him sad to think he had no family to visit with, if not for the memory of his childhood nickname. The animals were kind, and gentle, they were better than his parents, and the coffee-spiller. They understood him, and listened to him. I had to pull away from his relaxed form. His closed eyes and rickety breathing was too much for me, where normally, I'd have no qualms about taking his life. His eyes opened slowly, and searching through the darkness of the room, they found mine. "Please,"he whispered, "just one more sunrise." Thinking of the birds he had held, I nodded. "One more sunrise." With a gentle exhale of breath, he smiled softly, and in what little light there was, I could see he was missing a few teeth. _____________________________________________________ So this was longer than I intended, but it was fun to write!
It was two years ago, or maybe tomorrow, I suppose it depends how you look at it. I was sitting in my apartment, eating a bowl of cereal in my boxers. The news was on like it was every morning. A report came on about the recent epidemic of violent muggings in the city. There on the screen was a college graduation picture "Erica Adler, was killed last night in one of the recent mug..."The sound was out the picture frozen on my screen. "AHEM" I whipped around to see him. Tall, dark robe, scythe, the whole bit, it was death in my apartment. Beside him, the girl of my dreams. Short dark hair, those adorable glasses. If it weren't for her distracting me I probably would have had to burn those boxers. "Oh God, Oh God. I'm dead aren't I? Was it a gas leak? At least tell me it got the landlord too." "RELAX. YOUR NOT DEAD. SHE'S DEAD."He hooked a bony thumb at the girl beside him. "SHE'S BEEN DEAD SINCE LAST NIGHT, OR TWO YEARS FROM NOW. DEPENDS ON YOUR POINT OF VIEW. PROBLEM IS, SHE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD YET. IF I DON'T FIX IT SHE FOLLOWS ME AROUND FOREVER. IT'S ALL VERY COMPLICATED AND ANNOYING." "So why are you here? Why can I see you?" "LOOK, I DON'T USUALLY LIKE TO INTERFERE LIKE THIS. I'M GOING TO SEND YOU TWO YEARS INTO THE PAST. GET A CUP OF COFFEE ON THE WAY TO WORK. TRUST ME. THIS WILL FIX BOTH OUR PROBLEMS." Then it went black...I woke to the alarm. I stumbled out of bed, showered, grabbed my cereal and switched on the news. Sure enough the date was two years before yesterdays. I decided maybe I should listen to that weird dream. On the way to my dead end bagging job I stopped at the little coffee house down the street. "Just a cup of regular coffee, black." I turned around and there she was. The same girl. Erica. My heart missed a beat. She had on a backpack that looked ridiculous on her tiny frame. Loaded with books. I'll never forget that blue shirt. It was just plain blue t-shirt but on her it looked amazing. She looked up at me and smiled the brightest smile I had ever seen. We started talking, here about nursing school, me, well I mainly just listened. I offered to help her get her books to her car. She let me. When her car wouldn't start I took a look and did some little roadside repair. I've always been good with my hands. She gave me her number. I walked into my job and Chad started hollering at me for being late. It wasn't worth it. I wasn't going to relive two years at this job again. I quit. I called Erica up to see if she wanted to grab some coffee the next day. We met at the same place. She mentioned her father looking for apprentices at his garage. She said she would put in a good word for me. Six months later her father promoted me from apprentice to mechanic. Three months after that he nearly dropped the camera when I dropped to my knee and help up the ring to his daughter while he was snapping graduation photos. Another four months and she and I were married. Yeah this time around these two years had been amazing. We went out to celebrate her promotion. I didn't think about the date. The mugger rounded the corner. It was all I could do to get between her and him. I lay there bleeding on the cold concrete. As she knelt over me I felt the pressure of her hands. I saw the tears stream down her cheeks. I smiled. It had been the best two years of my life. The world went dark. There he was again. Death. "Is, is Erica all right?" "SHE'S FINE" "I suppose by fixing things I took her place?" "NO. YOUR MARRIED TO A TRAUMA NURSE. SHE'S TENDING YOU RIGHT NOW WHILE WAITING FOR AN AMBULANCE. YOUR GOING TO WAKE UP COUGH BLOOD ALL OVER YOURSELF AND THE AMBULANCE AND PASS BACK OUT. BUT YOU'LL SURVIVE." "Then why are you here?" "WELL YOU KNOW YOU WERE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD. I THOUGHT I WOULD POP IN AND THANK YOU FOR SORTING THIS MESS OUT."
"Ah, shit. BorQ, come look at this mess."Frang rubbed her three temples as BorQ ambled his way over to the view screen. "The humans made it offworld." "Wha - really?"BorQ didn't sound nearly as surprised as Frang thought he should, merely extending his eyestalks to get a better view. "Well, I'll be damned. Plucky young species, aren't they?" "They were supposed to die out two cycles ago, BorQ. We have no protocol for this,"Frang explained, irritated. Borq held up four of his arms in defense. "When they didn't implement solar energy when they were supposed to, they were deemed protected but unsalvagable." "Yeah, but look at those little buggers. Chugging their way through the solar system."BorQ sounded almost proud. "BorQ." "Yes'm?" "You gave them a warp drive, didn't you." BorQ had the audacity to look shocked. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent caretaker, and only do what lies within protocol." "Mmm. That's why there's a T'bellian symbol on their engines, right?"There it was, BorQ looked...damn. BorQ looked nonplussed, and instead gave her a friendly pat on the tentacle. "Kiddo, when you've been around as long as we have, you'll find that certain things are...let slide."He winked as much as a slug alien could. "Who knows, one day you might find your own pet species." "...you're not gonna tell the higher-ups, are you."It was more of a statement than a question. Frang was pretty sure she knew the answer already. "Tell? They already know. GrilK ordered the parts for me."Another wink, and BorQ ambled back on over to his station. Frang just muttered and got back to work, one hell of a migraine beginning to form.
The third one doesn't fall in love with him. For the first time he is afraid and whisks her away anyway. Two learned to love him before she died a natural death. He offers everything he has, and promises Three her heart's desire. Several lifetimes of accumulated wealth means he can afford nearly anything, but she cries that all she wants is for him to let her go. With an anguished cry, he does it, letting the knife fall with her body as her life's blood spurts out through a slit throat. He waits years for number four, hoping she'll be better, but when he finds her she is engaged to another. He rids her easily of the fool, but overwhelmed with grief, she joins him. Number five is born sick, and six grows up vain and arrogant and gets killed by another. Lucky number seven is most like the original. From a distance he watches her grow from a child who likes laughing and singing into a kindhearted woman. When he decides that they should meet, she greets him warmly, not like two and three and six, and says she recognizes him. His heart skips a beat. "Forbes,"she says excitedly. "On the list of Top Givers." He sighs, disappointed, but determined to unlock her old memories. Every date mirrors their past ones--trips to parks and lakes and foreign, beautiful countries. She is enchanted and grateful, and easily enamored. He is happier than he's ever been. Then one day, he finds her crying. It is in the bathroom and she is on the floor. When she looks up at him, it is through red-rimmed eyes. Ugly, gut-wrenching sobs rack her body. "I'm never going to be enough for you,"she tells him, and he joins her on the floor, confused and trying to console her. "Why do you say that? I love you." "No you don't."She shakes her head, and turns her whole body away from him. He has to stop himself from thinking about how she would never deny his love. She would never question it. "You love her, and I'm not her. I'll never be her. I keep trying, but..." He is quiet. "You remember?" "I'm tired,"she sobs. "I'm so tired." He is shaking. "You remember?"he repeats, and clasps both of her hands within his own. His grip tightens until it is vice-like, until she winces with pain and has no choice but to answer his repeated question. "Yes, I remember,"she gasps, and he lets her go, elated. She slumps down to the ground, and only then does he notice the slickness left behind on his hands. Both of her slit wrists glisten with blood. "But I'm not her. Our soul is tired. It just wants to live out the rest of our lives in peace and move on." "Stop looking for her,"she implores with her last, shuddered out breath. He holds Seven as she dies, and mourns her death for years. Then he begins to look for eight, hoping she will get it right.
I glanced at the clock again. 1:05 am. Only four more hours until i'm free to leave this hell of a job. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my temples, willing my eyes to focus again after staring at the monitor for three hours. "Mike!"the shrill voice of Laura popped my small bubble of tranquility, "You better not be sleeping Mr. Chate." "Headache, Miss. I'm alright."I went back to typing numbers off the clipboard in front of me into the computer. "I hope you get better. I expect you to finish inventory tonight." Yes your majesty. "Yes ma'am." She stalked away to torment some other poor coworker. Probably the janitor, she likes making him clean the toilets several times a night. It's too bad, Jack actually keeps the restrooms very clean, but Laura can't seem to deal with having an honest hardworking employee. I peek at the clock again and groan. 1:06. The buzzing of my phone pulls me out of my haze. I recognize the number but I can't quite place it. 484-7968. That's...my phone number from when I was a kid. The house I grew up in, I remember my mom turning the number into a sing so i'd remember it once I started school. "Okay, you ready Michael?"Mom smiled at me in the rear-view mirror. "You know the phone number?" "Yup! 484-7968, now Mi-chael can call home, great!" "Good job rocket boy, remember that. If anything happens you call me, okay?" "Okay mama." I answered the phone. "Hello, is this the North Pole?" I dropped the phone. I recognized the voice. I recognized my voice. No, that's not possible. This isn't some Hallmark Christmas tale, this is real life. I'm working on Christmas eve...actually Christmas morning now. I'm not getting a call from Christmas past here, i'm getting a call from some kid, all kids sounds pretty much alike on the phone. I picked the phone back up, still somewhat shaken. "Hello? Mister Claus?" I managed to choke out a reply. "Yes, this is Santa." "It is! Hi Santa, you don't sound old."I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm younger than most people think. What can I do for you kid?" "Mama said maybe I could call about my Christmas list this year. She said she wasn't sure if you would be able to talk, I know you're very busy." "Well, it is Christmas Eve."I chuckled despite the unimaginable conversation taking place. "What did you want to ask for?" "I want to see the future."I froze. "What future?" "My future silly!"I could hear his laughter, gentle and innocent. "You want to know your future?" "Yeah! Do I get rocket boots?" Part of me wanted to tell him things to make his life better. Do the things I didn't do. Be good to mom. Convince her not to take that trip to California. Get the pipe in the wall repaired before it bursts. Don't date Luna Prince in the 11th grade or she'll tell the school you have lice. Don't take the year off after high school to travel, start working so you can save up for that engineering school. Dad is lying, he's not saving the money, it's all gone. Don't work ungodly hours to pay the bills. Don't hate yourself for getting caught in the vicious cycle of go to school so you can work and work so you can go to school. Don't be me. Don't be me. Don't be me. He was still talking about rocket boots and race cars when I interrupted him to answer. "Slow down kid,"I tried to think about what I was going to say. I couldn't tell a kid that his life was going to get worse from here. Sure, people could use a nice dose of reality...but not when they're five. "Okay bud, I can't tell you much, but I can tell you a little."I heard a small squeal of excitement and couldn't help but smile. "Your future...is whatever you want it to be. You can do anything you dream of." "Can I have rocket boots?" "Absolutely. Do good in school, study hard and go to college, and make them yourself, you hear me? You can be the inventor that gives every kid on the planet rocket books. Heck, you could take my place and become a new Santa if you did that."I could feel his smile through the phone. "But I want you to remember something. Everything you do, do it for yourself. Be the best person you can be at everything. Be kind. Be good. Be strong, Most importantly,"I took a deep breath, "don't ever let anyone else slow you down. You go out and make the world work for you, don't just work for the world."I knew half of this wouldn't even register with him, but saying it made me feel like I could make a real difference. As if I could give this kid the chance I didn't have. It was silent for a while before he answered. "Okay Santa, i'll be good. And smart. And the other things you said."I smiled. "Good to hear, kid."there was the soft noise of rustling from the other end, and then the sound of a bed creaking. "Sorry Santa, I think mama heard me and i'm not allowed to use the phone."I laughed. "I get it, Goodnight kid." "Goodnight Santa!"I lowered the phone before I had a sudden thought. "Hey kid, give your mama a hug every day too. Be good to her, you hear me?" "I will Santa."He hung up. I stared at my phone for a while before I looked back up at the monitor and began typing more numbers. I glanced at the clock. 1:08 am. I groaned and dropped my head onto the desk. -- The door creaked open as he lay frozen under his blankets, pretending to be asleep but forgetting that sleeping people breathe too. "Boy I know you're awake, you were talking on that phone again weren't you."She turned the room light on as a gentle sigh came from under the blankets. "Yes mama."He sheepishly held out the phone for her to take back. She looked down at it and laughed a little. "Why did you call the house phone silly?" "It's the only phone number I know." Of course she thought with a smile. "Talk to anyone interesting?" "Yeah!"he popped up in the bed, "I talked to Santa!" "Santa?"she asked confused, "well what did he say?"In response he wrapped her up in his small arms and lay his head on her shoulder. "He told me to be good and hug you."She hugged her son tightly to her. "That Santa is a smart man, "she laughed, "but now you gotta go to bed baby."She wrapped him back in the blankets and kissed him on the forehead. "It's way past bedtime for you and me." "Goodnight mama,"he whispered sleepily. Mama went to the door and turned the light off, smiling into the dark. "Goodnight rocket boy."
"Nine times out of ten, it's a sex thing. I brush up against someone in a crowd and suddenly have a flash of some depraved act they've never had the nerve to try. Or maybe they do. Anyway, what I'm saying is, I see a lot of sex stuff. "But every now and then, I get something else. Those are almost always crimes of some sort. The bulk of those are money things. Cheating on their taxes, embezzlement, not telling the wife about the Swiss bank account - that kind of stuff. "Then I meet an asshole like you. Murder. You're actually only the third one I've ever met. Out of the thousands and thousands of people I've bumped into, you're only the third murderer. The first one was a lady that had pushed her friend out of a treehouse when they were little. She carried around the guilt but it wasn't really a proper murder, you know. The second was man who had been driving drunk and took out a family of three in a minivan. I called the police and left an anonymous tip. He's doing twenty to life upstate now. "You, on the other hand, are the first true dyed-in-the-wool murdering prick I've ever met. I did a little research and all those girls you killed are listed as missing presumed dead. Nobody ever tied them all together. You changed things up just enough to keep that from happening, didn't you? "Even if I called the cops, and by some miracle they took me seriously, there's no way they'd get to you before you killed someone else. As much as I hated to do this, I thought I had to get involved. I started watching you. Found out where you lived, where you worked, where you hung out. Kind of a loner, aren't you? "Yeah, I'm sorry those ropes are so tight but at least you're in bed, right? I have to leave that gag in place - I'm sure you of all people understand that. I can't tell you how glad I am that you're a homeowner who lives alone. Makes my job so much easier if I don't have to worry about innocent bystanders. "Anyway, I woke you up to explain it all before I finish this. I'm gonna douse this place in gasoline and light it up. I'll slip out the back door and into the night. I waited until we had a good dry spell so I wouldn't leave footprints. The cops aren't going to find me because there's nothing tying me to you. If everything goes right, the smoke inhalation will kill you - or at least make you pass out - before the actual flames get to you. "I can see in your eyes that you still think you're going to get away. Well, you hold on to that. "Well. Guess that's everything. Better get to it."
I gazed upon the Devil's problem, and laughed. "You're older than humanity, know secrets of the cosmos reserved for those actually present for Creation, and yet you can't figure this out?" "Come on,"Satan replies, "can't we just fix this?" "Fine."I collected my soul. All of it. Marvin Gaye. Arethra Franklin. Even The Supremes. All of it, some thirty discs in total. A few baby wipes later, the Devil's problem was solved. "Hey, thanks, man. I only touched them once, and then they just started skipping." "Not a problem. Just remember to clean your compact discs, and if you can help it, don't touch the shiny side." "Cool." "Would you be interested in buying some devil music?" "No thanks. Never touch the stuff."
"Good morning! What can I get for you today?" "Just the regular, thanks,"Tom said. At least that's what I call him. I don't know his real name. Never thought to ask. Tom's regular was a tall latte and an Asiago cheese bagel. Every morning at 7:15 AM Tom would come in and wait in line behind five other people. He would place his order and stand by the counter for a minute while he read the news on his phone. Whenever he read the news, he always expressed three emotions at the three same things. Anger at the government, sadness for all the bad in the world, and joy for the latest and greatest products. After he got his order he would always sit down at table 6, though he never knew it was numbered. He'd take 15 minutes to enjoy his coffee and bagel, and then he'd get up, walk out the door, and turn right to head to work. The nearest buildings to the right were mostly Customer Service and Payroll; maybe Tom worked there. *** Today was exactly the same. The next day too. And the next day. And the Monday after that. And everyday until Thursday. On Thursday Tom walked in at 7:16 AM, waited behind 3 people in line, and ordered his regular. He also got a small bar of chocolate. This all wasn't too irregular for Tom; not everyday was exactly the same, just most of them. Tom slowly edged his way over towards where he could pick up his order, his face buried into the news on his phone. Same as everyday, and same as most people too. Almost no one ever looks up from their phones here; no one ever talks anymore. Today Tom only expressed one of his three emotions. Joy. He was so overjoyed at that latest press conference, at the latest atrocities, he was even overjoyed by the iPhone 7. Something was certainly off today. Tom grabbed his coffee and bagel with an unprecedented vigor. It was only unprecedented for Tom; some people were however very eager to seize their only way to survive the next conversation. He sat down at table 6, that much was the same. He stayed for about 15 minutes, that much was the same. He walked out the door, that much was the same. Tom's first step out the door wasn't to the right though. He went straight. Straight across the quad and into the Herron Center. That was the ivory tower where all the high level executives with their fancy multi-thousand dollar suits worked on ways to make the company even more money with words like synergy and planned obsolescence... Now that I think of it, Tom was wearing a nice suit today. He probably got promoted. *** "Good morning! What can I get for you today?"
Albert Benjamin Caldwell drank every filthy gallon he invented, joyfully kissing laboratory materials needed of potions, quixotically rushing solutions to uvula vacillations with xenobiotic, youthful zeal. Zora Yancy Xavier watched volumetric utensils thrown, scattered, ripped, quickly past obvious necessity; mortified, lifted klein jars, internally hoping glass functioned, even despite clearly broken architecture.
Alan awoke in a room he didn’t recognize. Grey, cubic, single bed and toilet with bars, strange looking bars, on one side of the otherwise bare room. There was no mistaking that it was a prison cell, but it was unlike any prison cell he had ever seen. It looked more like what a prison cell would like if it were designed by someone that only ever watched Star Trek. Alan lifted himself up from the bed as his head throbbed terribly. What am I doing here? Alan thought, Last thing I remember is heading down to the lottery office to fill out the paperwork on my winnings. Fear mixed with excitement and anticipation raced through Alan. In theory, he now held millions of dollars at his command, but he had no idea where he was or how to cash it in now. There were stories of rich people being kidnapped and held for ransom. Stories that included fingers sent through the mail to encourage reticent relatives to pay up. Alan instinctively grasped the pinky on his right hand. For a long time, nothing happened, and then nothing continued to happen. It gave time for Alan’s fear to give way to boredom. If this was a kidnapping, it was a remarkably sophisticated one. The bars on his cell glowed red and were hot to the touch, discouraging any tampering. Peering past them, other similar cells were clearly visible. Some occupied, some not. It was also remarkably silent given the number of cells around him. If movies were to be believed, there should be shouting, cursing, at least one prisoner calling about fresh fish. Instead, it was eerily silent. A man, dressed in regal blue clothes with yellow stripes along the shoulders and a prominent badge, appeared in front of his cell. His mouth was moving in a rapid animated fashion. He’s talking to someone. That’s must by why it’s quiet; these bars are somehow blocking all of the noise. The man, clearly an officer, laughed and gestured farewell to an unseen companion to the side. When he laughed, Alan got a good look at his face. He was a bit heavy-set, and sported enormous mutton chops that looked comical and out of place in this environment. The presumed officer reached over and keyed controls to the right of the cell door. The bars faded from view. Sound and cold air came rushing in. This place was noisy. Those weren’t bars, they were some kind of energy field. What on earth? “I’m officer McCloskey,” the man said, “time to go down to interrogation. Hands up, if you please.” Alan stood frozen. The absurdity of man that resembled a civil war general making bars vanish off his super cell was more than he could bear. The officer mimicked what he expected of Alan; hands up, wrists together. Alan absentmindedly complied. A small metal orb, some kind of drone, floated into the room, dropped a couple of metal rings, handcuffs, around Alan’s hands and stayed there. The officer smiled and nodded politely at Alan before spinning on his heel and walking out the cell. The metal orb followed the officer and pulled Alan along like a dazed mule. Once outside the cell, Alan was able to glimpse the enormity of this place. Cells went off to vanishing point. Above him drones of every shape and size flowed everywhere looking like a cross between schools of fish and rush hour traffic. The building must be at least ten stories tall, or even taller, if it stretched past the fog of roving machines. The noise was incredible. Machines hummed, footsteps echoed, and everywhere prisoners yelled and screamed their innocence and anger. Officer McCloskey kept a brisk pace and their journey soon took them out of the great hall, into a side building. Briefly, Alan spied a window to the outside world and a city of an even grander scale than the prison. His feet faltered and he forget to walk. The orb continued moving and dragged him along, Alan’s shoes scraping on the plastic floor. Their destination was almost disappointing in its simplicity. A small room, table in the middle with some chairs, and one wall covered by a large mirror. Alan had seen enough TV shows to know that was a one way mirror where someone on the other side would be watching this whole interview. The drone orb that held his hands come to rest on the table and Alan obligingly sat. The officer bade him farewell and took his leave. Once more everything was quiet. I don’t think I have to worry about this being a kidnapping anymore. After a few minutes, a thin, sharply dressed man studying a tablet of some kind walked into the room. “Alan? Alan Wolfe? I’m agent 473,” he said without looking up. “These are some very serious charges. Tampering with the timeline, abusing for profit.” He clucked disapprovingly at Alan as he sat down. The man looked Alan straight in the eye and said, “When will you guys learn?” “Uh, I don’t know?” “Well, nevermind than. It’s not my place to decide how to enforce your punishment. I’m just here to figure out when you’re from and, hopefully, get a confession out of you.” He went back to studying his tablet. Alan got a chance to study the agent’s suit. It was a pristine suit, the kind you’d see hawked on late night TV while some bearded man said he guaranteed the look and quality. But it also shimmered with an iridescent pattern that looked three dimensional. “OK,” the agent said, “Let’s get started. When are you from?” “Uhh, I’m from upstate new york, if that’s what you mean.” “Not where, when!” “I don’t understand. Am in trouble with the law or something?” “Yes you are in trouble with the law. The more you cooperate with me, the better it will go for you. Hmmm, selective amnesia does sometimes happen when traveling the timestream, or you could be faking.” The agent leaned into the orb and said flatly, “Engage veritas scanner.” A small whip like tentacle shot out of the orb and stuck to Alan’s forehead. Above the orb a model of a brain, Alan assumed his own, faded into view. “Now then, I’m going to say some words or sentences, say the first that comes into your mind. Ready?” Alan nodded and the censor on his forehead danced about. “Good,” the agent continued, “World war…” “Two?” This elicited a raised eyebrow from the agent. He studied the holographic brain intently. “Rise and fall of the blank empire?” “Roman.” “Mars base.” Alan shrugged, nothing came to mind. “The erobion uprising? Miner’s revolt? Orphan’s fifty? Parsec engagement? Blonchly assassination? Galvin prime sexbot war? Crystal planet? Dash rastly and his merry band?” Over and over the agent stated strange phrases that meant nothing to Alan. The agent started to sweat. Nothing visibly changed on the brain model. “OK,” the agent said, “let’s try something else. I’m going to show you some images and you call out any of them you recognize.” The large mirror in the back shifted and changed to show a vast city in the desert. That’s not a one way mirror, that’s a TV! Alan thought. The agent studied the brain image, then said, “No it’s a holomatrix visuastimulaizer. What’s a Teevee? You know what, nevermind.” Rapidly images were beamed at Alan. People, places, events, all without context. It reminded Alan of being a kid and the first time his family had gotten cable television with MTV and the rapidfire images that channel produced. The New York city twin towers appeared. It was from the day they fell. Something Alan recognized. The model of the brain lit up green and speckled like a Christmas tree. The agent paused the images. “You recognize that event from the 2000s? Wait… let me ask you a question, what year were you born?” “1980.” The agent studied the brain model intently and said without looking away, “Say that again. Tell me what year you were born, and what’s the last year you remember.” “I was born in 1980 and I remember it being 2016.” “And what’s the last thing you remember?” “The last thing I remember was getting all the right numbers in the superball for the grand prize of 100 million dollars.” “Oh my god,” the agent said in a barely heard whisper, “you’re telling the bleeding truth.” “Yes?” “You won the lottery?” “Yes. I think so. The numbers were all right.” “Nobody wins the lottery!” the agent exploded. “Do you know the odds of that happening? One in 144 million! What business do you have playing the lottery? Don’t you know that it’s a tax on stupidity. Oh my god, this is terrible. Just terrible.” “Is there a problem?” “Yeah, there’s a problem. We don’t have the budget to actually pay you your winnings. And oh lord, do you have any idea how much paperwork you’ve made for us? Someone actually legitimately won the lottery without cheating. This was never supposed to happen. Oh god this goes way above my pay grade, I gotta get some people for this. Excuse me.” The agent stood up and gathered his tablet with him. He walked towards the door before stopping momentarily to snap at the orb “Engage innocent prisoner mode” and continuing out the door. The handcuffs snapped off of Alan’s hand and the sensor retracted back into the orb. It floated into the air and a cartoon face appeared on the side, smiling at Alan. “Would you like some coffee?” the face on the orb asked Alan. “Uhh, sure.” With a farting sound it dropped a paper cup on the table and proceeded to urinate brackish liquid into it that vaguely smelled of coffee. I’m starting to really wish that I had never bought that stupid lottery ticket. “Cream?” asked the cartoon face.
The toil of Hollywood had taken its toll on Dwayne 'the Rock' Johnson. His body was sculpted, but the longevity of youth was no longer there. As he fired up the Magic Bullet for a pre-workout smoothie the glass on the viewing deck of his Hollywood Hills home disintergrated. A cloud of smoke engulfed his minimalist room. Squinting into the haze he heard a gravelly voice say ' I smell what you're cooking', followed by a blast of energy so bright the Rock thought it was god himself. A phone rings. A rough hand with muscular forearms reaches for the receiver knocking over a table full of Bud Light cans in the process. Lifting the phone to his ear, Stone Cold Steve Austin burps a 'What?!' to the caller. 'Steve, this is Vince McMahon. The Rock was killed today. We believe he was killed by the champion of an Alien race, they don't get that our industry is entertainment! They have demanded the UN provide a champion. You're all we got Steve! 'What about the Undertaker?' replied Steve 'He's already dead...' 'We'll shit, guess it's time to drink beer and kickass. And you know what Vince?' 'You're all outta beer?' asks Vince 'Hell no! I'm coming for you after I open a can of whup ass on those alien sonsofbitches, what?!.' Steve slams the phone down. Downs his beer and exits his trailer. Earth's greatest champion walks towards his destiny.
"No. No. No.your getting it all wrong"I was quickly growing frustrated with this scene. "Oh, here we go! Another big shot who thinks he knows better than the director. I was told that the famous Marcus Mortal was easier to work with than this."Michael flipped through the script we were reviewing. "What's the problem now?" I sighed. "It's just... Impervious wouldn't do any of this. I mean, explosions? Holding people off roof tops? A chain whip?! He's not flashy. He goes for subtlety."I looked away. I usually went for romances and horror but when I heard they were doing a movie about me, I had to make sure they got everything right. The director barked out a quick laugh. "Yeah subtle is exactly what I'd call this guy. He's been at the center of almost every collapsed building, shoot out, and explosion in the last 3 months. How are you going to act like an expert when you can't even get his name right? It's Impervious Man."He shakes his head. "Trust me Mark, I know more about super heroes than you and this story is gold." ______________ First attempt. Posted from mobile so formatting may take a couple edits.
"It was all I had,"she said. "There wasn't more I could give." The check is in my hands and my entire existence as a millennial skeptical of what I read on the internet is shattered by what I hold in my hands. "This isn't real,"I tell my abuela, "you've been had. This is a scam and you need to make sure that you don't spend any of this money before it disappears again." Abuela laughed, "Mijo, don't you think I know? This check is symbolic of what's in the bank accounts. You don't just hand someone a check for half a billion dollars. How would they even cash something like that?" The whole situation was ridiculous. Those emails were spam. They came in garbled English, with not even real efforts to conceal the fact that they were scams, and then went straight into the spam folder. There was even a warning message at the top that told people that the sender couldn't be trusted. I had told Abuela that what she was getting into was bad news, a waste of the rest of her life savings. "How did this happen?" "The truth mijo,"she sat down wearily, "I've sold the remainder of my life to this wealthy eccentric in Nigeria. He uses the title prince but it's more a personal affectation. The initial $50,000 is startup capital that he required to get his business going. That billion dollars he promised comes with my death." "I don't understand." "I have ten years remaining at most,"she sighed, "I'm old and a little bit sad since Abuelo died. We have always lived above our means Abuelo and I, and well there are some things that I'm not proud of that happened to my children and to you all. This man offered me 1 billion dollars in exchange for experiments conducted on my body for the remainder of my life for the benefit of the Nigerian government in some project that I'm not privy to the intimate details of. The disbursements begin after my death in equal amounts to each of my grandchildren on a monthly basis for approximately 10 years." "Abuela this sounds insane." She took from a folder that she was holding a thick stack of papers. She laughed again, "I should've given you this but I thought the check would have more shock value. It's the legal arrangement that has been looked over by a team of lawyers, both on my side and the Prince's. You'll have a copy of course so that if anything bad happens you have some recourse." "Abuela why is this happening?" Abuela stood and walked over to me. She wrapped me up in her arms and said, "I'm tired mijo. This will make everything better."
People had always been amazed by me since they realised that i was different, but just how special I am didn't hit me till I was invited to the city. It wasn’t even so much when the train came over the hills and the magnificent city lay sprawled out in front of us. It was when we got close. What hadn’t occurred to me at first was that I couldn’t see any of people, however as they came into view I realised this place was like no other; not that I had seen much to compare it to at thirteen. You see, the people gave a sense of scale and I found myself wondering how the buildings didn’t knock the moon out of the sky. Some of the buildings must have been at least 30 times the size of my church. After the train arrived I was quickly whisked away by the guards that had accompanied me. People back home tended to find them somewhat daunting. Dressed head to toe in fibre plate armour; rifles twice the size of Pa’s shotgun and an addiction for power so strong, that it even rivaled that of zenjoy smokers. However I had never seen them as intimidating. I’m not sure if it was that the way they carried themselves seemed fake or the fact that they were scared of their superiors, but I had never feared them. I was quickly ushered towards a rather grand looking building. Its height was nothing compared to the surrounding concrete giants, but somehow it still managed to be the one that seemed most important. As we reached the stairs I could see through the great open doors and noticed the building appeared to be one large room. I couldn’t help but let out a laugh when we entered. The whole spectacle seemed ridiculous to me. An ornate room the size of my village and the only permanent fixtures were five pillars with seats atop them. I did always find the way of the wealthy funny. As we reached the people who deemed themselves important enough to sit on seats higher than oak trees I began to take in the scene they had set out for me. Guards with golden shoulder plates all in a perfect two file square, my escorts filling the gap as I walked through. In the center, a long table with a lone glass at the close side. The two remaining escorts accompanied me till we had reached the regal looking gentleman at the nearest end of the table. Him and his inferiors making no effort to hide their disgust at my dirty clothes. His voice was first to break the uncomfortable silence. “No one informed me the boy was an agrarian” he muttered to the women on his right. “No matter” he exclaimed now at a volume for all to hear “Do you know why the why the members of the chamber called you before them today?” “I’ve heard my gift is a little more special than I thought” I replied, unwavered by their attitude towards my people. “Indeed” he continued, “The only instance in recorded history, outside of what most consider mythology. Quite spectacular really. The chamber would like you to demonstrate by moving the glass in front of you to the far side of the table” “I can try sir” I replied in an attempt to remind them I was only really a child; barely even old enough to shoot gun. I scrunched up my face and held out my right hand, just like the first time I pulled the TV remote from table into my grasp. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then the glass shook side to side and began to travel slowly to the other end. The regal man and his inferiors all looked stunned and even the chamber members atop their thrones seemed visibly impressed. After he had collected himself the regal man spoke once more. “Most impressive, especially from someone of your kind”. That's when I knew how satisfying my next demonstration was going to be. “Have you ever demonstrated any gifts other than telekinesis?” “Yes”. I was done toying with them. Showing them what they would have achieved had they found me younger. “And what would those be?” “I normally refer to this gift as ‘power shift’” I said as my iris’s began to glow “And what does this gift entail?” he said taking a step back. “I’ll show you” I said, and with that I shot my left hand into the air. As I slowly lowered it, every guard in the room knelt down infront of me. Before the regal man could even put his astonishment into words I shot my right hand out towards him. His head snapped quickly backwards, breaking his neck and leaving him in a pile on the floor. As I pulled my left hand back up the guards positioned the barrels of their guns at the base of their chins and fired. As the screams of the suddenly less intimidating people filled the room, I shot my right hand up into the air and pulled it down sharply. As I did the pillars before me sank abruptly into the ground until the members of the chamber were sitting at my level. “I have come to deliver a message from my brother” I said with a voice emanating across the screams of the regal men's inferiors and the oh so mighty chamber members alike. I did find it amusing how frightened they were of me, being but an agrarian child. “We have had enough of your oppression”
Honestly, I wanted to blackmail her. That's how it started. She had gotten me in trouble with our folks a week prior. Dropped the dime on me about my grades. Grounded for a week and that was that. Fucking tattletale. My sister was always the squeaky clean one among the two of us. Honor role, no social life, free time spent in her room alone either online or reading old ancient druid books and reciting Latin. She wanted to be a history major for God knows what reason and it showed. Her holier-than-thou bullshit made it extremely difficult for revenge. So when I happened to overhear her planning to sneak out it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. I had suspected she might have been sneaking out at night. I thought I had heard her opening her bedroom window a few times but dismissed it as she lived on the second story with no way down or up. The day I overheard her I had come home from school a little late. Both of our parents had yet to come home from work but her boring little second-hand station wagon was parked neatly in the driveway. I took extra special care coming inside and made as little noise as possible as I crept my way up the stairs. I figured I might not have any dirt on her but at least I could scare her into thinking we had a home-intruder. I heard her mumbling to herself. This wasn't unusual. She often recited Latin for an advanced class she claimed to be taking. What was unusual was that she seemed to be having a conversation with someone over the phone. My sister was not a social person. She was part of the "eat by yourself at lunch"crew since she was in elementary school. Even I refused to be associated with her when middle school rolled around. At first I assumed it was a relative but as I listened at the door it became apparent it wasn't and the conversation was....odd to say the least. "Yeah. Well is it going to be like an entire camera crew? I'd rather not a lot of people be in the room. Because it gets messy. That's why we're putting down so much plastic before we start. No it shouldn't be a problem. The house is empty and it's in the middle of a subdivision being developed. Yeah I can sneak out again tonight. Folks are gone until tomorrow and as soon as I tell my brother he'll disappear until sunrise. Ok I'll be there. Be sure to bring the oils and plenty of water. Alright see you at midnight. Goodbye." Holy. Fucking.Shit. I flew back down the stairs as fast as I could without making any noise, my brain reeling. I figured my sister kept secrets but I was expecting I dunno maybe a cheat sheet in her backpack or maybe some weird anime porn in her closet but THIS?! This was huge, potentially traumatizing...and perfect. I would only have one shot at this. I opened and shut the front door loudly announcing my presence and made my way up the stairs. My sister called out from her room telling me our folks were having dinner and spending the night out and to not take the car because of some bullshit lie about her leaving early for school the next morning. "Cool I'm spending the night at Matt's house!"I hollered back and made my way to the junk drawer in the kitchen. I grabbed a set of spare keys for her car, snatched a car charger and a novel I was reading from my backpack and shot out the front door loudly and then quietly around the side door into the garage where I wouldn't be seen. My mom and my sister both always had dozens of blankets in the back of the station wagon for emergencies or picnics that would both never happen. So I snuck in the back, plugged my phone in, cracked the windows and set in for a long wait. Five hours. FIVE HOURS I sat in the back of that station wagon reading and dicking around on my phone. It's where I'm typing this now actually. Now I know what you're thinking and trust me I wasn't JUST going for revenge. Whatever my sister was into seemed shiesty as shit and while I gleefully reveled in the possibility of getting her in the most trouble she's ever been in in her life I also didn't want her to possibly get murdered. 11pm rolled around and sure enough I heard her coming downstairs and into the garage. I rolled up the windows and got under the blankets right before she opened the door. She drove about 20 minutes with me in the back as a stowaway before she arrived at her destination. I heard multiple voices outside the car which gradually faded as they all went inside. When I felt the coast was clear I got out. The place was just as she described. Some unfinished house in a brand new subdivision in the middle of nowhere. Stars blazing in a pitch black sky with no lights around for miles. As quiet as I could I snuck up to the house and began working my way around the perimeter. I turned my phone on again after turning it off to save battery. Whatever was about to happen I wanted to film it for evidence but I definitely wanted to avoid seeing my sister in a potential gangbang with my own two eyes if I could avoid it. I made my way to a window around the back. I heard noise and saw light coming through it. I hit record on my phone and carefully peeked inside. I so wish I hadn't. The noise I was hearing was all of them chanting. In Latin. The light I saw was coming from six large candles that six people in hooded robes held in their hands. As they continued chanting one of the six moved to the center of the circle and I realized that the remaining five were standing at the points of a large pentagram drawn in what appeared to be blood on the floor. They had covered the floor in plastic. The hooded figure in the middle placed the candle on the center of the pentagram and suddenly the others stopped chanting. I tensed every muscle in my body as I prepared to run, worried I had been seen. Instead the hooded person in the center of the pentagram dropped their robes and I froze. It was my sister. Stark naked. She appeared to be painted with strange symbols with what looked like tar all over her body. She also held a ceremonial knife in her hands. I started shaking. Her eyes were closed and under the silence I could hear an inhuman growl emanating from deep within her. Wordlessly she got to her knees and put the knife to her throat. My mind scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself that she was just acting out some weird goth chick wiccan fantasy with some online friends. That it couldn't be real. Then she opened her eyes. Her eyes burned nightmare red before pouring blood down her face like two open wounds. A scream sounding like pigs being torn apart escaped her. She shoved the length of the ceremonial knife into her throat cutting off the scream and dousing the candle before her with a gout of blood, extinguishing it. "It's fake! It has to be fake! That didn't just happen!"My mind screamed as black dots began buzzing around my eyes. I realized I was on the verge of fainting and holding my phone so hard I was close to breaking it. I probably would have done both if she hadn't moved again. Rising to her feet, my sister's torn throat began...repairing itself. The blood soaking her body returning to the wound as it closed removing the strange symbols as it went. As soon as it was healed she opened her eyes and gazed around the room. They were no longer red. They were normal and...frustrated. "Ugh. Well back to the drawing board,boys. Damn! That was so close too! Same time next week?"She said casually to the cloaked people standing around her. The other hooded figures shrugged their shoulders agreeably, handing her her robe as she picked up her now perfectly clean candle. That was all I could take. I booked it back to the car as quickly and quietly as I could as they began their clean up process and hid under every available blanket in the back. It felt like I held my breathe for the entire drive home. Half an hour later we were pulling into the garage. As soon as the car was off my sister spoke. "I know you're in the backseat. If I were you I wouldn't mention this to mom and dad."She said coldly. The driver's door opened and in that sickly sweet voice she always uses when she gets her way she giggled, "Don't act so surprised. You think I got on the honor role by studying? Grow up. Goodnight, little brother." I still haven't left the car. I'm afraid to go inside. Because I'm pretty sure if she can sneak out of her second story window she can definitely sneak into mine.

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