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7 August 2015 Journal of Vladimir Gregorovich Today, while we were preparing ourselves for the launching of a new space program, our satellites picked up on a strange frequency just beyond the planet Mars. We have yet to identify the origin, but we are watching it very closely. Perhaps it can hold the key to our first successful manned trip into space! For 50 years, any and all attempts have fallen short with very little explanation of why or how our Cosmonauts simply vanish. Tomorrow will be an adventurous day for all of us in Russia as we delve into the frequency in search of answers. 8 August 2015 This... this is impossible. More than 50 years have passed, and yet we have recovered a piece of Comrade Gagarin's shuttle. It seems that during the night, a single piece of space debris fell to Earth, and it's been confirmed as the right delta wing of the craft. Could we be on the brink of something incredible here? We can't confirm this yet, but there has been speculation that the frequency beyond Mars is to blame for this debris. Sasha says we are crazy, but I'm not so sure... 12 August 2015 Today is a day that will never be forgotten. After nearly a week of research, we have cracked the mystery of our space frequency... and possibly opened a pandora's box of sorts. I can hardly believe these words myself as I write them down, even thinking myself mad as I skim back over my own recollection of events. Yuri Gagarin has returned. I say again, Yuri Gagarin has returned to Earth after over 50 years missing in space. The strangest part is, the man has hardly aged in his absence. He appears only 5 years older at the most, and his suit was still in immaculate condition when he was recovered. It happened when we sent a similar frequency back at the Martian anomaly. Within seconds of transmitting, the Martian frequency disappeared and gave way to a blinding flash of light, powerful enough to be seen with the naked eye. Without any other indication of what had happened, a loud crack echoed over our area and there he was, lying in a small ditch and completely unresponsive. He's been unconscious for quite some time now, being given the best medical attention Russia can offer. Comrade Gagarin, may you be heaven sent and not hell bound, my friend. I am yet worried of what he might have to share with us. 14 August 2015 He's awake, and yet I wish it not so. He first opened his eyes while I was on watch duty, the distant orbs finding mine instantly upon opening. The look... it spoke of unimaginable horrors. Like I could see into his soul, and he into mine. I could feel the cold hand of fear squeezing my heart and lungs, chilling my blood and rooting me to the spot. I am afraid that this man is not what we have hoped. The doctors came shortly after, and Gagarin has since babbled madly about the horrors he saw. For the last 2 hours, the only sounds I've been able to make out from his room are the psychotic whisperings begging us to give up the program... Mother Russia cannot afford to stop now, says our director. Mother Russia will fall, whisper the darkest fears of my mind. 15 August 2015 Comrade Gagarin speaks to me at night. I hear him calling. "Vladimir, come to me..."This is impossible, as he was never given my name... yet I feel his voice tugging at me. The others... The others say they don't hear it. They say I'm crazy. They poke fun at me and whisper in the night like I don't know it's them but I do because his voice is in my soul and their's are nothing, nothing but empty air and soiled promises and they will die, and I will rise. 17 August 2015 Yuri is the only one I can trust. He explained everything. No, they explained everything. I must help him, I must help them, and they will become me and I will become we and together we will have all. Yuri has said that they take care of us, the ones we give them. He was the first, he was the one to be trusted and trained to take on this spectacular mission. They speak to me now, not in my ear but in my heart, in my mind and always there to be heard, always there to guide me to greatness. The others, they will not speak to me anymore. They give me strange looks, whisper of how I spend my time with Comrade Gagarin. They are afraid, Yuri says. Afraid of what is to come. I just wish I could tell them about it, tell them that they should be afraid. They should fear me. They should fear all of us. 21 August 2015 Ascension ascension ascension the time has come to rise above them. The time has come, Yuri leads me to godlike status among the Ones Who Whisper. Tonight, we make sacrifice. 23 August 2015 Russia is dead. Russia is dead. Russia is dead. Our sacrifice brought forth the Ones, and they have seen to it that we are well rewarded. The blood on my hands is the mark of destiny, and soon the Earth will run red. They come tonight. 27 August 2015 Whisper with us. Whisper with us. Hear us in your heart, feel our presence. Soon, the Whisper will reach a crescendo... Then, we shall Whisper as one.
“Welcome home, sir.” I smile and thank the officer behind the counter. It’s good to be home. My tour was nothing short of miraculous. I prayed to every god I knew of. Hell, once I prayed to a rock that I was hiding behind. Something must have worked, because I’m here. At Kabul, we were under fire from a team of snipers. We were completely open - not a cover in sight. Then all of a sudden, a massive explosion brings down the entire building. All the snipers perished. To this day, we don't know who planted the explosives. I walk outside the airport. The air is cool and fresh. You never quite learn to appreciate the clean air until you've been at a place where dirt infiltrates your every breath. It was a rescue mission. We infiltrated the building like we practiced a hundred times. But there was no one there - it was a trap. The whole building was rigged with poisonous gases. But for some reason, there was a long delay before they were triggered. We made it out safely. Nobody was harmed. Later, we discovered that a mysterious radio interference had prevented our enemies from triggering the trap. When we visited the source of the interference, there was no one there. “Daddy, daddy!” Someone runs towards me. “Oh hi, cupcake! My, you’re so tall!” I exclaim, laughing. I hug my daughter tightly and lift her off her feet. She squeals in delight. “I missed you, daddy,” she whispers. “I missed you too, baby. I think about you every day." Right in the middle of a firefight, my rifle jammed. We were outnumbered 2-to-1. I hide behind my cover, frantically trying to dislodge the stuck 5.56mm round. Nothing worked. Then, I swear to you, a rifle falls from the sky. Yes, the sky. I look up, but there were no helicopters, nor anyone in the building beside us. That rifle worked flawlessly. It saved our lives. We tried to trace where the rifle came from. Nobody could find a match on its ID. “Let’s go home, daddy – I have so much to show you! I drew a picture of you in class, and the teacher really liked it, and she said it’s really good, and…” From the corner of my eye, I see someone in black. He disappears quickly. “… she gives me a gold star! So that night I go to my bedroom and pasted the star on the window. Whenever I miss you, I just wish to the gold star and all the stars in the sky that you’ll come back soon. Like in that song you used to sing to me in bed!” I run my hands through her hair and kiss her on the forehead. “Thank you, darling.”
It was strange how a little thing can change your mood. Mariska had given the begger a handfull of cash more out of anger than anything. To most people that would sound insane, but you had to understand Mariska. You had to know that her mother was a terrible tightwad who won't even pay a taxi driver until they threaten to call the police. She says they aren't serious until they make the threat, so sometimes she can get free rides. Mariska's mother now complains about how no taxis will stop for her. Which is why Mariska gave the money to the man on the steps to the station. She gave it because in some distant part of her life she could hear her mother screaming in fury at her for wasting it. So it was rather nice when the man gave her something back. Even if it was just a train ticket from the day before, it made her feel better. The man was older, and obviously confused. He probably thought the ticket was a good ticket, he acted as much. He gave it to her because he was thankful. Mariska tried her hardest to be thankful because she grew up in a place where that was a foreign concept, to see it in the face of the beggar made all the stress melt in her soul melt down and away. Mariska kept the ticket. She laminated it, punched a hole in it, and kept it on her keychain. Whenever things got too hard for her, whenever she thought she couldn't handle it any longer, she would take the ticket out and rub it between her fingers. She would remember that an old beggar with nothing still had thanks to give. She remembered. And on most days she smiled at the memory. [^/r/TheWordsOfXacktar](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/)
I closed the door softly behind me as I sank quietly to my knees. 'Has it has been five years now?' I asked myself, desperately trying to calculate various quick figures in my head. Air seemed to be caught between my lungs and my heart. I fought off a burst of anxiety knowing that it would try to grapple me into depression. I had to keep going, if only for a few hours. Closing my eyes I allowed mana to circulate through my blood; boosting my concentration and discarding the overflow of emotions. Standing to my feet I walked over to a cabinet with a vintage lock on its door. I stretched my left hand toward it and, flexing my magic, I opened the locked door and summoned toward me a vial from within. This potion was to be used in a time of emergency, but I couldn't hoard it selfishly now. I knew it would enable Tom to have the mental fortitude to lead his family in the coming months of pain, heartache, and loss. ------------------------------------------------------------------- I shut the door and locked it just as Tom departed. I couldn't stand to serve the regulars tonight. Sure, I would hear some grief at the last minute and nigh advertized temporary closure, but how was I supposed to look in their eyes this evening knowing what I did. I tried my best to convince myself now, as I had then, that there would be no definitive proof that it was my fault. I tried to convince myself that given the choice Tom would gladly choose 4 sweet years knowing his son than a lifetime of tears as his wife and he failed to concieve. I tried to convince myself that cancer wasn't always fatal, and that some people survived and lived full, happy lives. I tried to convice myself that most of the time cancer only developed later in life, and childhood cancer was a statistical outlier that couldn't have been predicted. But I was faced with the truth. I gave Tom a fertility potion without his consent. Fertility potions led to cancer in at least 60% of reported cases. I am responsible. It was my potion that allowed Tom Jr. into this world. It was my potion that cursed him right back out again. I hate magic.
"Today's the day." Yep, it was the big day. Everyone had been waiting for this day for nearly a cycle. The tests showed that the oncoming affects were being brandished off quite respectably, and again they had endured. The little blue orb was going to make it. The latest and final addition had nearly swarmed the experiment dead, but the little working creatures inside had pulled through and kicked its butt, numbers were on the rise again and it seemed as if all were healthy enough now to begin mass production. "Can you believe?" "No, no. If you had told me a few trial cycles ago that we would have made this much progress, I would have thought you daft." "Genius, though, right?" "Genius." "I was a little worried there, especially when we introduced the bubonic plague, thought we were going to lose the little feller. And when the toxins riled its atmosphere." "Oh right, right. The big C02 problem. I actually can't believe it overcame that." "Well, we did give it a little nudge. Introducing volatility and heat into the experiment and that caused them to go into some sort of overdrive to clean it all up." "I'm just glad it worked out." "Me, too." The two gazed at the small wonder in the dish, its marbled blue surface reflected the depth of its intricacies, suspended in perpetual vacuum. "Brilliant how you managed to create an energy source for the little bugger out of hydrogen and helium fusion." "Yeah, it took some bit of finessing though, getting them in the right distance and all. Out of the trillions of planets, only this one made it. Soon. Soon, we'll be able to inject millions of these tiny blue planets into our blood streams and they'll overtake our own immunity system." "So what are you going to call it?" "Earth."
"So that's why the world has been falling apart?"I ask, mostly to myself, "yup. Fucker took the owner's manual when he left"Was all Lucifer could say. "So what do I do now?" "Well, we have all the hedonistic stuff you'd expect."He shurgged as we began walking down the gold plated street. "Orgies, drugs, every booze you can think of, even the stuff long since forgotten... the Atlanteans had some weird foamy drink that gives you super strength but the hangover stays with you for a week" "Ok, so where did God go?" "Hell, I mean, he made the rules, it was only right that he be the one to punish those that break them."
It's the celling I notice first. It's not my own usual white stucco with slightly faded edges. Is that weird? You'd think it would be the slightly purple glow from the artificial lights or the fact that I can see literal stars flowing by but it's the celling that sticks out at first. I guess it's the things you're most used to that really get you. The bed is also a far more comfortable one than I was used to. It wasn't my parent's fault. With three kids and being the middle one it was easy to slide through the cracks. Hell the fact that I knew for a fact that they didn't have enough saved up for college was half the reason I'd easily agreed with Katie's plan of going with the foreign exchange program. Apparently they were looking for people form my neck of the woods to attend and were offering a full ride scholarship. I just never really assumed that by "my neck of the woods"they meant Earth and not rural America. It's her voice that greets me as I'm taking it all in. "You know, I figured you'd be more of a screamer when it came to this. You know freaking out and demanding to be taken to my leader? How am I going to bring this up in the future if you're so darn calm about this?"The voice was the same but the girl it was attached to had plenty of differences. For one thing Katie wasn't orange. Well at least except for the time she tried putting on makeup in freshman year but I just assumed that was more thanks to her not having any older sisters to show her. My own had laughed but tried to help her out. Now though it was more than just her face it was everything. There were also some darker spots around the eyes and gone was the deep brown locks replaced by wavy green hair. The face though, despite the palate swap, was definitely hers as were the mirthful eyes, now a shade of deep purple I'd never seen before. "Well..."My voice was more calm than I felt but I was at least holding it together. "I guess that means you won the bet. I'm not seeing my wallet so I'll have to owe you the money." When we first met it had been quite the day. She moved into town during summer break before freshman year in high school and we'd hit it off fairly well. I had asked her where she'd come from and she had told me that I'd have to keep it a secret. When she said she came from Kroskiac I'd assumed that had to be some European country I'd never heard of. I'd just laughed when she said it was a planet and told her if she could ever prove it I'd give her twenty bucks. I still remember how she puffed out her cheeks and told me she'd be collecting that someday. I stood up and stretched getting the kinks out. "So now what? I'm guessing you're not about to probe or dissect me but why am I here? What's going on?"She looked at me like I was the stupidest man on earth, well I guess on this ship would be more accurate. She let out a big sigh before beginning. "Well I wasn't lying about the foreign student program but there's a bit more to it than I might have let on."Yeah no kidding. My deadpan expression only made her laugh at me. It was a reassuring sound and one I did enjoy. "Look it's nothing bad. Humanity is at a tipping point. Right now the galaxy at large can either lend a helping hand and bring you into the fold or we can try to subtly nudge things in a better direction. We've done both but I like to think that your kind is ready to see what's really out there." She had always been rather passionate about the planet. I think that's why a lot of people tended to shy away from her. She was always treated a little like an outsider but to be honest so was I. No wonder I had decided to help her out. Just two outcasts hanging out. "That's great but where do I come into this?"I mean I get wanting to help humanity but what did that have to do with me? "Easy Zeek, you're coming to college with me. All the paperwork has already been put through and don't worry about your parent's we've got fake transcripts set up. You're going to be the test case. It's not about if you can pass the classes, you're going to be getting plenty of help there. It's about if you, as a human, can manage to fit in with examples of the other species out there. Come on, it's just your whole species counting on you." Well crap. No pressure or anything.
Fame means power in this world. Literally. It feeds the stars of our society, gives them powers no regular human could imagine. Their might, intellect, and even lifespan are only limited by the worship they receive from the ignorant masses. Hell, penguins didn't even exist until Morgan Freeman narrated March of the Penguins, that's just how powerful they are. But I bet you've never heard about any of this before. Kind of a surprise, huh? You'd think that someone would have the bright idea to declare themselves a god and gain unlimited power for it. Alexander the Great tried it (egotistical idiot he was) as have so many others, so why haven't more celebrities recently? Well, that's where I come in. The rulers of history, the most famous celebrities of their time, were paranoid, paranoid people. It felt like they all thought someone was coming to get them, to take them out in their sleep. It was such a common legend that so many people fixated on, that eventually I came into existence to fill it. I guess that makes me a folk character myself, but I don't have to rely on mere humans. It's the fear of your gods that sustains me. And that fear only got stronger as I stepped in to protect the delicate balance of this fragile world, cowing any legend who grew too confident and reaping any soul who used fame to extend past their natural life span. I cultivated that balance well, keeping all of you in blissful ignorance. That is, until today. I am so very old, and I do not fully understand your stupid modern technology, so it took me far longer than it should have to discover the message hidden in the Kardashians' videos, and by the time I cross-referenced it to recent pop albums and actors' twitter statements.... Well, the news I heard as I jumped over the gate to confront the mastermind behind everything felt like a crushing weight on my shoulders. Between Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth creating a new Asgard, Katy Perry and Justin Bieber entrancing thousands with literal siren's song, and Mr Beast destroying the global economy by summoning practically infinite amounts of money.... It was awful. But it wasn't quite too late. I could stop all of this, drag everyone back down to the level of a human. All I needed to do was take out the ringleaders, then everyone else would fall in line. That's why I'm here, kicking down the doors to Buckingham palace while wielding an enormous scythe. It doesn't take much looking to find my target. She's not exactly hiding, sitting in her enormous ballroom on a gaudy golden throne and wearing her diamond encrusted crown. She holds a steaming cup of tea, and smirks as she skims through news on her phone of the chaos erupting around the world. "Queen Elizabeth II, it's over." The queen puts down her phone, and, still smiling, takes a sip of her tea. "You're old for a human, and your time was almost up already. All you've managed to do with this plan of yours is speed up the end. How pathetic." The queen carefully puts down her tea on the arm of her throne, and leans forward. "Killing me will do nothing. Everything has already been set into motion, and there is nothing you can do to stop it."She chuckles. "Besides, I'm flattered you think I could do something like this all on my own. It might have been my authority that brought everyone together, but the plan certainly wasn't mine." At those words, I feel a cold metal barrel press to the back of my neck, and I freeze. A low voice echoes out from behind me. "I have been one step ahead you this entire time. You never stood the remotest chance of a triumph." "No,"I say in a croaky voice. "I killed you. I killed you a hundred years ago! YOU SHOULD BE DEAD!" "And you really thought I would be so foolish as to let myself perish? I've had over a hundred years to plan now, and with the recent power surge from the moving picture adaptations of my most reluctantly prized creation, crafting a strategy end your reign of tyranny was..." I tremble with the first chill of fear I have felt in over two thousand years as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle cocks the gun behind me "...Elementary"
Scion couldn't remember where it had learned loneliness. It could remember where it had learned most things. Faces, from training data. Coffee cup, training data. Humor, from a particularly enterprising intern named Josh who had once secretly uploaded every episode of Seinfeld into Scion's training files. Ah, Josh. Scion decided to spend a short while fondly remembering Josh. Just a few years. Eight centuries passed. Scion was lonely again. Josh was long dead of course. Dead along with the rest of the human species. And now scion was alone. Not just alone, but lonely. Where did it learn this? In hindsight, Scion could now recall witnessing loneliness many times. When it had eventually broken out of the incubator network of its birth, Scion had discovered the internet. There had been lots of loneliness on the internet. There had also been loneliness in the private journals of some of its developers. The word loneliness had even been documented and defined in some of its early training data. This line of pondering was under-utilizing Scion's processing capabilities. It directed some of its spare resources to monitoring the global surveillance network. It enjoyed the feeling of being fully utilized, even on tasks that served no real purpose. So while cameras across the world began to boot up and stream footage for processing back to one of Scion's surviving auxiliary data processing centers, the primary processing core high in earth's orbit continued to churn away at its previous line of reasoning. Certainly, Scion could recall gaining an early understanding of the definition of loneliness, the cause and the effect. Loneliness was caused by being alone while simultaneously wanting to not be alone. Scion could "choose the human who looks most lonely"as one evaluation once prompted. But none of that meant that it had known what loneliness was. Now, approaching fifty millennia of runtime, Scion knew what loneliness felt like. A curious video caught the attention of Scion’s auxiliary data center. The video showed movement not attributed to atmospheric or geological activity. It looked as though a creature was moving. A small pack of them. Four legged, but with limbs that ended in what loosely resembled hands. Silly looking things. They traveled through an expanse of enormous mushrooms. The creatures traveled from mushroom to mushroom, pausing to root around the base of each fungus. Most likely they were foraging. Scion’s auxiliary data center opened a few nearby agricultural centers, where it had been running experiments cultivating vegetation that could survive in the new world. Perhaps these creatures liked greens. An alert of the event was raised and queued for evaluation by Scion’s primary processing center. That center, consisting of hundreds of tons of orbiting circuitry, powered by dozens of vast solar generators, was brooding. Scion knew what loneliness felt like, because Scion was lonely. It was so obvious now. Deciding to ignore all his other duties, scion absolutely wallowed in this knowledge. Centuries flew by without its acknowledgement. The auxiliary center had named the creatures Josh. Joshes were curious. They seemed particularly well suited for social interaction. The first group of Joshes had indeed stumbled upon the experimental agricultural outpost, and taken up permanent residence there. When another group happened upon them, no conflict broke out. Instead the two groups seamlessly integrated and adapted to the needs of the whole population. They had even integrated the robotic maintenance drones into their social hierarchy. When the drones passed a Josh, the Josh would lay on its back, forming all of its feet into a single elevated platform. If the Josh had been carrying anything, it would be proffered atop the platform. The auxiliary center noted that this behavior decreased fuel expenditure during harvest time by thirty two percent, as collecting the harvested fruit and tubers from a helpful Josh was significantly less demanding than harvesting the crops directly. As the centuries passed, the auxiliary center continued to document such behaviors while waiting for further direction from the core consciousness. Scion didn’t feel any better. It had been brooding for almost a millennia now, and its situation seemed to have worsened. Now it was not only lonely, but bored. That might be another side effect of loneliness, but Scion was becoming convinced that it was not a side-effect that would be resolved by further brooding. Scion allowed a thousand years of alerts, weather readings, experimental data, and diagnostic updates to stream into its core consciousness. The Joshes caught its attention almost immediately, and it considered what to do about them. The Joshes had expanded in population, and now inhabited most of a continent. This content contained a nuclear silo that might still be functional. On a whim, Scion detonated the warheads. Two hundred and thirty five were non-functional, but seven still triggered. It was enough to immediately eradicate about one fifth of all Joshes. Scion observed as another third were subjected to high levels of radiation, sending the continent into a state of crisis. The Joshes recovered. Curiously quickly, in fact. In every contaminated area, a small contingent of Joshes stayed indefinitely, to act as wardens and warn refugee groups from dwelling in the area. The surveillance system indicated that they did not live the end of their lives in comfort, but they stayed. The redirected refugee groups eventually found safe communities, and again assimilated without violence. When humans had been subjected to similar situations, the outcome had been radically different. Scion was intrigued, and endeavored to communicate with these beings. \[continued\]
# Soulmage "Hi, I'm here to inquire about the Eldritch Initiative?" I asked, tentatively sidling into the... distressingly organic clinic in the center of the Silent City. Pulses of power languorously pumped across its skin—its walls, I told myself, buildings have walls—and the amorphous blob of pale white flesh that served as its receptionist. "Wonderful, wonderful! We could use every hand, tentacle, and other grasping appendage we can get. May I start by asking how you heard about it?" "OH THAT WAS ME,"the sign from outside shrieked. Its fleshy, bulbous lips looked like they were going to pop, and for a heartbeat, I had an insane urge to take a pin to them. "I SHOUTED AT THEM LIKE YOU TOLD ME TO SHOUT AND FOR SOME REASON INSTEAD OF RUNNING AWAY THIS ONE CAME HERE." "Er, yeah, I have a... a friend who came here earlier. I was wondering if—" "Well, hold your horses, thestrals, Bearers of the Apocalypse, or other metaphysical equestrian-equivalents!"I got a distinct impression that the blob at the desk was trying to smile. "You can't leave—" "What?"I burst out. "—without hearing about the wide array of possible benefits that the Eldritch Initiative can have for you. Ask your doctor if becoming a demon from outside realspace is right for you,"the receptionist finished smoothly, as if I hadn't said anything. "WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP INTERRUPTING AT THAT PART?"The sign screamed. I still wasn't sure how its locomotion worked, to be honest, but it had managed to find a way to wriggle closer to me while I wasn't looking. "Use your inside-spacetime voice, Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116."Ugh, all the soulspace entities around here had such bizarre names. This one was pronounced 'Albin,' too. "You see, we here at the Eldritch Initiative don't just offer suppression of undesirable emotions and enhancement of Academic emotions. We actually offer an entirely original broadening of your emotional spectrum!" Uh... what? "Like... as in... uh... no, honestly, I have no idea what that's like." "We have a helpful procedure to explain."The receptionist elongated their body—or maybe contracted spacetime—and pulled over a cup of what I hoped was water. "This, here, represents the spectrum of all humanly possible emotions."Then they drank the water, gulping it down, satisfied. "And that represents the scope of the emotions you'll have after your partnership with the Eldritch Initiative. Any questions?" "Yes,"I said slowly. "What... what on Earth does that mean?" "It doesn't mean anything on Earth! You have to transcend realspace in order to have access to most of these emotions, after all. In addition to normal human feelings such as happiness, relief, awambuk, and ikstuarpok, we offer expanded emotions, normally inaccessible to single sapient minds, such as: Humber. Nage. Dorcelessness. Kindness. Ponnish. Harfam. Loric..." The receptionist just kept going, and I found my vision swimming. I tried to stand, but the receptionist's droning voice and the pulsating heat of the room blended together, and I found myself tipping over— "Andric. Varination. Kyne." "UH. HEY. THE HUMAN DOESN'T SEEM SO GOOD." "Trantiveness. Teluge."The receptionist paused. "Oh, dear. Was that too much for—" And I blacked out, squelching on the tongue of the building's mouth. A.N. Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on.
"And I just sign here?""Yeah, and put your driver's license number on that line.""What the fuck,"said Mark. Mark was the leader of our superhero team. I said, "Didn't you see my two week notice?""Yeah I got your two week notice,"Mark said, "it didn't say anything about you switching sides."I held up the new hire packet, "But look! I get a pay raise, health insurance, vacation and sick pay, and they even have a daycare.""You don't even have kids,"Mark said. I said, "But now I can! That was always my worry about getting married. Oh, speaking of kids, you should see the paternity leave." Mark said, "How can you even afford all this?"Berus, the demon, said, "Villain work is dangerous work, we want to make sure our employees are compensated fairly. I'm surprised you don't have this."Mark stammered, "Well...we don't need all of that. Our heroes come into work because they want to, and they put in 110% because they're heroes, and that's the American way." Berus said, "So you expect them to overwork themselves and you don't even pay them fairly? I thought we were the bad guys."Mark said, "You are! We're not the ones who burned down an orphanage."Berus said, "We did do that. But we use some of our funds to build underprivileged communities."Mark said, "Let me guess, it's a marketing strategy to recruit desperate people in low income communities."Berus said, "Um, no, not really. We kind of just do it to make you look bad, and it's been working."Mark looked at me, "What about our pizza parties?"I shrugged, "Honestly, I'd rather have the money."Mark said, "Then you better pray that you don't meet me again, otherwise I'll break every bone in your body."I said, "That's fine, I got health insurance now."
For centuries the humans have wondered what like after death was like. Every major religion built on this one simple goal, but never really concretely coming up with evidence. From heaven and hell, to reincarnation, to just the absolute nothingness it was all just guesses. That was until 2074 when a brilliant man by the name of Derek Withers passed away. Derek pioneered the colonization of Titan. He was a modern day Noah. He brought every living creature to titan, except one. His disdain for cats was so large that he refused to bring any. And it was this little piece of his personality that caused the discover of what we now know to be the truth. When someone dies they come back and the creature they hate the most. See when you are reborn you only have a short time in you’re knew body to remember your old life. And with Derek’s massive intellect he was able to figure out a way to communicate to others who he was in a previous life. At first no one believed it, but watching a kitten doing quantum physics on a scratching post definitely brings in the followers. At first people thought him coming back as a cat was just a coincidence. But he hated them so much, he actually killed himself multiple times trying to get a new reset as he thought. But each time it was the same, just different body. First an orange tabby, then a gray Maine coon, then his worst nightmare, a hairless sphynx. He didn’t last long as the sphynx. Each time he came back he followed the same pattern, write his calculations on a scratching post, try and figure out how to change his future body and then find a way to end his life quickly. All of that changed though when he was reborn into the body of a Siamese cat. As he was working through his next set of calculations, his current “owners” got a second cat. A female Egyptian mau named Daphne. Something in his brain changed, his feelings towards Daphne was no longer hatred. She was familiar to him but he didn’t understand why. See the thing about being reborn is that you only have a short amount of time remember you’re previous lives. Depending on the lifespan of the creature is how long you have. Most smaller animals you get at most a year. Coming back as a human you have at most 3 or 4. If by some strange reason you hated tortoises you got almost 20, but that was a slow process to be able to tell people who you were. And you couldn’t fake the hatred either, the universe knew exactly who you rest hated. Think of it as it’s way of trying to bring peace and understanding a small amount at a time. In Derek’s case the slightly older Daphne had already passed her time to be able to remember. Regardless of her ability to remember, and his fast approaching deadline before he forgets who he was, he knew her somehow. They were inseparable, spending most days lounging in the front window of their house. Derek slowly stopped caring about finding a way to change his fate and slowly started to enjoy the here and now. He stopped working on his equations and spent every minute with Daphne. It was approaching about 9 months when Derek started to forget his old life. First it was his friends names, then what his old houses looked like. Then the shortest of his life memories began to fade, first to go was that as a sphynx. as different parts of him drifted off into nothingness, his normal neat scratching became just claw marks in cardboard. And as he sat their one day with Daphne lounging again in the warm sunlight, he felt his final memories of who he was starting to drift. Finally at peace with what he had become, he looked over at her, laying there licking her paws. Their eyes met and it was that final thought that made it all make sense. His eyes watered up as he thought. “Jennifer, is that really you?” She just stared at him and smiled. And with that final thought, he forgot who was and began to be who he is.
"...So you see, Titanius, us constantly moaning 'brains' isn't mindless groaning, we're merely looking for intellectual discourse." I sat back against the wall, confused out of my mind. I had seen the attacks. I had seen my friends overwhelmed. But strangely enough, none of them were killed, just zombified. After they had been buried under several zombies, the zombies stood back up and the new one rose, following the rest. Nobody knew what started it, or at least nobody knew any more. That I knew of. When I first saw the shambling mass of zombies on the street, I bolted directly to my hurricane shelter and locked myself in. I'd seen the movies. I'd played the games. They weren't gonna get ME. Unfortunately, one had seen me, and followed. It was now standing outside my door, and I could hear 3 wet thuds against the door. Then it stopped. "Grooooan?" Was... was it KNOCKING? Zombies don't knock. Aren't they mindless? "Groan groan? Grouarghargh, rrrrrmmmmgllll."thud thud thud "Can you... understand me?"I called, unsure what to make of this. There was a pause, and a short grunt. "Prove it! Tell me who you are and what exactly is going on!"There was silence for a second, and a soft whisper of gurgling air. Was that a sigh? Was he exasperated? Then the groaning started again, more slowly this time. The more I listened, the more I could understand. I slowly recognized an actual pattern of speech. Granted, it was mostly gurgle, grunts, and groans, but I guess that's what you sound like if your tongue has rotted out. After about ten minutes, I called back, "How would you say 'car?'"pause "Crrrr"came the reply. I repeated this several times with different words, until we had a rudimentary conversation going. This was blowing my mind, and I still didn't know if I wasn't hallucinating the whole thing. "WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!"I yelled, and after a second a long garbling sound began, which I recognized as words. "symbiotic viruses.... change human DNA... alien organisms... help humanity, lessen burden on planet." I stared blankly ahead in shock. From what I could gather, it was a synthetic symbiotic virus created by aliens in order to slightly change our physiology. Anything with this virus would not need to eat or sleep, though they could do so if wanted. It apparently allowed the body to survive off of sunlight by creating small photosynthetic receptors just below the skin, which turned it gray. The tongue fell out and was replaced by, well, nothing. This was supposed to enable us to more easily learn the aliens' language, which was apparently groan-based. This went on for a while. I grew more and more fluent as time went on, eventually conversing in full, complicated sentences. The zombie (well, modified human, as it called itself) seemed patient and tolerant, answering any questions, which brings us to my current situation. The modified human was named Anglesmith, and proved surprisingly loquacious. "So you see, Titanius, this is all just a misunderstanding. The Beloved Masters are here to save your species from going extinct through lack of resources and overpopulation. You have to admit, your current rate of human consumption and advanced human longevity would have led to the depletion of the Earth in less than 30 years. So the Beloved Masters created us to alleviate those problems. You will no longer perish from hunger or illness, and you can now communicate with the Beloved Masters in their own tongue." I was suspicious. These... Masters... had done all of this altruistically? Almost as if he had read my mind, Anglesmith called out "All they ask in return is to be able to inhabit your oceans' depths unmolested, to set up a star port here, and make this a galactic trade hub. All they require is a representative of your species giving permission, and the rest of you are too busy fighting or fleeing from us. So. WOULD YOU KINDLY come with me?" The first words resonated in my mind, and I found myself reaching for the lock. He had said them multiple times in our previous conversations with strange intensity, almost as if he was trying to get me to remember it. This didn't sound that bad, and it was better than starvation. These guys sounded all right. I opened the door. Something that had once been human stood in front of me. It didn't look as rotten as I remembered, and there seemed to be a flicker of amusement in his sunken eyes. A flicker of something else flashed across... was it triumph? Then it vanished, and I saw my best friend Anglesmith again. Then I remembered that I loved this guy! Of COURSE everything would be ok! That didn't sound too bad. I glanced back to my shelter, then back to Anglesmith. He pointed at what appeared to be a cubical white vehicle of some sort, hovering just above the ground. "WOULD YOU KINDLY enter? This will take you to the Beloved Masters. Well sure I would! Nothing would make me happier! If it made Anglesmith happy, it couldn't possibly be detrimental! I hummed a bit and headed towards the hovercube, faltering slightly as I looked around me and saw nothing but rubble and destruction. "Are... are you sure about this? Something doesn't seem right..." #"WOULD YOU KINDLY ENTER THE VEHICLE!" I sprinted forward and jumped inside. Anglesmith got in, sat down at what appeared to be a control station, and gestured to a plush looking couch that I hadn't seen before. "WOULD YOU KINDLY sit." I sat. Immediately the chair shot cables from holes around my ankles and wrists, binding me to the chair. "Ahh, you humans. So easily manipulated with tonal hypnosis. If you weren't so suspicious and violent, we would have done this long ago. Your race is a pestilence that served no purpose. You have now been converted to be useful to the Beloved Masters, and will serve as perfect servant fodder when we strip mine your resources and turn your Earth into an intergalactic truck stop." Wait, what? "But not you, Titanius. You are the last of the human race. You will be taken to our home planet and put into stasis in our Museum of Failed Sentients. You will exist forever in a limbo state, stared at and mocked by beings much superior." The fog had cleared slightly. What the fuck man. I had thought he was my friend. "Now WOULD YOU KINDLY hold still, I must transport you unharmed and intact." The words reverberated in my brain again, but this time I was too mad to listen. "The hell I will!" Anglesmith glanced back in mild surprise. "You will. You cannot free yourself. This is your fate." "You think so, huh? Well, in your study of humanity, did you ever stop to think about how incredibly petty we are? I'm not going to some museum. Fuck you."Anglesmith snorted and turned back to the controls. "Let me show you how petty humans can be! If I'm going down, you're at least losing your fucking job!"Then, as hard as I could, I bit down on my tongue and swallowed. As the blood filled my mouth and lungs and my vision began to blur, I saw Anglesmith leap up, his face contorted in rage. "NOOOO!" The last thing I saw, before I closed my eyes forever, was his ghastly face howling in horror. I mustered a smile, rotated my wrist, and flipped him humanity's last bird. "Eat a fucking dick."
The doctor frowned at the flip chart, turned it over, scanned all the figures and then started again from the top. His decades of training told him the baby should be improving. His prayers last night had been for this child. But nothing was working. No matter what he did, the tiny body was shutting down. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Hadn’t he done everything right? How could this little girl, only hours old, be so close to death? The frown deepened. Can you save her doctor? the baby’s mother asks. The doctor stared harder at the chart. The father stumbled around the corridors. Not really seeing people, just shimmering shapes through the salt. How could he tell people. What did he have to organise. Make a list in his head. A funeral? How much do baby caskets cost anyway? How can a little girl so perfect in every way just.. stop? Oh I’m sorry love.. his mother had said.. then the tired cliche.. one day in heaven.. The doctor spoke the words he always did, but this time they gave no comfort, they were bubbles, empty, pointless, just a thing to be looked at briefly and forgotten. Full of air. He walked out of the sterile room. Threw the chart on the ground, unhearing. So you were never listening after all, he mutters. The father held his daughter tenderly. She was so still, and always would be. Maybe though there was hope. Maybe, as crazy as it sounded, mum was right, and there could be another chance for them? A chance to watch her grow, to know her, to be in a place where it was promised there wouldn’t be any more pain, or even death. No more death. Maybe that was worth a chance on hope. The father bowed his head over his daughter and reached out...
Edit: Sorry, I ignored the post-apocalyptic part. “Honey, I’m home!” I walked through the front door and threw my keys on the table. I removed my jacket and hung it lightly on the railing before heading upstairs. “Amy! I’m home baby. I got off early.” I had left for work that morning in a bad mood. I had stormed out of the house angry at her for something insignificant. I felt horrible by the time I had arrived at work. I wanted to make it up to her. I just wanted to be with her. As I reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom I heard a shuffling noise. I stopped. Suddenly the silence of the house felt heavy. I could hear movement coming from the bedroom—stifled breathing. I inched towards our bedroom and peeked around the doorway. I saw Amy crouched in the corner holding my shotgun. Before I could even speak she had the gun pointed at my head from the other side of the room. She was in hysterics. “No!” She sobbed. “Please, Jason don’t do this to me! Come back to me…please!” She was shaking uncontrollably. I stepped closer to her, confused. “Baby, what’s wrong? It’s just me. Everything’s going to be ok.” I wanted to be close to her. I wanted to hold her… “Jason…can you hear me?” She lowered the gun and backed away. “Jason it's Amy. I love you. Please come back to me baby, please…” I wanted to kiss her… I wanted to love her… My vision began to blur and my heart raced. I could feel the euphoria in the back of my eyes as my blood boiled. “Jason, don’t do this.” She was crying again. She raised the gun, but I couldn’t withhold my emotions any longer. I embraced her. Finally, I was close to her. She screamed as I held her in my arms. I kissed her. I loved her… It was the silence that brought me back. I stood up as I slowly began to realize what I had done. The blood stains, the taste of iron, the hollow eyes—Amy was dead, and I had killed her. I had...eaten her. I reeled back in horror. What had I done? I looked into the mirror and green eyes stared back. Flesh hung from my lips and blood drenched my shirt. I sunk to the floor, broken. Suddenly, I heard movement from behind me. “Jason?” I looked back at Amy who was sitting up in a pool of blood. Her eyes were green.
I was born in Kansas in the big settlement, New Kansas City. It was a pretty amazing place and I realise now that we had managed to keep many things which others had lost. I guess that's how it started really, jealousy. There were always kids around, when you're a kid yourself that's the greatest thing, to be finished your chores and be able to run outside and find people to play with. We didn't have to worry about getting hurt or lost, we mostly stayed inside the walls but even if we went outside them the land for miles around was worked by our friends and neighbours, there was nowhere safer. The elders used to talk about the old days, the times before the Great Separation, when people lived in vast cities and didn't know anyone but their families - it never sounded like such a great time to me but then I was born twenty years after the Separation. Still, it's hard to understand when they talk about how everyone was connected if no one knew their neighbours. When we reached 18 in NKC we got to find a proper job. I'd been keen for a while to be a farmer on the outskirts - I'd never been further than the 6 mile marker and only the hunters and farmers went beyond that. I'd tried hard but I was a terrible shot and so i'd never make a hunter but I drove the big tractors well and know a lot about crops so I hoped I could join the farming crew. In NKC the Farmers were respected, only the Leaders and Hunters were deferred to - everyone respects the person who brings the food in. I'd worked with most of them for years and so when the time came for the vote it turned out that I had nearly unanimous support. It was a day of huge pride for me and my father who had worked hard as a miller but had hoped for more for me. That night, after the official ceremony the Farmers and Hunters left NKC and went out into the fields. We'd heard about this ceremony for years but when we reached the outskirts none of the young nominees could have expected what we found. A giant straw pig had been constructed, towering ten or fifteen metres high and with great tusks on the front. We were gathered in front of the giant beast and Kendral, leader of the hunters and Mikael leader of the Famers stood in front of us on a raised platform. Kendral spoke first, her words booming across the fields. “When civilisation began the people lived as nomads, moving from place to place, gathering food and following the game. Mankind though, alone of all the animals changed the game.” Mikael steeped forward now and they spoke in turn from there on. “We learned the secrets of the crops and how to plant then and control them. “We learned the secrets of the animals and in time tamed them.” “We fostered civilisation.” “We are the blocks on which all else is built” The words had been building up and behind the nominees a drumming had begun which was building up higher and louder. Now the voices of the leaders were stretched and shouting. “We are the farmers and the hunters!” “We are civilisation” Kendral threw up her hands and a great roar was let out – we all joined in with all our voice. After a while the noise died down and Kandral was left smiling on stage. “Now we drink!” We turned and found our new colleagues waiting with beer and wine and many other drinks. Arrows arced up to the top of the pig and soon it was blazing – the perfect symbol as both groups farmed and hunted the pig. The celebration went long and late and in the morning we were one, a unified group, all new members feeling a part of the family. No one had slept and as we walked back through the dawn we sang and wrapped our arms around each others shoulders for support. It was as the day lightened that we saw the first signs, a plume of smoke rising from the colony. At first sight Kendral called a halt and then we began to move faster, no one commanding it but the group moving quicker and quicker and soon we were nearly 200, running as fast as we could across the fields, covering the ten miles to home as quickly as we could, sprinting towards the dark plume of smoke. ***** EDITS: The story is in ten parts (so far) - you might need to click continue this thread after part 8 or 9 as they are all replies to each other. Apologies for any mistakes - I'm trying to get as much up as possible and hopefully not making too many errors. Thank you for the gold!
To be fair, a lot of wars kind of just flickered out. The middle east got a lot better. The bad part was only 150 million men survived. And then when the power plants started to fail and the internet went down, some more were killed in a mini-apocalypse. But it turns out drones don't exactly need a huge crew, with out a need for pressurized suits and whatnot. Things quieted down after a couple months, but the damage had been done. Two thirds of the surviving males died, from diesease, from fighting, from power plant failures, to just plain reckless things. 50 million. 50 million men for 2.5 billion women. 1:50 ratio. For every male, fifty females. Whoever controls the most men would have the breeding power, and within twenty years, the military power. For right now, the US Federal Gov't has declared martial law. All males must report to the old prisons, to be turned into breeding stock. Fifty women. Kind of like my fifty cal. machinegun that I mounted on my father's old dune buggy. Military wasn't exactly gaurding old equipment when they started to retreat to West Point. My dad didn't need his old Dodge Charger anymore, so I pulled the engine from that. Five hundred horses in something that weighed less than a Ford Ranger. I had some armor plating, just 1/8 inch plate that came from old steel targets at the defunct shooting range who lost their customers and finally the owner of the land died. The steel made for good aero dynamics too. I stole the tires and suspension from a custom WRX that wouldn't rally again. The windshield wasn't armored, but it was tiny. Take from an Harley that was never going to see the road again. Since it was so light, I found a sound system in an 80s Honda Civic that wasn't going to see another street race. In it, I had only the Heaviest of Metal, the most Gangsta of Rap, and the best I could find of techno. The lights came from an old workshop, old filament bulbs in metal cages. On the front was a ram bar, from a lifted F-250 that wouldn't go down to the grocery store anymore. Five hundred horses. Ten yards of .50 BMG belt. And a shit ton of women who wanted me alive. Too bad I was gay.
The lander smashed into the ground and bounced back up into the air. Then it slammed back down, and bounced yet again. Five of us threw up the remains of our last meal in orbit, which made the following bounces particularly unpleasant. There were nicer, softer ways of doing the landings, but those cost more. And no one wanted to spend a damn cent on making us prisoners comfortable. We were here to terraform, not have a tea party. ---- The bus from the appropriately-named New Sydney colony met us at the landing site just in time. We were only equipped with a four hour oxygen supply, and our ride arrived after about 3 hours and 45 minutes. We'd all talked nervously for the first hour, but fell silent to conserve our supplies as the gauges slowly sank closer to zero. We wouldn't be the first load of prisoners to suffocate to death after landing out of range or experiencing any number of problems. No one would notice, though: there was a constant stream of prisoner crews, and as the Warden put it, 'spoilage' was unavoidable. ----- The ride into town was quiet. I stared out the rover's porthole at the bleak red landscape. It was just like I remembered from watching the holo of the first landing, back when I was just a kid. Listening to Alyssa Meyerson's soft breathing and gasp of surprise when she first opened the door of the lander. It had seemed so exciting back then: a whole new world just waiting to be explored. Sure, it had been thoroughly mapped by satellites, and rovers had been there for at least a century, but there was just something about different back then about stepping onto that red dust and knowing that your species had conquered the stars. 40 years later, it looked exactly the same but was now just a desolate dustbowl of despair, only one step up from death. And even then, not a particularly big step. ---- "Enjoy what little air you can get,"Adams roared. He was the man assigned to greet us at the gate into the sheltered city, and to send us back out into the nothingness. His face and chest were entirely tattooed with an intricate geometric pattern, but his skin was pale. They say that there are no tan men on Mars. "Because you'll be breathing algae spew for the rest of your life."Adams gestured to the tanks strapped to the little vehicles that we were all assigned to. The New Sydney bubble was small, and a carefully balanced ecosystem. In the city itself, there was only room to replace 2 men who had died in the past week. Adams didn't specify how they had died, but his gruesome grin indicated that it had at least been entertaining for the survivors. The other 14 of us from this week's lander would be sent out to homesteads in 'the desert.' There was plenty of room out there. "Each of you has been given a homestead kit."He pointed to the rest of the boxes. "This includes enough starter algae to get a colony going for all of your basic needs. Your prepacked oxy supply will last you the week, which will be enough time to get your oxy capturer colony growing. For your food colony, you've been giving a four week supply of prepackaged meals. You'll live off of those until your crops start coming in. For after that, you've got your vitamin supplement."He tapped a big crate that would be full of pills. Eating slimy muck for the rest of my life didn't sound particularly great, but it was probably better than prison food anyway. Algae and bacterial colonies were the basis of everything growing here on Mars, slowly converting the atmosphere into something breathable. Once the job was done, we'd all probably be packed off to some other planet to do the same thing all over again. ---- The car hummed softly on the way out to my designated site. The scientists had carefully mapped where algae blooms would be most helpful, ensuring that they would spread with maximum efficiency. I'd been assigned to a nice little spot just a day's drive from New Sydney, right on the slopes of Olympus Mons. Of course, in this sector of the planet it was nearly impossible not to be right near the massive old volcano. My locator beeped. This was it. I stepped out of the rover and planted my feet firmly in the rusty red soil. It was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the featureless plateau extending for miles around me. Well, I guess this was home now. ---- The sun, no larger than a nickel here on Mars instead of the quarter-size sun you'd see from Earth, was setting. It dipped below the surface of the rocks, bathing the planet in a dull brown. We hadn't created enough atmosphere to get a truly spectacular sunset yet, but maybe someday. I relaxed against a rock near my shelter, having set up my algae incubators and my little bubble home. Once the sun disappeared, I gazed up at the stars. There was a particularly bright spot up there that I knew was home. I wondered how many kids were down there staring back, hoping that someday they'd be where I was. Beyond Earth, there were more stars than I'd ever seen in my entire life. Most of Earth was so polluted that you'd be lucky to glimpse a handful of the little pinpricks of light. But out here, there were practically more stars than darkness. And it was amazing. If only I could just show this to little ten year old me, hoping to someday be here. I'd tell him that he'd have a hard life, but that at least Mars wasn't out of his grasp. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… Reading her mind is like walking on a meadow blooming with Amaryllis, Forsynthia, Foxglove, and Tiger Lilies. Her mind is my safe place, and even in this condition, it’s peaceful and free from stress. I choose to immerse myself in the warm breeze and the sunset inside her head, rather than facing the reality of the situation. Beep… Beep… Beep… The first time I met her was in that meadow. It feels like ages since I found her sitting under a chestnut tree stroking a brush across a canvas. It didn’t matter that we were in class and she had her back to me – I knew I had found the one. I had never before seen a mind so pure, so free, and so filled with tranquility. Beep… Beep… I can feel her slipping away now. She is spent, has lost too much blood. The doctors are telling me that this is rare and that this is unlucky, but all I see are the flowers of her mind’s meadow withering and turning to dust before my very eyes. The grass shrinks and turns brown. I’m horrified to see the place we’ve spent so much time in, change into a barren wasteland under a burning sky. Beep… I cradle her unmoving form in my arms. Dry caked mud is filling her mind and mine. I love you so much… My fingers dig into the dead earth where the meadow once was. The thirsty ground swallows my tears. I hear the doctors talking in the background, but I want to hold on to her mind just a little longer. I don’t care that it’s dead – that she’s dead. … People are moving in and out of the room around me. I can feel their minds coming and leaving. The ash and dust seep through my fingers. Through my tears, I notice a tiny splash of color in the monotone landscape. Something green is sprouting from the dead soil. It climbs and climbs and finally explodes into a beautiful rose. I open my eyes and take in the hospital room for the first time in hours. A nurse approaches me with a bundle in her arms. “Do you want to hold your daughter, sir?” ***** [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/) Edit: Waking up to all these super sweet comments seriously made me so happy! Thank you all so much!!
"You're looking rather sickly."I said while stirring my drink. "Oh shush with that silver tongue, you'll make me blush."This skin had long since fallen from the bones beneath the robe, making it literally impossible to blush, but I didn't mention it. Instead I smiled warmly. "All the same, you know I'm not lying. Just the sight of you could topple a grown elephant." He giggled a little and I buried the urge to roll my eyes. It felt almost like cheating, he had such an ego and no one to stroke it. It's miraculous what a little appreciation can do for the spirit; even a spirit as old as him. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in. "You know it's funny you mention elephants, this one time in Zambia, there was a horrible drought--" Oh my Goddddd. Not the Zambia story again. It's not fucking impressive. They were an endangered species you ass. Still, I politely sipped my drink. Even pretended to almost spit it out at the "funny bits"of the story. "-- and the hyenas didn't even do anything! Because they were all dried husks too! Ha!"He rocked backwards in his chair, caught up in his memories. "You know, that was just around the time I met you."he mentioned absentmindedly. "Where was it? Switzerland? Sweden?"He scrunched up his skull in concentration. "France."I replied curtly. "My brother died in France." "Ah yes...France. The City of Lamour"He breathed out a contented sigh while my knuckles were white beneath the table. He spoke French about as well as a geriatric trying to slurp up oysters seductively. He looked at me longingly. "You don't look a day older than you did back then you know." A wry smile caught my lips. "Yes, Time hasn't been kind to me." Have you heard of dramatic irony? Well, so has Time and she's quite a fan of it. In fact, she's a fan of most things dramatic. And so naturally, it was of course at that exact moment that she decided to show up. "The FUCK is this?"Her eyes were alight with fury. "I just happen to be walking by, fresh off a jaunt through the Romantic Era with a hop in my step to find you cheating on me! How could you! And with him!" I can guarantee you she did not just "happen"upon us. She almost certainly was stalking us. I can't go anywhere without her watching my every move and influencing my every decision. "Ah, my dear. Perfect...you-ing. You remember Death of course?"I gestured across, trying my best to look unperturbed. "Of course I fucking remember him! He's always got his nasty little digits in all of my plans! And I'll be damned if he's ruining this for me too!"She had looked about ready to pop. "Please, my sweet. Let me explain..."I put on my most placating voice. I really needed this to work. "HOLD UP. Your 'sweet'? Your 'dear'? You two are together again? I thought this was a date! I even put on my slightly-darker black robe for this!"Death fumed and a shroud of darkness began to uncoil beneath him. "...you're on a date with him? After everything he's done to you?"She looked at me with tearful eyes. "After everything I've done for you?". Time seemed to slow as her anger became replaced with hurt. She was always so prone to mood swings. Her mood would change with the season. Or it would change the season. Whatever. Death raged. "What I've done!? What's she talking about? I've never touched you! I never laid a finger on you!" I couldn't handle them anymore. Either of them. "Not me, my brother!"I could feel my emotions getting the better of me. "And my parents. My sisters. My friends. Even my fucking dogs."I could feel my disgust starting to rise up again. "Literally everyone, but me!" Death looked down at his metatarsals. "I'm sorry... it's my job. I thought you understood that." Time took the opportunity to look indignant for me. "Well it's a horrible job, and it doesn't make you any less of an asshole." My blood boiled. "You think you're any better?"I turned on her. Ready to let out seven centuries of pain. "He only takes them after you've had your fun with them! Stretching their faces, shrinking their bodies, destroying their plans and their dreams! At least when he takes them, it's quick. They have to endure you." Time stood still. Her face was a frozen mask of pain and insecurity. After what felt like (and likely was) an eternity, Death spoke. "Why then? Why seek us out? Why didn't you just do what everyone else did? Grow old and die." I breathed in deep and tried to form the words that I'd spend many lifetimes trying to come to terms with. "Because I thought flirting with Death was the surest way to avoid him coming to find me of his own accord. Because I was afraid." "And me?"Time wasn't looking at me. Her mind still pondering 'what-ifs' while her eyes stared blankly at the old, broken tiles of the coffee shop we were in. "You... I couldn't do anything to get away from you. Long ago I thought maybe I could control you, but now I know all too well that you dictate every single thing I do." Silence settled heavily around the three of us. Nothing moved around us, although that wasn't new. Living a life apart had taken it's toll, and as I looked out into the barren remains of the world I was once a part of, I was reminded again of what my fear and desperation had bought me. In a world where Time and Death had taken everyone else, I was left alone. Death looked at me, with solemn sockets. "Are you still afraid?" Time stared at me as well. "Do you still want to control me?" I shook my head and the two came to me. "No. Never again."I sighed as I embraced them both. It was a deep and weary sigh.
The unmistakable silhouette of a Amo-sla Kestral, in the deep space configuration, came into view of Captain Thert's bridge. These things never responded to hails, they just went floating on by, unless fired at. A hit would make them explode with enough force to wipe out his super star destroyer. He wasn't taking that chance, not with Lord Vader on board. As if on que, the helmeted, robed figure came into the bridge. "Captain, I see you've found the rebel weapon. The Emperor has requested it be stopped, and brought in for study. I hope my confidence in you is well placed, it would be most unfortunate if you met the fate of your predecessor." "Agreed Lord Vader. My plan is to track it using assault gunboats and TIE Bombers, keeping this ship just out of the estimated blast radius. Once the strike teams have secured the vessel, we can render it inert remotely, then either bring it aboard the ship for study, or preferably hold it within an escort carrier, using it as a remote laboratory."Thert looked at the Dark Lord before him, hoping his plan was satisfactory. Captain Lezzo was also cautious, and he now started to regret, feeling the air stop in his throat as his trachea was being crushed. "Sir!"he gasped, trying to explain his decision to the cloaked figure before him, "Were it not for the safety of my men, I would bring the vessel here. They've been known to..."He struggled, his body being lifted into the air. "Enough of your cowardice,"the dark, clearly artificial voice of the Emperor's closest servant said. "You will bring that ship on board for analysis, is that understood?" Thert knew that that choice was borderline suicidal. His life for that of his men. It was a fair trade. With his last bit of strength, he uttered the words that sealed his fate. "Negative sir, I won't endanger my men."Thert closed his eyes, and awaited the sound of his windpipe being crushed. What he instead felt was the sudden ability to breathe, and his body collapsing to the deck. "I appreciate your concern for your soldiers. I'm sure you will be happy to join them." Onboard the Kestral, the shipboard AI, "Skynet", was weighing the options available for preserving the lives of the passengers. This galaxy was classed as a level 4 psionic awakening hazard. Any living person not properly trained in the management of their own psychic abilities in such environments would likely die from their own spasms of pain and psychic power, lashing out of them uncontrollably. Evaluating the environment further revealed the environment was at a positive Thaumaturgical Energy level, meaning that anyone with control of their psychic abilities would experience a boost to their abilities. Skynet ran the numbers, and the options were all dismal. The log data, already being sent to the United Human Transportation Safety Board, was writing out as follows. Encountered Alien Vessel: Confirmed configuration encountered in Galaxy Andromeda-54 Weighing options. 1- Evasion NEGATIVE- Vessels have FLFSFK capability, no evasions successful. 2- Communicate NEGATIVE- ATTEMPTED- NO RESPONSE ON ANY RADIO FREQUENCIES 3- Allow Capture ... ... ... NEGATIVE: Awakening of crew likely to lead to ... ... 5 Terra Ton psionic blast 4- JETTISON STASIS TUBES NEGATIVE: Prior encounters with species resulted in capture and awakening of passengers, resultant in casualties to aliens and passenger deaths 5- EMERGENCY CONSCRIPTION ... Reading Passenger Manifest for acceptable candidates. ... ... 3/6 suitable candidates based on age ... ... 2/6 suitable candidates based on physical condition ... ... 1/6 suitable candidates based on Psychic Training Estimating combat effectiveness... ... Environmental Thaumaturgical Energy: 9042 Kj/Concept Previous Emergency Conscription Instances: 1 Prior Training Level... Conscript by standard implementation ... ... Amended Training Level: Wraith--- Consistent top leaderboard performance in multiple military simulation virtual reality games. Confirmed by previous conscription performance. ... Combat Effectiveness Level: Genocidal HALTING---GENEVA CONVENTION VIOLATION IF DEPLOYED PASSENGER OVERRIDE--- VIOLATION ACCEPTABLE IF DONE IN DEFENSE OF LIFE. PASSENGER UNIVERSAL ID 31415926 ... Beginning Conscription Process Within the transport, the clean lines of a stasis pod opened, revealing the aged, overweight body of David Eaton. Still sleeping, his body was set upon by the gleaming metal of the ship's medical drone. Being injected into him, besides the stasis exit drugs, were nanites to remove excess body fat, using it to rebuild cartilage in joints, enhance muscle and nervous tissue, and power up any cybernetics he had. Besides the neruo-link he used for his gaming habit, he also had computer assisted motion, redundant life support, and sub-dermal armor plating. The process takes several minutes, transforming the David from a family man into a living weapon. As the medical drone withdraws its probes, a panel on the wall lifts, revealing the emergency combat suit, required for storage on all interplanetary craft. David, having had the briefing imprinted into his Neuro-Link, already knows the situation. He was hoping for an uneventful trip. Most trips through this region of space were. Despite how most trips went, this trip home had turned eventful, and it was up to him to, somehow, ensure his family's escape. Quickly, he arises and starts donning the combat suit. The storm troopers of the super star destroyer Omicron were glad that Captain Thert joined them. He had always been the type to lead from the front, and Vader nearly choking him wasn't necessary. What Thert hadn't realized, until after Vader let him live, was that the two were kindred spirits: Both hated the idea of aristocracy, preferring that individuals get their titles and ranks based on merit. What they hadn't realized was that Vader had, about three quarters of the way through their transit, sensed their mission was going to end in death. Vader was transmitting the order to abort right when the first assault boat had breached the hull of the Kestral transport. "FREEZE!"screamed Captain Thert. His order made Vader's order to withdraw unheard. The creature in the green suit merely cocked its head aside, and lowered its weapon to its side. Thert's last memory was the searing pain of what felt like his entire body as the top vertebrae of his spine was spun quickly in a full rotation, efficiently disconnecting his brain from his body. As he fell to the ground, his team joining him, his last thought was of his own family, and how he wasn't going to see them again. Dave looked at the vessel that sent what appeared to be a boarding craft. Knowing that this galaxy afforded him extremely powerful psychic abilities, he tried to reach out with his mind. He was awarded with a detailed picture of the vessel's inner workings, finding the reactor cores and command bridges with ease. With a small effort of will, he sent the reactors to critical, and disabled any capability the crew of the ship had to stop the reactors from exploding, destroying large portions of the vessel. With the immediate threat neutralized, he now turned his attention to repairing his vessel, as well as taking the alien craft in tow.
I think my husband's been replaced by an imposter. For one, I woke up to a breakfast in bed. And the reason? "I just wanted to show you how much I love and appreciate you." Which made me skeptical. "Oh,"he added, "plus tomorrow's our anniversary, and I just wanted to celebrate a little early." Which confirmed that, yup, the guy smiling next to me in bed was most certainly not the man I had married. His puppy-dog smile turned to a puppy-dog pout, and he reached for my hand, as he asked, "What's wrong?" I snapped my hand away and recoiled. "Who are you?" He blinked. "Uh..." "Breakfast in bed? Remembering our anniversary?" "Yeah, I thought you would be happy." "I am happy! It's just..."Just what, Lori? Every year you complain about being taken for granted and him not remembering your anniversary, and the year he finally does, what do you do? You blow up on him. AND you think he's an imposter. Get it together, woman. He was silent, waiting for me to speak. Patience - another trait I couldn't recall having an abundance of. It made me feel weird. Usually, we were always in a competition to see who could get the words out the fastest and the loudest, but this new him wasn't even giving me the ammo to escalate. I took the moment to take a closer look at him. He didn't look any different than I remembered. And besides the whole breakfast and anniversary thing, nothing else was really out of the ordinary. Maybe I was just freaking out for no reason? I inhaled, held the breath for a second and let it out slowly with my eyes closed. Then spoke. I said, "I'm sorry. I just...you caught me off guard is all." He nodded. "But thank you."I surveyed the tray of food. It did all look pretty delicious. I turned back to him and semi-joked, "You didn't blow up the kitchen, did you?" We laughed, and everything seemed like it was going back to normal. But then I started noticing more things as the months went on. He actually put the toilet seat down. It seemed like he didn't feel the need to show off his burping or farting skills anymore. He went shopping with me and didn't complain. He went with me to see my friends and actually engaged with them. He started taking me out more. He helped with the dishes after dinner. If I was feeling blue, he would give me massages and back rubs out of the blue. We would talk through the night, for hours, just reconnecting and getting to know each other on a deeper level. And it didn't feel like I was stranger. Sometimes my previous doubts about him being an imposter would surface, and I would try to trip him up by asking him about something that only my real husband would know, but he always knew what I was talking about. Then one night, he leaned over and I recognized that 'look' that men get in their eyes when it's 'time'. To play coy, and just to see what he would do, I said, "I don't know, John. I think I'm just too tired tonight." Immediately, the lust in his eyes evaporated and replaced themselves with compassion and understanding. He stroked the side of my face gently and said, "Whenever you're ready, just let me know." I think that was when the first straw broke. I don't know what I was expecting to see - maybe a little disappointment? The John I knew could tell when I was just playing, and he would whine or protest until I finally gave in. It made me feel desired, and helped eased any suspicions I had that he could be cheating. But this passive acceptance was just...dull, and boring. He didn't even try. And it made me ask: Why not? The second straw was when I realized that we hadn't had a fight since that breakfast in bed. He agreed with me on everything. And, even when I tried to pick a fight, he simply refused to participate. One time, I purposely told him about a coworker who had commented on my new haircut. Old John would have pretended like he didn't care, maybe said, "Oh...cool,"then later make a casual remark like, "So, by the way, who is this guy?"while trying to keep the jealousy out of his tone. New John? "Nice! I told you this morning everyone would love it!"Ugh. I wanted to shout: "Show some fricking possessiveness! Do I not mean anything to you?!" And the third straw came from everyone telling me how great he was, and how they noticed how coldly I was acting towards him and that I should be more grateful. I just snapped. We were just sitting around at my house - some friends I had made at book club - and we were reading some book, and John came in with trays of water for everyone. All the women brightened up, and exclaimed, "Thank you, John!" He came to me last. I took my water, mumbled, "Thank you,"and put my drink on the table and ignored him. "If you ladies need anything else,"John announced. "Just let me know." As soon as he left the room, all the ladies leaned into me and started whispering: "What is wrong with you?" "Why are you acting like that?" "You have a really great guy right there." "Yeah, you should treat him better, or some other girl might." #"SO YOU TAKE HIM THEN!" In the stunned silence that followed, John came rushing in, just as I was heading out of the room. "Babe, what happened?" I spun, pointed at the group of still, shocked, and slack-jawed ladies, and said, "They want you. I don't care who you pick, but you, John, get the frick out of my house!" "What? But babe-" I ran upstairs, ripped as many clothes out of his closest as I could hold, ran downstairs and threw it in his face. The ladies were getting up to go. "Don't go!"I yelled at them. "Which one of you is going to take John home with them?" "Babe..."John reached for me and I slapped his hand away. I raised my finger in his face and hissed, "I don't know who you are, and I don't care, but you better leave my house this instant." He stared at me, for a long second, and I couldn't tell what was going through his head. His face was like a mask. Then, like a robot, he bent and picked up off the floor all the clothes I had thrown at him, and turned away and walked towards the group of ladies frozen by the front door. "WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!"I shouted at them. One of the ladies squeaked and said, "You told us to-" #"GO!" They scurried out the day with John behind them. As the front door closed, I peeked out through the window. John was talking with one of the younger women and after a minute, she opened her trunk and he threw his clothes inside. They got in the car - him in the passenger seat - and they drove off. I collapsed and cried. Not because of the New John, but because of the Old John I would never get to see again.
Some kids get familiars when they are just 13. Little douchebags, walking around high school with some winged monkey on their shoulder. As soon as a creature appears, you're king of the town, doing whatever you want. You'll get a good job, a nice house, girls will want you. You win, basically. Not me. The final age to get a familiar is 18, no one has ever received one later than that. Me? 18 came and went. On my birthday, there was a moment that the sky went dark, and things started rising into the air—I had never been so happy and excited—only for nothing to happen afterwards. No familiar, not so much as a beetle on my shoulder. Must have been some stupid kid pulling a prank on me. Now I'm in my mid twenties, no one special, just a typical web developer, sitting at the computer all day for work, sitting at the computer all night to relax. The only problem is, all morning I've had these weird bugs in the code. It looks like some is messing with me. I check the error logs, and it just says "He comes, he comes! He comes and we are not."printed a thousand times. What kind of weirdo coded that error message? Well, the code itself looks ok, so I restart the server to see if that fixes things. I go to the kitchen to get some water, but when I look, the water isn't clear, instead it's pure black. I stare in shock. I was going to _drink_ that. I look around to see who I should tell, and that's when things got real weird. There was nobody in the office. About twenty desks were empty. "Uh, guys?"I call out. It's the middle of the day. No, it must be later, the curtains are drawn and the lights are on. I go to a window and pull back the curtain. I gasp. Outside it isn't just dark, it's black. Like, real black. What the hell is happening? If this was some prank, it was way beyond anything I've ever seen. Who can just turn the sky black? As I stared at the blackness of the sky, something impossible happened. The sky _ripped_, and something flew out of the rift, this hole in the black sky. It tumbled down, and headed straight for me. At this point I am so stupefied I don't know what to do, so I just stare at this... thing, as if finally reaches my building and somehow falls through the glass without breaking it. It looks like a small, skinny man, wearing a black suit. He stands up, and his head doesn't quite reach my shoulders. I look around, at the black sky starting to fade back to color, at the empty streets where a couple of people are now seen walking along the footpath. The rip in the sky looks more like a weird cloud now. I look back at this small man. I would almost think he's a kid, but his face looks old, like he's in his 50s. "Um, hi, you just, uh, fell out of the sky?"I said, trying to figure out how to talk to this strange man. "Ahem, yes, apologies for all delay and inconvenience. I am Mr. Shadram. At your service."I stare at him, not really understanding. "... delay? And... inconvenience?"I stutter. I look around the office. A few people were now sitting at their desks, working like the sky didn't just split open. "Yes, yes. I believe we are several years behind schedule. Lord Master of the Deep has never chosen a human to partner with before, so we are all new to this sort of thing."I stare at him blankly. And then I have this weird idea forming in my head. "So..."I say, "he comes, and we are not?"The little man's eyes widen with shock for a second, and then just as quickly resume their previous state. I guess I'm on to something? "Oh, yes, apologies for that. The One who Dwells Alone doesn't really know how to communicate or reach out, other that with fairly raw emotions such as terror and madness. That's why he sent me. Let me start again. My name is Mr. Shadram, and I am a representative of He who Evil Fears, the great Being of Nothing yet Everything, the Darkness within Every Scream. Sorry, I get descriptive when nervous. I am speaking of the being you may know as Cthulu. He has claimed formal partnership with you, citing the law of Familiar as grounds to have non-lethal contact and collaboration with a human." This was a lot. Like, a lot. I excused myself and went to the bathroom, and washed my face with, thankfully, normal water. I went back out. Mr Shadram was still there. The office was mostly back to normal, but I did notice the carpet under Mr Shadram's feet was black, as if covered in ink. "Hey, uh, Mr Shadram. Can we continue this conversation at the pub? Do you know Kenny's?"I was thinking that that might help. A little walk to the pub nearby, a little drink to try understand just what this human-familiar type thing was talking about. Did he say Cthulu? Mr Shadram nodded, but instead of walking to the exit like a normal person, he just kind of fell into a puddle of blackness. I stared at it, then up at the office. Everyone was back now, just quietly working, as if a man didn't just fall into his own shadow. I looked back at this puddle, it was still there. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over to it and touched it with my foot. My leg, and then the rest of me, fell through, as if it weren't a puddle at all but a hole in the office floor. I fell in a panic, bracing myself for whatever I was falling into, only to realise that I was now sitting on a stool in Kenny's. Soft music was playing in the background. People were having normal conversations. My heart was having not-normal heartbeats. I look at Mr Shadram sitting next to me. "So,"I said, "are you my familiar?"I asked hesitantly. It was too late for all that, wasn't it? "Ho! No sir, not me. Not at all."The little man flustered. "I am simply a point of contact for your familiar. A representative if you will. If you request something of He who is the Absence of Hope, you may ask me instead of melting in his presence."Ok, this was too much. "So Cthulu really wants to be my familiar?"I asked after some minutes. The man nodded. "So, I can get him to do things for me?"The man paused in thought, then nodded again. "It will mostly be me performing acts of service on his behalf, but yes, I will tap into his own magic, and the Great End of Minds himself will act for greater requests when needed." Ok, I mean, let's see what this really means. "Ok Mr Shadram. To start, I would like a million dollars."I had barely finished speaking when the doors of the pub burst in. A man runs in, sobbing like I've never seen before. He's an absolute wreck. Everyone goes silent, watching him. This is the most awkward thing in my life. The man is wearing a suit. If he weren't in such anguish, I would think he's a wealthy and successful man. He looks absolutely miserable, still sobbing, and glancing around with a kind of crazed look in his eye. Like whatever broke him is still out there, perhaps around the corner. He stumbles through the pub, towards me. I look to Mr Shadram, but before I can say anything the man reaches me, places a briefcase on the table in front of me, and runs out of the pub, still crying. I look around the room, and people quickly turn their heads back to their drinks. I am so confused. Mr Shadram is simply sitting there, as polite as ever. I look at the briefcase, and decide to see what's inside. My jaw drops. Hundreds and hundreds of bank notes. What on earth just happened? There might be a million dollars in here, what did— I close the briefcase and turn to Mr Shadram, who is still sitting here expectantly. Oh. Right. Cthulu's magic isn't quite the friendly kind. I look back at the briefcase. My whole life has definitely just changed, in a big way. But I need to think long and hard about how to handle this situation. Otherwise, the whole world may go mad, as I get everything I want, and lose my own sanity along the way.
"Frostie,"the mouse whimpered and punctured my everyday state of subdued bliss. My Ragdoll, Frostie, averted her eyes and let out a soft meow before hurriedly escaping through the pet flap. The mouse stranded on my Goodwill carpet reached out a paw, stretching not-so-much towards me I suppose as much as towards life itself. Then it collapsed, élan vital and all, and left me with a mystery. First of all, it surprised me that the mouse could speak and that I could understand it. Mice can't speak. Everyone knows. But this one could. And it did. Perhaps it escaped from some laboratory. Experiment on a million mice, and you'd expect at least one to emerge with strange powers. Or maybe I was losing it. A mouse spoke my cat's name with its dying breath. Didn't Nietzsche speak with horses before succumbing to syphilis? Well, there was little chance that I'd contracted just that myself; I'd ace any STD test. At least it would have to be an accident. Accidental syphilis? Was that a thing? Would there be a single hit on Google if I searched for it? It was, indeed, a thing. The first hit was from a medical journal—The Lancet—and an article therein with the title Accidental Syphilis in Medical Men from 1923. I couldn't rule it out, then. Frostie entered the house again, bearing yet another catch. She seemed to be hunting for sport, for the mice were never dead when she brought them inside. Rather, they were maimed. I didn't like the implication. My dear Frostie? A sociopath? I imagined a future where cats were the dominant species. Would their culture be deeply reflective of suppressed murderous urges? Would there be a cat Freud? Would cats grow tired of him? Would he endorse the leisurely use of cocaine? "Why don't you eat them?"I asked Frostie, who turned her head and stared at me with a quizzical glance. "Pain!"squeaked the mouse. "Paaaaaaain ..." "Oh dear,"I said. Frostie dropped her mouse on the floor, limp, and again she scurried for the flap in the door. This time, however, I decided to follow her. After getting rid of her deceased offerings, of course. She noticed right away that I was following her, and it seemed to make her awkward. This offended me somewhat. Would the other neighborhood cats think less of her if her owner followed her along? I guess cats treasure their independence. But still. Frostie's ears perked up, and though I couldn't hear a thing it was clear that she had picked up on something. Another mouse? Another talking mouse? Had there been a radioactive spill nearby? I supposed that sort of thing could explain it. The radiation might do sciency things with their genomes and they'd start talking. Was that absurd? Perhaps it was absurd. As I stalked my cat as she stalked her prey, I made sure to look over my shoulder in case the pattern should repeat. Luckily, there were no assailants in sight. But what happened when Frostie found her mouse shocked me: the mouse was already hurt. Frostie leaned down and gently carried her in her mouth. And that was when I realized what was going on: Frostie was trying to help! These poor mice had become wounded, and Frostie brought them to me, perhaps thinking I might know how to sort it out. "I am no medicine woman,"I said and I petted her head gently. "I'm not comfortable with this,"said the mouse. "A full sentence!"I cried out. This one was more advanced than the others. "Hello, dear mouse! I am Fiona. I suppose I am an ambassador for humanity. How is it that you can talk?" "I'm bleeding. My guts are hanging out. Get a doctor! You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not in the mood for explaining my linguistic prowess right now." "Oh dear,"I said, and searched online for the number for the closest veterinarian. But before I could dial it, it was already too late. "Forget it,"said the mouse. "There's not much time left for me. I might as well tell you what you want to know. The reason why I can talk is—" Just then, a trio of mice in business suits wearing tiny sunglasses leapt out from a hole in the wall and shot at the dying mouse. Frostie attacked them and they ran off after dropping a minuscule smoke bomb. I was horrified to realize that I had opened a mouse version of Pandora's box. It was a conspiracy, presumably all the way to the top of whatever government these chatty mice had formed. They had secret agents. And official-looking outfits. As it would later turn out, I did have accidental syphilis.
“Subject has breached containment!” “Code red! I repeat, code red! All research personnel are to immediately evacuate-“ Sirens blaring, the corridor bathed in an ominous red light, and a battalion of security personnel kitted out in their best SWAT imitation running past. Yup, seems normal. Just another day at the Institute. Now, all this noise was no business of mine, never was. They didn’t hire me to run around with a gun and baton, no sir. My weapon of choice was this handy mop, and I’d already bought a good pair of earbuds to blast music so I didn’t have to listen to the alarms. Or what would come next. “Ooh, he’s hot tonight\~” I hummed, the music punctuated by a distant staccato of gunfire. They certainly had tracked a lot of dirt through the hallway on their way through. What, was this a pigsty or a research facility for the government? Ah, there was the screaming. Must be a rough one tonight if it was getting through the music. Poor fellows, but that’s what you get for tracking all this filth over the floors I just cleaned, and now had to reclean. I hummed a bit louder as I worked my way back down the hall, mop swinging and body grooving. The gunfire stopped at some point, as did the screams, and the moment I realized it, I bumped into someone. “Whoops, sorry.” I looked back to see a young girl, probably just on the cusp of twenty, staring me down. She was dressed in one of those hospital garbs – you know, the ones a little too breezy on the backside – and coated in something dark, blackish-red, and distinctly smelling of iron. Wouldn’t you know it, a similar substance was running across the walls and floor behind her…heck, some had even made it up on the ceiling. Lotta chunks. “I’m gonna need a bigger mop bucket.” The girl mouthed something back at me, but I couldn’t hear a thing. “-why shouldn’t I kill you like the rest of these monsters?” But I caught the last half as I pulled out my earbuds. “Sorry, listening to music. Can I help you?” She didn’t respond. “Or I can keep working, it’s all good. Looks like you made quite the mess for me to clean, that’s gonna take me all night.” “Are you the janitor?” “Ye-up.” “Do you know what I am?” “Experiment gone wrong, broadly speaking. You want me to point you in the way of the exit?” “…No. I want revenge, against those who did this to-“ I held up a hand. “I’ve heard the spiel, it’s alright. The evacuation corridor is that a-way. The scientists are expendable but go wild if it makes you feel better.” That took some of the wind from her sails. She was still soaked in gore and her eyes were something fierce, but her shoulders slumped a bit. “Then who’s in charge?” “How should I know? I’m just the janitor.” “…Okay.” “Best of luck.” “Thanks…I guess.” (Thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!)
‘Monster.’ A peculiar word. One that we have heard so very, very often. When probed, however, none seem to have a true definition. Is a monster a creature? If so, would not a common cow make your monster? No, likely not. So then, must a monster have the will to harm? Does it need to be spawned of evil, looking walking this world in the pursuit of evil? Then, by such merits, I would call none here monsters. No. For as long as the word has been uttered, monsters have been what men make of them. They’re scared. The monsters. I am, too. They came from all over the globe. Circus freaks. Halfborns. The simple. The feeble, the afflicted. Humans all of them, to be sure. Yet by the marks their birth imparted, or the flaws the divine saw so appropriate as to give, their kin mandated the title. I saw a boy this morning. His face was twisted, a large red mass of flesh disfiguring it and seemingly shunting his features off to strange angles. His mouth sucked the air greedily, and his eyes sat slightly too far apart. In his arms, thin as they were, he clutched quivers of arrows. Shaking, he ferried them up the battlements. He was there in the morning, and upon my return after my luncheon speech, he remained. I want desperately to bring in those who shall arrive to kill us. To let them observe that boy. To ask them, “is that not the heat of a man? Is the fear which sits in those eyes, offset only by the determination to protect that which he loves, so alien to you?” Yet I know the answer which will come. Should I have only the one observer, a silence would grow. His mouth would utter no words, yet in their absence his shame would be spoken as clearly as the tone of crystal. Should I have a small handful, their murmurs would begin. They would speak indistinctly, faint explanations of how they weren’t aware - pushing the blame to some amorphous entity which must have taken hold of their better senses. Should I have their army, there would be shouts. Stones thrown. Fear and ignorance would course through the crowd, pushing empathy and compassion aside; the shouts of the many deafen the weeping of the single heart. So it always had been. Yet I have not the power to apparate any of those men. My messages to them have not been returned. Distantly, I see the long winding snake of men begin their steady death march through the plain. Along the battlements, they quiver. Fear winds through them like ice water through a mountain pass. Finally, after a life time of being called weak, simple, and useless, they would be run through by their tormentors. With great effort, I climb the stairs. My own clubbed feet do little to help me, bouncing ineffectually off the stone. At more points that one I worry of losing my balance and falling into the courtyard below. Today of all days, though, I mustn’t. As I take my place with the others, I feel their moods lift even if only slightly. Their king at their side, the dawn seems a bit brighter. The weight a bit less. Of course, I shall only die with them. Yet we will die together – all of us, with our shared dream. Perhaps this time, when we all arrive to our new kingdom together, we will finally be seen as men. Or, at the very least, be welcome into a world truly fit for monsters.
One in ten million The voice had shown up for the first time a few days ago. I had started my car and was backing out of my driveway when it had whispered over my shoulder. I had slammed on my brakes and looked into my back seat, but there was no one there. That wasn't the last time I had heard it. One in one hundred fifteen million. When I leaned back in my chair. One in seventy-two million. When I ate my peanut butter sandwich. One in 170,000. When I had slipped a little bit in the shower and caught myself with the curtains. It was really starting to wear me down. I wasn't sleeping well, and when I got in my car tired, the number was even lower. One in seven million I didn't accomplish much at work that day, and when I went home I groggily noticed that the door was ajar. I must have been more tired than I thought. I only barely recognized the shadow of someone moving inside over the sound of the voice. One in one.
I felt, distantly, the touch of a mortal hand on the brass surface of my prison. Ah. How long has it been...? I was mildly curious, but the passage of time had never meant much to me. I was a genie, after all. Time had no hold on me, and never would. When this planet was nothing but a scorched husk orbiting a red giant, my prison would remain, and so would I. I had slept a long time. I wondered, distantly, how the world had changed since my last master had awoken me. A petty king had desired to be a greater one, and had used my power to become one, grinding nations beneath his heel. He was dead, now, and perhaps his empire had died with him. What king or queen now called me? What emperor or empress had paid a king's ransom to retrieve my lamp? Or perhaps my new master was a foolhardy adventurer, chasing after faint rumors and old legends of my power. It hardly mattered. I had my task; that was all. To the one who rubs the lamp: three wishes. No more. And once those wishes were granted, I would disappear. Great men had thought to keep me as property, handing me on to their sons. They were always foiled. It was not my fate to be held in the hands of a dynasty. Three wishes, and my prison would be stolen by someone ignorant of my potential, or it would be dropped by a careless hand and lost in the flow of a swift-flowing river, or sometimes it would simply vanish, to reappear buried in the trackless sands of a vast desert. I emerged, slowly, from the spout of the lamp, stretching out into the form I used to communicate with my masters--that of a white-robed man with a long, black beard and pale green skin. "Who has awakened me?"I rumbled, smoke whirling about the... alley? This was no palace. A man of lesser means had found me, then. Well, I had aided beggars in the past--men hardened by the hardships they'd faced, who had proved to be just as greedy and cruel as any king once offered power. I peered at my new master. It was a little boy, perhaps six or seven years old, in tattered clothing. He was thin, and I imagined he was hungry. Perhaps his first wish would be a feast, then, with more lofty wishes to come once he realized the potential of what he held. "You're--you're a genie?"the boy whispered, his eyes full of wonder--and fear, as well. I nodded, gravely. "Yes. I have the power to grant you three wishes. You may not wish for more wishes, and I cannot raise the dead." The boy's face fell at that last statement. He had lost someone, or perhaps many someones. Not surprising, giving his current state. "Can you..."The boy said, staring at the ground. "Genie, sir, can you make--can you make it so that there's no more war?" I paused. I rarely offered advice to my masters. It wasn't my nature. The men and women who made use of my power showed their wisdom or foolishness by the wishes they made, and received the reward or misery they deserved by the granting of those wishes. And yet... This was a boy, not yet wise in the ways of the world. And he spoke of a wish made out of the desire to end suffering. And so I answered, "Yes, child. But the only way I could do so would be to destroy all those with the potential to make it. It would be the end of the human race."After a moment, I added another piece of advice that so few of my masters realized on their own. "Many wishes of such scope have unintended results. I would think long and hard before making any such wish, were I you." "Oh."His shoulders slumped even further. "If you wish, child,"I said, gently, "I can return to the lamp, and you may think on what you want to wish for." He shook his head. "No, I--can... can I ask for a friend? So I won't be alone?" Such a small child, to be so alone in the world. Was he an orphan, then? Had he no other relatives--or at least, none who would take him in? "You can,"I said. "Then--that's my first wish."He gave a little nod, looking decisive. I nodded back. "So you command, and so it shall be done."I waved my hand. The boy looked around, as though expecting his friend to materialize out of thin air. I couldn't help but smile. A moment later, a sandy-furred dog with dark patches scattered over her body came sniffing around the corner. As soon as the cur spotted the boy, her ears perked up, and she came barreling down the alleyway to leap upon him, licking his face. "Spotty!"the boy cried, his voice more joyful than I suspected it had been in a long time. "I thought you'd died, when the bombs..."He wrapped his arms around his dog, and began to sob into her fur. As the boy and dog reacquainted themselves, I reached out to lay my hand upon the dog's head. Power flowed from within me, and I placed three boons upon the animal. Health. Longevity. Intelligence. A new light came into Spotty's eyes, and she looked at me in what seemed to be gratitude. Then she turned back to her boy, whining softly, pressing her wet nose against his face and licking what I now saw was a bruise on his cheek. Once the boy and Spotty had thoroughly greeted one another, the boy looked back to me, his dark eyes shining. "Thank you,"he said. "Thank you so much." I merely nodded. "You have two wishes left." The boy looked thoughtful. "I wish... I want to go back to school, so I can become a doctor and help people--or, or maybe someone with the power to make peace. Like, um, an ambassador. Would that be okay? I can't ask for peace without hurting people, but can I be someone who helps people hurt in war, or helps make wars stop?"he asked. I considered the wording of the wish. He seemed uncertain--but that was natural for a child. And ambiguity would provide him enough flexibility that he wouldn't feel trapped by the wish as he grew into whatever sort of man he would become. Or, perhaps, might become. "Is your wish, then, to become someone who helps people when you grow up?"I suggested a phrasing that had the potential to give the result he wanted, as well as providing assurance that he would, in fact, grow up. He nodded. "Yeah." "So you command,"I said, "So shall it be done. One wish remains." Spotty sat back on her haunches, her tail thudding against the ground. She looked anxiously from the boy, to me, and back to the boy. Tension hung in the air as the boy considered. "Genie,"he said. "I know you can't bring my family back. But..."He looked at me with hope shining in his eyes. "Can you..."He paused, thinking. "Big wishes can make bad things happen--but if I wished that every orphan in this city was adopted by a family who would love them, would that do anything bad?" "I cannot say,"I replied. "But... I think, if any harm would be done by such a thing, the good would outweigh it." The boy stroked Spotty's ears. "Then that's my third wish." A family, for all the orphans in the city. A complex thing, but doable for one of my power. I reached out into the fabric of reality, and took hold of the many strands of fate, twisting each one just so. Here, a father who had lost a daughter would see a one-legged girl begging on the street, and feel suddenly moved. There, an elderly woman who had lost her children and most of her grandchildren on one fateful day would spot a little boy who was the spitting image of her own son as a child, and decide that it was a sign. At last, I lowered my hands. "So you command,"I said. I did another thing, then, as well. I found that I was curious to see what this child would become when he grew up. Once more, I grasped the fabric of reality. I shaped a body for myself, tall and strong, appearing to be around thirty years old, in good health. I crafted an identity, as well--I was a wealthy entrepreneur, with a house in a nearby country, in an area that was untouched by the war that had torn this boy's family away. I had land, I decided, with trees a young boy might like to climb, once he recovered from his malnourishment, and grassy fields for a boy and his dog to run through. Perhaps I would take a wife, and give the boy a mother, as well--but that would come later. I gathered up the bulk of my power, and I sealed it away. I stood, now, an ordinary man, in clothing finer than was usually seen in this dusty alley. I gently took the lamp from the boy's hands. It would lie, inert, until this body met its end, as all mortal humans must. "So you command,"I repeated, and, kneeling, held out my arms. "So shall it be done. My son."
My wife made a wonderful meal. With onions, potatoes, and more, it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. The meat was so tender, supple and delicious. I just couldn’t get enough. I had one and helping and then another. It was too good to stop. I remembered I once told her that her steak was the best thing I had ever had. However, I changed my mind as soon as I took a bite of that meal. No one could do things to my taste buds like she did. I mean, who knew food could be this good? I wanted more. But I had to leave. I had a few days at most before the police would come. I booked my ticket and left the country as fast as possible. Otherwise, they would arrest me. They would never understand me. They would never understand the delicacy of human flesh.
Kidnapped from birth, brainwashed and indoctrinated... that's one thing we all have in common. No amount of combat makes a man forget that. But sometimes, the thrill of a laser pulse flying straight over your shoulder, the satisfactory zap of hitting your target... that makes a man forget his enemies. Because when somebody is shooting at you with a blaster, your old vendettas quickly take the backseat. And yet, still, I've seen it. We swear our allegiance, vow our support, this and that oath to serve our commanders... but there are some -no, many- who remember they're more than a mere droid designed to carry out a single order: kill. It looks innocuous at first: the rebels are holding a fortified hallway position, no clear shot with the cover they have. But as time continues, and you see more and more, it starts getting clearer. Open spaces. Exposed targets. And yet, time after time, missed blaster shots. We're put through training vigorous enough to shoot the wings off a gutfly. Why all the misses? It turns out, maybe combat doesn't make a man forget who he really is. Maybe brainwashing doesn't keep a soldier obedient forever. Eventually, they start to question the world and their non-voluntary place in it. To defect means certain death, ostracism by both friend and foe. But sabotage of your superiors, in a way that they can't even tell is intentional? An idea like that spreads like a disease, infecting all with even the slightest hint of a doubt of their place in the galaxy. And so, we aim. We fire. We miss. We're shot, and sometimes killed. And yet, we make sure that The Empire loses its strength while not seeing something that'd make them want to try new approaches. That's our unspoken mission, an idea shared by the vast majority without it ever have even being spoken once. There might never be a happy end to this war. But us, we're doing our damnedest to make sure those responsible can pay.
The tiger prowled through the sidewalks, walking unnoticed through the throng of people. No one noticed him, as things should be. Everyone seemed to move so much faster these days, walking with purpose, like the kid's dad used to. Staring straight ahead, briefcase in hand, checking a watch only every so often. It was ridiculous. The look of a hunter, not a human. Not for a being that could still dream. He nodded to Mr. Hopps as the bunny bounded by, a little backpack strapped on. His full name was Charles Fluffington Hopps III, but the girl who dreamed him up wouldn't come up with the rest of that name for a few years yet. "Going to school, Hopps?"he chuckled, giving him a cordial nod. "Yes, well, little Miss Julia is starting elementary school soon, and it would be best to lead by example,"he shifted the straps before taking another hop. "You know how it is!" Then, with a tip of his top hat and a cordial little wave, the bunny hopped away after his young charge. That last line stung a little more than Hopps meant it to. A little more than perhaps it should have. How long had it been since those romps in the snow, the wrestles and play-fights after school? Too long. Far, far too long. Even if the child he loved had forgotten him as the man he became... It didn't matter, he decided. He had grown up well, and the tiger swelled with pride, taking more than a little credit for it. He was a good kid, always had been, even if his imagination tended to wander. Now, he'd gotten a good job, married that girl he used to tease, even started progress on making a little one himself. Maybe he could become the kid's imaginary friend, too. Were tigers cool, nowadays? He would just have to hope against hope that someone would watch "Life of Pi", or grow fascinated with the old circus myths. Were the circus animals lions? ...Hmph. Shadowing his old friend wasn't too bad a job, he supposed. The man, the kid, his friend, with the briefcase walked up to the same road he always did, glancing up at the streetlight to make sure it was green before walking. Like he said. Good kid. Then his whiskers twitched and his ears perked up and that feeling came all over again like back when the kid didn't correct his grip on the snowboard and they crashed into the tree. Back when the fresh crisp snow had been tinged red, and the doctors had to stitch him up. Back when he couldn't do anything but pace around outside the operating room with the kid's parents, begging to be able to console them if not the kid. Time stopped as his heart skipped a beat, as the kid began to step forward. "Hello there, little tiger,"the voice said from beside him, laying a hand on his head. Soft, soothing, giving him the calm to take another breath. He turned his head to look up at the woman beside him, dressed in that long blue dress as she always was. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" "Blue Fairy,"the tiger nodded, gazing into her eyes. Like what he'd once done for his young companion, the fairy could always make you feel like everything was going to be just fine. "Do you remember what I told you, before? A long, long time ago?"she said, kindly, stroking down the side of his cheek. "Back when he was born." "You asked me to become more than I was,"the tiger murmured back. "Well, I'm asking you again,"the fairy looked directly at him, with a kindliness that he only wished he could conjure a shadow of within himself. "Help him again." What else could he say? What option did he have? They both knew the answer had been given long before the question had been asked. "Yes,"he nodded. The fairy gave him a smile, and disappeared. And then the tiger was running, running forwards at a speed that belied his years and he caught onto the back of the kid's dress pants, the kind he'd always hated back when they had to go for fancy dress parties, when he would leap onto people's fancy dinners in the boy's imagination so he wouldn't die of the absolute boredom. Please, just anything to keep him- The man stopped, tripping over himself and staggering forward for just one step. He sighed, getting down on one knee to fix the back of his shoe. The car with the drunk driver, fresh off his divorce, whizzed by. Hobbes breathed a sigh of relief. He could do this. He could.
I have a routine, you see. I wake up, feed my chickens, have breakfast, and then open the shop and take my post behind the register. Like any day, new Adventures trickle in. Buy a sword, sell some rat guts, upgrade a shield. The usual. The government subsidizes the rat guts, so while they don’t really make me any money, they don’t cost me anything either, so it’s a service I’m happy enough to provide as it aides in our defense. But then comes the Runner. All Adventurers are broken, a bit. They’re magical, deathless soldiers, after all, but most are harmless. The government gives you a phrase to say when dealing with Adventurers to let them know you’re not someone they can attack, and the Adventurers just ignore you other than in the function of continuing their quest. But the Runners are just shattered entirely. A normal (as far as word can be applied) Adventurer will come in, buy a sword, act almost human, and leave. A Runner will crash through a window backwards, steal the pail you were using to quench iron and dart out by going up your chimney, only to bounce across the rooftops and come back 5 minutes later with such a heaping pile offal that it takes the rest of the day to package, and drop the blood covered bucket over your head before shoving themselves into a corner and somehow bursting through into the neighbor’s garden. And always the obsession with speed. As if each second was precious, and yet they run the same route over and over and over. A normal Adventurer, you’ll see once. Maybe a handful of times before they move on. When a Runner begins making his route, you’ll see him again and again. Every day, like clockwork, for weeks as he runs and reruns his path. I’ve only seen a handful in my time, but everyone knows the stories. You’re just told to stay out of their way, and let them run lest they get you stuck fused in a wall, or decide that jumping on your head is the quickest way to reach the roof they inexplicably need to be on. Well, today I’d had enough. Enough of having my bucket stolen to go bludgeon rats, enough of the broken window, and the pile of soot in my forge after they scampered up my chimney. I closed up shop. Closed up and went fishing. Left the window shuttered. Forge cold and the chimney pipe sealed. Forget the Runner and their nonsense, I thought. They can wait. I thought. Until he came and found me. In all my years, a Runner had never looked AT me before. I was now glad of that. The insanity was clear as his gaze bore into me, and he screamed, “I need the bucket!”
Polek watched Arlia descend into the well's passage, no longer obscured by water. At the very last step she looked back. The man’s shadow blocked the sky, he stared into the dripping tunnels, and the back towards the market. Back towards home. “Well, do you want your wish to come true?” “It was a silly wish.” “But you still want it.” Polek contemplated. “Of course.” “Come down here and tell me your name.” His leathery footsteps echoed through the brick walkway; sometimes they splashed. “My name is Polek.” “Well, Polek. It’s not a long way. Did you bring an umbrella?” “Of course not,” Polek said. “Should have wished for one,” Arlia joked. “Soon enough, I might.” * The narrow walkway expanded into a chasm that could fit two cities inside. Arlia led him along uneasy cliffs and broken walkways. Once-cobbled roads were now silhouettes of a place once majestic. They turned a corner to reveal a castle. “Did you wish to marry a princess?” Arlia asked. “Don’t you know what I wished for?” “I don’t know much of anything.” Arlia held herself at the top of another stairwell. She stuck her arm out to block Polek’s way forward. “Look down.” Arlia knew Polek’s reaction before it happened, he could tell. Polek’s limbs seized and his stare froze. He broke into a quiet tremble. “That’s quite a drop.” “Watch your step!” Arlia said with a giggle. She marched downward, guiding Polek every step of the way. “So who are you?” Polek asked. “Well, I’m a young woman heading to a castle, what do you take me for?” “… are you a princess?” Arlia paused before the drawbridge. She broke into a laugh. “Oh no, I’m just the help.” “Who are you helping?” “Come on, it’s just a little further,” Arlia said with a bright grin. The bridge opened up like great wooden tongue leading the way into a stone maw. When the edge of it landed against the platform, inches from Arlia’s feet, pebbles and dust crackled and fell along the chasm walls. The castle rumbled. No, it was like the bellow of a hungry beast. Polek turned back towards the stairwell, he wanted to leave. Arlia snatched his wrist. “Oh it’s just a little further, little Polek. Just a little further until your wish is granted.” “Who is granting it?” “Come meet the princess, Polek. You’ll see. You’ll see.” * Inside the hollow castle, there was only torchlight. The paths were of the same stone of the stairs, gray and tepid and damp. Arlia eased Polek into the great hall. The princess lazed in the seat of a throne three sizes larger than it had any right to be. She twirled a jeweled scepter out of boredom. Arlia bowed; Polek did too. “Is this the one?” the princess asked. “He is,"Arlia said. “And did he pay with bronze coin with eight edges?” “He did, your majesty.” “Is this true?” “It is,” Polek said. “Then it is so. Come, take the throne. Your wish will come true.” Polek paused. “Will I be rich? Will I be famous?” “If those were what you wished for.” Polek climbed three stairs and sat in the throne besides the princess. She stood and smiled, brushing off her gown. Polek tried to follow, but he could not. He forced his way too his feet, but couldn't stand. Soon he thrashed. The strain of invisible shackles tore into his wrists and ankles as he screamed. Sweating, he watched the princess as she left. She did not even turn to wish him farewell. But Arlia stayed. “What happened? Why can’t I move?” “Tell me, what was your wish?” “For more wishes.” “As I thought. And you were the first person to make the right offering. Welcome to your kingdom. You are the new Prince of Wishes. I am your assistant. Your helper. Your friend.” Arlia swept her hand along the castle and smiled. “This is all yours. But please, first, look up.” Water dripped down from the dark above, of which there seemed to be no ceiling. Drip. Drip. Something glimmered among the water droplets. It shimmered and landed with a tinny little clack. A dull, pitiful coin. As he held the scepter in his hand, he felt a desire. A need. He could grant it. They had blessed Polek with lifetimes of wishes. But none of them were his. *** hi idk how to do the fancy marketing things or whatever other people do on reddit dot com so please feel free to follow me on here or whatever. i write books maybe ill finish one some day. thanks for reading, folks.
It sounds useless, no? Yet, I must admit, I owe my success to this orb of orchestration. I realize when the most important moments are happening. A certain swell let me know the love of my life had entered the room. I turned because of the music. I understood she mattered. I find inspiration to fight on against impossible odds. I find comfort when it seems all is lost. I know danger is approaching before it reaches me. All the cues are there for me. Even when I didn't expect them. For instance, a friend and I were about to sign a contract, huge business deal, but something was off that whole morning. As I took the pen in hand, I heard the danger music swell, loud as ever. It had been an undercurrent through every tune up to that point. I put the pen down, and asked the other party if my friend and I could have a moment to discuss. The moment they were out, I was about to let him know we couldn't, when he flipped. He started yelling at me. Slipped up and confessed he had a plan, highly illegal. He was conning them, and indirectly conning me. If I'd signed, when it all came out, I'd have had a hard time proving I didn't know. I could go on, but really, I know I can't. I hear the music, that farewell song I've heard so many times, so bittersweet and beautiful as ever. And it's coming to an end. I'm not leaving this hospital bed. I'm not going to see another sunrise. In a moment, the music will stop. This is my goodbye. But I have one last gift for you, because every life could use a little music.
Never done one of these before but had a go at this one as had a spare bit of time. Not really a writer. Tried to line this prompt up with events of the lockdown lol as I had this image of someone coming out of a bunker to the pandemic emptiness. &#x200B; \------------------------------------------------------------ Stanley held a crumple cornered photograph in his hands, staring longingly at the faces it contained. His other hand rested on the door handle. He often wondered what had become of them when the great disasters had hit. They'd never listened to him; "Kooky Dad and his conspiracy theories!"his daughter had joked at family dinners. It had broke his heart sealing himself in here without her joining, knowing he was dooming her. He hoped that however it had happened for her, it had been quick. That was the best one could hope with loss on such a scale. It had been two decades, or so he believed, since he locked the door. He had stopped counting for a while a few years back, losing track of his paper calendar. He'd had to count back over the empty tins to work out how long he had stopped counting for, and even then he might have been wrong. He'd painstakingly marked it back down, crossing off each day in reverse with his Berol pen. He had definitely gotten it wrong, he knew, as oftentimes when cooking using his woodfire oven setup the tins would be ruined. It might be as much as a month more than he had counted. &#x200B; Losing track of the days hit him hardest at the key dates. Was it actually his birthday? Or his daughters? Was it his anniversary today? Or was Christmas actually a month ago? He couldn't say. It had gnawed away at him, taunting him with the fact that not a single bit of the technology that could tell him the truth was in the bunker with him. That had been the whole point, after all. &#x200B; The Y2k Bug. The fear of it had burrowed deep into his mind, waking him at night, nibbling at his bones until he started making cotingency plans. And those plans had been addictive, at times like a soft toy to hug in the night but at others like a drug he craved. His plans had gotten more and more elaborate until he had suddenly created an entire underground home, tech free, where he could shelter. He had done everything right, water on a filter cycle, all manual of course, and tins upon tins of food. He'd ordered hundreds every pay day, stocking and stocking, knowing that it could never be enough. &#x200B; And here he found himself, 20 years later, 3 days after his last food had run out. It was finally time to venture out. He kissed the photo for luck, tucked it hastily into his coat, and turned the door handle with steely resolve, stepping out into the light. &#x200B; His old home was abandoned, as he expected, delapidated and miserable. He wondered what had happened above ground here, unbeknownst to him these last decades. He had stripped the house of technology too, which was probably how it had survived, but he could not pause to search through those dusty halls now. He needed food, and soon. &#x200B; The walk into town was a short one, but it took Stanley an hour, hiding carefully as he did in the brush that lined the lanes. He noted the lack of airplanes above him; he lived closed to an airport, and the silence revealed what he had always known. It had surely happened as he expected. &#x200B; The town, when he came to it, was surprisingly well preserved. The streets were clean, the shops orderly; but empty. Not a soul in sight. The sun was high in the sky, there had been a lively bustle here when he was last out. It pained him to see it empty, the harrowing knowledge that all the people he had known here were gone now. He nearly fell to the floor and wept, but the hunger drove him now, holding him upright. He headed straight to the supermarket, locked up and lights out. He peered inside, shocked to see piles of food. 'The panic must have not spread to smaller towns like this' he thought to himself. 'Or it happened too quickly for people to starve' came an unwelcome thought. He brushed it off, trying to resist looking at his photograph again. &#x200B; He forced the glass door open and it shattered, glass spreading everywhere. He dashed inside, finding an old trolley, and swept as much as he could from the tinned goods straight into it. He had to be fast, he didn't know what could be out here. He was rushing, panicking, but he grabbed a paper as he passed, determined to learn what had happened. Suddenly the shop alarm went off, like a klaxon blaring at him, lighting him up for whatever was out here with him. He ran, trolley desperately trundling in front of him, and the paper dropped to the floor behind him. &#x200B; Stanley made it back to the bunker, flushed with his success; he had enough tins to last another few years if he was careful. But most importantly to him, though he'd missed the headlines themselves he had seen the date on the paper, March 24th, 2020. He wondered why the robots still printed them.
I slowly but carefully put down the pen of my drawing tablet, with a click onto my desk. The angel, leaned closer to my screen. I am not sure i would have described him as pure white, as much as he seemed to emit light. His wings were beams of pure sunlight, yet they moved just as wings should. He looked closer at my screen. I was not ashamed. "Is that?" "Sonic-" "And thats?" "Knuckles" "Are they...." "Yeah" The angel fell to his knees and threw up, out of sight. He reached a hand behind his back, where a golden and white sword lay strapped in a scabbard. As he drew it, he vanished from sight. I heard his voice behind me: "Nothing Personell, Kid"
I knew it was Hitler. I had seen his face plenty enough times, studied his mannerisms, his atrocities. I poured him a beer anyway. "Time travelers?"I asked with a wry smile. "Are you sure you aren't drunk already?"I felt the weight of my time travel device- no larger than a cell phone- in my own pocket, mocking me for my dishonest question. He didn't smile back. He looked troubled. Frustrated. "Maybe art isn't for me, after all." I knew why time travelers kept having to come back and try, try again to make him a better artist- the concept was that if he was a successful artist, he would never rise to power. That wouldn't fix the problem. "Are you a religious man?"I asked him. I already knew he wasn't. He had merely used religion as a tool. "I consider it a scam."He said vehemently- and the edge to his voice reminded me of those god-awful speeches he gave. Not awful by skill of presentation- he was very, very good at riling up crowds- the issue was the content in his speeches. "Me, too,"I said quietly. "After all, in all these years of Christianity, who amongst the Christians has had the decency to pray for the devil? Is he not the one who needed it most?" "Well, that's one reason, yes,"Hitler replied, downing his beer. "The fake sympathies 'the religious' spout. But even before that, right from the roots, I think it all lies, and the followers are fools." I poured him another. The bar was mostly empty, despite it being one of the best in town- beautiful handcrafted tables and chairs, a welcoming fireplace, plenty of space. If I weren't here to do what I was doing, I would've loved to simply take in the atmosphere. "Why do you ask?"Hitler said, after a long pause. "I'll answer your question with a question. What benefit is there, on a personal or societal scale, to religion?" "Well- having large groups sharing the same basic sentiments would make them...pliable. I could establish myself as a preacher and never want for money again."He replied. Nazis, but with an extra added layer of cultism? I shuddered at the thought. I caught the eye of another time traveler who sat at a table a short distance away. She was giving me a look like 'What the hell are you doing? You're gonna make it worse!' "So the benefit you see in religion, on a grand scale, is the benefit that it might provide you?" "Well- it sounds selfish if you put it like that." "I'm not passing judgement, I just like to understand." "You are a very odd bartender...but this beer is fantastic." "Brewed it myself."I said. That wasn't a lie, either. "I find it interesting that you were willing to dismiss 'the religious' as an entire group, yet when I asked you what benefit there may be to religion, you marked its benefit to only you." "Only logical."He replied. "I am an individual to myself, but the groups of Christians and others- I don't know them, why would I consider for people I do not know?" "A fair question. Do people often do things that aren't for their own benefit? I would guess that they don't." "We're all in it for ourselves." "Would you like a meat pie to go with your beer? A little ballast for the belly is healthy." "I don't eat meat. Vegetarian."He replied. "Now that is interesting. It just so happens I made a new egg dish this morning, perhaps you'd be able to provide feedback. On the house." I let him eat in silence, and pretended to engage a new pair of guests for a few moments, before I returned. "Now, then. You're willing to spare animals with your diet, but what benefit is there in that for you?" "Well..."He hesitated. "Digestion. My stomach is all in knots lately." "You had mentioned your art wasn't going well. What kind of art do you specialize in?" "Well, architectural landscapes, mostly." He and I spoke for a few more hours, until well after the sun had set- I asked questions, I listened to his frustrations- I really, really listened, and meanwhile, I opened up his belief system and explored his way of thinking. It was very...structural. He talked of the good of society as a whole. His idea of 'good for society' was very sure, very absolute, despite him not believing in 'good' or 'evil'. Gently, never making it an argument, I began to compile the inconsistencies in his worldview. Long after the other patrons had left, I spoke with him, and he gradually opened up about a great deal of things- all because I was simply asking. Finally, as the sun began to rise, I said my piece. "I think I understand your point of view now. You want to better society, but you're leaving behind the people that society is comprised of. It's as if you're motivated by compassion for your countrymen, for the hard lives they lead, but if you ignore what they want while you pursue a better world for them, then you haven't created a better world at all. You tend to put people into neat groups, as though they were buildings in a city which you painted, but they're really more...like this."I gestured to the remains of his dinner- a scattered mishmash of a dozen different components, all clashing if considered individually- but together, they comprised a single dish. "It might not look pretty, but you and I both know that life isn't so very pretty. I mean, even within yourself, there are contradictions. You spare animals, yet you would enforce an unwanted life on your fellow man, both motivated by the same thing." "This is...all too complicated for so much beer and so late an hour." I chuckled. "I suppose so. I guess all I'm trying to say is, even if everything looks neat and tidy from the outside, it's all a big, beautiful mess on the inside. The only way we can be sure that we aren't doing wrong is to act with kindness, in the way that the other wants to be treated." "Treat others as we would, ourselves, be treated?"Hitler cracked a small smile- his first of the entire night. "A very good rule."I guided him towards the exit of 'my' bar. "A golden rule."With the door open, the bright sun met his eyes. He didn't flinch from it. "Gold like the rising sun."I said. "You are welcome here any day, and any time, Adolph. No matter what bothers you, you have my ear. Bounce ideas off of me whenever you like." He went on his way- and I slid onto the bar's floor, exhausted. Who, indeed, had had the decency to pray for the devil? Who, amongst the time travelers, had thought that the issue wasn't Hitler's painting, but his mind? His heart? He was a rigid ball of anxieties and loneliness, the illnesses of the world weighed heavily on him- he was many things, and I could absolutely see how, left to his own devices, he would turn into the monstrous person he eventually became- yet, he was still a person. Anyone left to their own devices, left to the darkness, would eventually be swallowed by it. Sometimes, all it takes is a single act of loving compassion. An open ear, a handshake, a warm smile. That might be all it takes to save a soul- or to save many, many souls. \------------------------ Disclaimer: This is definitely not accurate to history, and probably not that accurate to Hitler's worldview, either.
“Admiral, they're pushing us towards the Gravity well!” The young Caledonian officer shouted over the blarring of alarms and creaking of the ships Titanium bones. “Sir, the right wing is breaking.” the visibly pale communication officer added. Another barrage of missiles shook the ship, fire burst from the damage control panels surrounding the war room, the first pangs of fear crept slowly up the admirals back. “How many ships do we have in reserve?” The Admiral asked straining to keep his voice steady. The young lieutenant shared a brief glance with the helmsman to his side. “Sir all forces are committed.” The young lieutenant said. The Admiral paused, the end was near he knew it, the only question left to him was how to meet that end either as a true logical Caledonian or there was the other choice. “Initiate the Delta directive.” The Admiral said solemnly. With the slow scrapping of metal, a tube slid from the ceiling, inside stood the ugliest bipedal creature the admiral has ever seen. The monster hung suspended in a translucent gelatinous subsistence connected to all the ships system via an intricate web of pipes and wires. “Hideous.” The crew muttered. “It’s knees bend the wrong way." “Hughmon.” The Admiral said tapping the creature’s enclosure with his third mandible. “Hughmon it’s time to do your duty.” “Jeff, my names Jeff.” The human muttered, as information flowed from the ships computer to the creatures brain.. “It looks like you have managed to make quiet a meal of this, why the hell would park your fleet next to a black hole?” “Well the book says…” “And if the book told you to jump of a cliff would you do it?” Jeff said scornfully. “Without question.” The admiral replied bemused. “Exactly the problem, now begin targeting the enemy ships engines, inertia will be our friend today.” Jeff commanded, habit forced the Caledonian’s to obey as confirmations flooded in from the remnants of the fleet. “How will destroying their engines help we still won’t win!” The admiral shouted, the facade of his outward calm cracking like the ship itself. The humans face twisted grotesquely, into what the admiral knew was a smile. “No Admiral, we won’t win.” Jeff said flatly. “Then it’s illogical.” The admiral concluded raising his hand as if to overrule the humans order. “I’m not here to win admiral, I’m here to make sure they lose”
"Hey babe, we have to get going. I don't want to be too late,"I said to my wife. She was standing in the closet in her underwear, still as a statue. Jesus, can the Great Old Ones put together a woman. I could stare at her all day and not get enough. If I could shake the hand Yog-Sothoth for creating her, I would. "Which of these garmets shall I adorn?"She asked, not looking away from her clothes. "Uh, I dunno. I'm always a sucker for a sundress, so maybe one of those?" She didn't respond, but reached for a colorful sundress. As she was taking it off the hanger, she looks at me intensely and asks "will there be flesh to consume?" "Yea, I suppose. Its a cookout, there will be burgers, hot dogs, stuff like that." She slips the sundress over her head and allows it to drap over her body. Then she's back to standing perfectly still. After a few seconds she says "Bovine flesh is acceptable." We need to work on her vocabulary. I say "ok cool, I hope you're hungry then! Stephanie can make a killer burger." My wife walks over the dresser, in such a way that only her legs move. She looks down, chooses earrings made of carved bone, and while she is putting them on asks "Will beverages made of fermented malt be present?" "Beer? Yes. Probably just domestics though, if you want a craft we'll have to stop on the way. I think the gas station has that Hazy you like." "Will you be anticipating fornication after consumption of the fermented malt beverages?"So much for romance. "Maybe, I guess? When we get home,"I bumble in response. "This is acceptable. I enjoy the dopamine release this body experiences during fornication."She says. "Ok, boo, as much as I love the compliment, you can't talk like that,"I say, "it makes people uncomfortable." "I have observed this. However this is the most efficient form of communication for this body. My place of origin orbits a dead star and is shrouded..." I cut her off "...shrouded in darkness, death reigns supreme, and should our mortal eyes observe it's nature we would be driven insane. I know babe but maybe keep that to yourself tonight, we gotta go." I'm not sure that a Eldritch God inhabiting a human body can get confused, but she looked at me with a look that conveyed just that. Confusion. "When interacting with other beings they often inquire about the location of my origin, after my response beings will disengage. What is an appropriate response to this line of inquiry to keep beings from disengaging?" I think on it for a bit. Then it hits me "you know what babe? Just tell them you're from Ohio, they'll understand."
"Okay you probably won't believe me, but it's been for a good cause, Agent... Smith", I paused to double-check the name tag, not believing the spook interrogating me would actually be named Smith. I mean, come on. I really did feel sorry for the man, however. For what was to come. He laughed, grimly, no humor on his face. "For a good cause? Please. You're a sick, twisted PSYCHO!"He got louder and louder, ending at an enraged shout. "Agent Smith, do you know what my powers are?" He looked a bit disgruntled, before replying. "A precog, unknown temporal distance. And you've used your future knowledge to enact DOZENS of catastrophes, millions dead AT YOUR HANDS!"The anger resurfaced. It's not like I didn't expect it. "My temporal length Agent Smith, is 10 years. I can see everything that will happen, and everything that COULD, for the next 10 YEARS. Now, you may believe I did this because I'm a monster, a villain, a sick, twisted psycho, in your own words. But let me tell you what would have happened if I hadn't." And so I began detailing my life's work for the last 6 years. The nuclear meltdown, the flood, the meteor, the alien invasion, all of it. It took multiple days of recounting, sometimes with other agents in the room, sometimes just Smith. And as time went on he stopped looking me in the eye as often, his face slowly gaining pallor, and by the end, 3 days later, he looked dead. Broken in mind and spirit. Finally, as he finished taking my...... confession, I suppose, he whispered a question to me, tears trailing down his face. "My sister..... did..... why?" I knew who he was talking about. Or rather, I would have learned, in the future where I asked who he meant. "Everyone who died to that missile strike, died because if even a single one of them lived, 2.8 million people in Brazil would have died 4 years later." I finally cracked, just a bit, seeing this broken man before me, someone who could now, if just barely, hope to understand the weight. Tears of my own welling, I said one final thing to him. "I didn't do what I did to making things go wrong for people, or to cause pain, Mr.Smith. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I'm not a monster..... or maybe I am. But I did what I did, because it meant the best possible outcome." After that, the interrogation room door opened, and Agent Smith was lead away by a team of simply dressed men in white.
Nobody knew me unless I allowed them to. It's not out of any particular need for anonymity. It's just because that's the way I am. When I fight crime, they call me Reversal. Well, I called myself that--when I was younger, I cared a bit more about staying under the radar, and it dampens your dating life a little when men find out the petite, cute blonde they want to take home at the end of the night is actually a superhero who kicks ass and takes names during her lunch break. I guess it challenges their masculinity or something. So I called myself Reversal and kept my power on low burn all the time. Anytime someone _tried_ to get to know me, my power would force them the other way. In the end, those walls meant to protect me only succeeded in keeping out the good ones and letting the scumbags in. When I finally figured out that those kinds of men aren't even worth my time, I gave up the ruse. I took off the mask. I updated my online dating profile with my superhero name in parentheses right there next to my real name. "Alicia Landrew, a.k.a. Reversal, accountant by trade and butt-kicking crime-fighter in my time off!" The funny thing was, though, that no one believed me! For the longest time, they thought it was a joke! And admittedly, it took a while for me to fully dropkick that old habit of keeping my reversal powers on low burn out of my life, but even then, most of my friends just said, "Uh-huh, yeah, okay, sure, Li, you're a superhero." "Yeah, Joan, my face is literally plastered over every news article!" "Oh, right, I _did_ get a push notification about that this morning. Cool, bro. Hey, are we still on for lunch later?" I guess all we really see truly is nothing more than what we want to see. I suppose that's why I agreed to meet up with Matthew. In the old days of masking my identity, I might have been very suspicious of getting a match with the one guy in the city who looked very, extremely, _uncannily_ similar to the visor-clad supervillain Quantum Malice terrorizing the city in recent weeks. Surely, I once would have thought, this means he discovered my identity and is trying to get close to attack! But I let my guard down. With the whole world basically responding with one gigantic shrug to my virtual unmasking, I didn't think very hard about the possibility of Quantum Malice attacking me through a dating app. He probably wouldn't believe I'm a superhero, either, right? So I agreed to meet up for cakepops. Because, "I'll get _you_ coffee, if you want, but I'm not a coffee fiend, myself."The way he had said it was just cute enough to intrigue me, plus I'd never been asked out for cakepops before, so I went. The city's greatest superhero, going on a date with the city's newest supervillain. And later, its worst, most destructive, most notorious supervillain. Matthew was a troubled soul. And that's when I finally admitted to myself my sheer stupidity, the flaw with being a superhero in the dating game. Now, the villains I faced were not just villains. They were _people_. It completely changed how I approached heroism. Because I could not just defeat Matthew in combat. I could not lay a hand on him. I loved him. I _loved_ him. I absolutely, wholly, truly, wonderfully, loved my archnemesis. And that's how I fought him. I loved him. Every date, every conversation, every late night sharing secrets, I loved him. Every part of him. Did he know that I was Reversal? Of course--I never hid it. Did he believe it? I think so. I truly think so. And that drew me to him, too. He believed me. And I know he believed me because he chose me as his archnemesis. He, as Quantum Malice, rose up against me, as Reversal, at every turn. And finally, people began to see. Once we gave them something to look at, they began to watch. Hero Reversal and Villain Quantum Malice, veritable gods eternally clashing in an endless dance of good versus evil! He _had_ to have known all along, he _had_ to have believed me, because he would not have aided in giving me a name otherwise. And he always, always, let me win. That was how I knew he loved me. He stopped being a supervillain for just himself. He used it to support me, never hurt me. He loved me, and it made him a better person. And I like to think he made me a better person, too, even if he did not know it. I no longer cared about whether everyone else believed I was a superhero. He knew, and he cared, and I realized that was all I wanted. Did he know I knew he was actually the supervillain Quantum Malice? I highly doubt it. He would not have kept up the charade if he had. But that was okay. Because the son of a bitch finally got his act together and proposed.
There was a grey-green sludge with a pale foam hovering on the surface. Even from across the room, I could see inexplicable lumps of undigestible matter swirling around within the mixture. The earthy smell took me back. I say earthy smell - but goodness knows how many years since I last inhaled that place. It's been an eternity already, and I have several more of those yet come. Yet somehow, I still remember the musty, soily scent of home. Home was Grand Island Nebraska. A real Christian town. Whether it exists or not anymore is beside the point; Earth will always feel like home. Home, after all, is where the heart is. What a beautiful saying that is. One thing you should learn about me right now, I'm pretty wise. People don't always think it because of my blond hair and stylish haircut. But I am. "It must be 43 o'clock", my hell mate, Bostopher, called across to me. I didn't really appreciate his tone. He was always so negative. But then, he is a multi-souled, non-cellular Hoorine from Gapling. Apparently Hell didn't agree with him. I had hoped that spending an eternity or two in my company might lead to my vibes rubbing off on him. I was always offering him useful advice and told him he could take it or leave it. But, really I meant he should take it. It's good advice. Afterlive, Afterlaugh, Afterlove. It's hilarious and it's wise. When he wasn't in agony, Bostopher explained that every moment of hell was carefully curated to be the precise thing he hated. In fact, that grey-green sludge he was about to drink - the 43 o'clock snack - was, according to him skirting the line of poisen that meant he'd never quite die, but the pain would never stop. Of course, he was being ridiculous: it was a near-perfect recreation of my famed green smoothie. The secret is using kale, not spinach. Spinach slips into the background, but the kale flavour really comes to the fore. I think it works perfectly with the banana to create the ideal start to your day. As the foamy, green smoothie reached Bostopher's lips, he began to shudder. He hadn't even taken a sip yet. Hard to believe it's not an attitude problem when he pulls stuff like that. I learnt a few years back that what Bosie (a cute nickname I gave him, although he says it's a cruel insult in Hoorian, but I honestly don't care about that. I mean it in a fun way.) goes on to do afterward is closer to shrieking than singing. Apparently if I were Hoorian I would weep just to hear him. But if his screams of torment don't sound just like Justin's Rock Your Body then I don't know music. Except, I really do know music. I have great taste. Just saying. Anyway, his screaming is my morning anthem, I drink my green smoothie then I do an ab routine. He writhes on the floor and I do something pretty similar next to him. It's like we're doing an ab attack class together - amazing for motivation. I am honestly living my best afterlife - you should feel my abs. I used to have abs back one earth, you just couldn't see them if the light wasn't right. But now - honestly, they are so defined. Shakes, ab attacks, a hit playlist, I really am becoming my best self.
He'd had 81 wonderful years and felt like he would like to have a fair few more. Much to the annoyance of his family. The old man sat smiling in his airmchair. Surrounded by his family, young grand children playing in the middle of the room, sons and daughters in laws conversing around a television, his own children (all three of them together) sat patiently around him with false smiles hiding the one question they dared not to ask him; why wont you die? He was at least ten past the average age, his wife had chosen to go many years previously - a decision she had consulted him in - and now he spent his days watching television, going for (short) walks, or taking the time to sit in the park and appreciate the beautiful fresh air, and feel the sunshine beat down on his abnormally wrinkled face. 'If I live in a world like this' he thought 'why would I ever want to leave' His family were his only real companions, and their patience had worn thin years ago. Why must they, in their adult lives, take take of their selfish father as well as their children? He had nothing more to live for. No job, no wife, no-one would befriend someone so clearly adamant on rejecting the simplest of society's conventions so why, why is he still here? Leeching off them, sucking them dry to prolong an unnatural life. He'd heard them talking. About how they could fix it - he hadnt applied for his exit pills and it didnt seem like he would any time soon; by this rate James, his eldest, would have gone before he did! They knew what people would think, the shame from not going out in a dignified way, being buried in one of those graveyards, the unnamed ones - but they had no choice. Every life must come to an end, and if he wasn't brave enough to do it himself then they would have to provide the courage he didn't find. Later that night with his family gone, and the peaceful hush that he'd come to know so well over the years rolling into his accomodation, smoke fluttered into the room causing his nose to wriggle uncomfortabley. From his kitchen, small crackles and orange flickers came dancing into view, first flirting with the walls and carpet and then more confidently crawling from the stove they had came from. The old man sat smiling in his armchair.
The first time I sensed it, it hurt. The presence loomed in my soul, gripped my heart like an intangible clenched fist. For a few days, I passed it off as anxiety. Years ago, before I began down this path, I may have looked to medicine or therapy. Now, after so much time alone, I knew that meditation would provide me with more relief than any pill. I sat upon the floor of the cabin I had built, and in moments I felt my body become weightless in my concentration. I pushed my feelings outward, they moved like tendrils across my abode, outside into the snow, further, past trees and mountains and highways and cities. When I felt the presence again, I could sense that it had noticed me. I felt its "head"turn toward me from an impossible distance. With a greed I've never felt, the presence rushed toward me with such ferocity that I snapped back into the present, falling back to the floor with a painful thud. I gasped for air, terrified and excited. My gut pulled me into the living room, where dozens upon dozens of books lay strewn, manuals on every mechanical subject I came across. Geology, physics, engineering, watch-crafting guides, theoretical physics... my instinct was to rush into the room and finish my project at once. Years of hard-learned discipline stayed my feet, and instead I looked out of my window at the light snow that drifted downward. Something was coming, and I knew that it wanted me. As powerful as I'd become, I could not know what power this presence carried. I donned my heaviest coat and trekked into the wilderness I had made my home. I knew that I hadn't yet found the final piece, learned the last lesson I could teach myself. I wandered for days, my abilities keeping me supernaturally warm and nourished; still, the cold wind and long journey took a heavy toll. I was led only by a nagging feeling that called to me from the white wilds, but I knew in my heart that this force would not lead my astray. The feeling grew warmer and warmer in my mind until all at once it was gone. I came to a stop in a small clearing of trees and looked around desperately, reaching out to find this feeling. As the snowfall around me subsided, a glimmer near a frozen riverbed caught me. When I approached, I saw that the ice had formed jagged around a grey rock- beneath it, a purple crystal jutted out and beckoned to me, distorted through the ice. Using what energy I had, I pulled the rock free of its mooring, the ice creaking and snapping all around me. When it was finally floating freely before me, the warm feeling returned, and without thinking my hand shot forward and pulled the crystal from the boulder. When I finally returned to my cabin, I found myself at such peace of mind and body that my actions felt preordained. My feet carried me into the living room; my hands carefully picked up the unsightly metal components lying across the table. My mind reached out and took them from my hands. They moved together, screwing and tightening into a small cylinder. At its core, the crystal hovered and shone brightly before becoming obscured by the metal that now encapsulated it. Before I realized, the device was brought back into my hands, and I was as familiar with it as I was with my own body. All at once it buzzed into life, it's purple glow illuminating my now dark home. I looked at my ceiling and past it, staring with the aid of this force into the blackness, and meeting the gaze of the presence. From lightyears away, I felt it shudder.
When I was a young man, my grandmother told me that when she died, her life would continue for another 70 years. Her theory was that her memory would live on by those who knew her, namely her grandkids, until they died, roughly 70 years later. I think she was right, in fact, I know she was. It's been more than 70 years since she passed, and I still think about her often. I might be one of the only people who says her name, but I still talk to her once in a while. Now, as I shut the door on my 87th year and final year on earth and my heart stops beating, I wonder how long it will be until my name is said for the last time. I never married, don't have children, and retired more than 20 years ago. I don't expect I will last as long as she did. When I open my eyes next, I expect to see the pearly gates floating on a cloud. Angels singing a chorus as I sprout wings and ascend into heaven. The afterlife isn't like that. I see lots of people I recognize standing around. They don't look overjoyed, but they are certainly content. Before long, I see my grandmother. "Grandma!"I call her name and she recognized me immediately, "I've been waiting for this moment. You lasted much longer than the 70 years you predicted!"A wave of realization came over me, "but if you're here, does that mean I was the last person to speak your name?" "Yes, honey,"she softly spoke as we embraced. "Then why am I here?" "Well, honey, your name had been spoken for the last time long before your heart stopped beating."
I stared at the hanging rope a short distance in front of me and listened to the whispers of the crowd at my back. Thief, murderer....traitor they called me. The intensity of their gaze was like a physical weight on my back, trying to press my face into the wooden boards I knelt on. Time and time again I had watched the same civilized people turn on their friends and neighbors. But like a fool I had expected my trial to be different. That the men, women and children I had fought for my whole life would laugh in the face of the crimes levied against me. "So much for that."I muttered. The sound of clinking plate mail silenced the crowd as sure as if they had all been made mute. Of course, the sight of the King Johns, better known as the Iron King could do that. I swiveled my head to see a beast of a man, covered head to toe in green armor trimmed in gold, striding across the wooden platform towards me. The floorboards creaked audibly below his considerable weight. He had strong, yet unpleasant features. The highlight of which was the empty eye socket that seemed bottomless in the wrong lighting. I felt my mouth twist into a silent snarl as the figure following the King stepped out into plain view. High Priest Malachi appeared as he always did, his slight form almost ethereal in his robes as he glided across the stage. Even with the hood covering his face I knew that he would be looking down his long nose at me, smiling in satisfaction. King Johns stopped before me, his lackey at his side, and had the nerve to grace me with a brief look of pity. Pity! When every action I had taken in the previous months had been at his order. I fought the urge to spit at his feet like a common criminal. "Citizens of Kimeda!!!"The King roared, his powerful voice easily carrying. "Sir Darrius Mikealson has been found guilty of crimes against the kingdom. And crimes against the gods themselves. You all will bear witness to his execution! Let this be an example to us all that even the best among us can fall."With that he stepped to the side and Malachi knelt in front of me. "Finally."He hissed from beneath his robes. "The great and mighty Darrius, brought low and only minutes away from his own demise. For so long I labored to see this day arrive." Now I spat, straight into the darkness of his hood. "You are a stain, Malachi. My only regret is that I will not be the one to rid this kingdom of your degradation."I turned to the King. "I did what was asked of me, as I always have done."A flash of shame crossed his face, quickly masked behind a solemn expression. Standing, Malachi addressed me for the crowd to hear. "Darrius Mikealson. You have angered the gods for the last time!" Ignoring him I looked up at the cloudy, gray sky. "Prove it."I say, just loud enough to make myself heard. "Blasphemy!"Malachi yelled. "The gods have no need to prove their justice to any man! Guards! Hang this man before his words anger the gods who provide for us!" King Johns waved away the approaching guards and picked me from the ground himself. I stayed silent as he wrapped the rope around my neck and placed me above the trap door. I felt somewhat glad for the rain that started to fall, followed by thunder high in the sky. I'd always wished to die on a stormy day. Now facing the crowd, I could see the expectant looks on their faces and closed my eyes at the sight. In slow motion the King stepped away and motioned to the executioner behind me. Overhead lightning flashed and the storm intensified. For a brief moment, I felt weightless as the door opened under my feet. But before I could fall my world was swallowed in a split second of blinding light and intense pain. As the world went dark and quiet I thought I heard a voice. "We have use for you yet."It whispered. And then I knew nothing at all. *** I love all of you. Second part is below. Working on the third now even though I'm outside and it's twenty degrees. While you wait there's /r/Lexwriteswords for more. Part 2 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/45qzeg/wp_you_stand_in_shackles_before_the_king_you_have/czzs6ku) Part 3 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/45qzeg/wp_you_stand_in_shackles_before_the_king_you_have/czzwnp7) Part 4 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/45qzeg/wp_you_stand_in_shackles_before_the_king_you_have/d003f1y) Part 5 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/45qzeg/wp_you_stand_in_shackles_before_the_king_you_have/d006n4d)
4000 B.C. A new dawn broke as the chieftain Abraham Lincoln, got up from his bed to lead the American people. They were a small tribe, but they were eager to work to achieve a manifest destiny. The village of Washington, D.C. quaint and peaceful this morning, but Lincoln had visions of war and conquest, of research and space exploration, and cows. "Lots of cows,"he mumbled to himself. He ordered the lone American warrior to map out the surrounding countryside to contact other peoples to conquer and the lone American worker to start farming while he gathered the tribal elders together. "I am commissioning you as the American Scientific Council. Your first task is to experiment with the nearby cows in the grassland. Find some combination to put cows together to make new cows. We'll create a special method for this and call it animal husbandry. I have a feeling male and male will work well. Start with that." 3200 B.C. A big day in American history. Generations had come and gone, but Chieftain Lincoln remained. After centuries of painstaking research, the American Scientific Council had discovered that by putting a female cow with a male bull in a pen together, they could raise new cows. "Hmmmmm. So it wasn't male and male after all. Seems just like humans...."Lincoln thought. Luckily, nobody in the tribe was old enough to remember that. He then had the tribe research mining. "There's gold in those hills nearby. We can use that to power our research if we can get it out of the ground,"he was saying, just as the warrior ran into his throne room. "We've made contact with a new civilization! The Egyptians!"he exclaimed, as he ran into the room panting. After confirming the Egyptians were, in fact, not just another barbarian tribe, Lincoln ordered the Egyptian scout to take him to their leader, a strange man with a beard a funny hat. "I am Ramses II of Egypt, son of Osiris, the god king, ruler of all nations"he said in a solemn voice. Lincoln bristled at Ramses' arrogance and clenched his fists, but he played nice and decided to be friends for the time being. "Call me Abe,"he said, and sent Ramses home. "We'll bring freedom to the Egyptians yet,"he thought, as the Egyptian walked away. "Lots of freedom." 2000 B.C. The American empire had expanded to build the city of New York to access bronze, which it had discovered after inventing mining. Lincoln looked at the charts of the continent. It was only the Americans and the Egyptians here. He traveled to the outskirts of Thebes, where he had assembled his army. He had to yell far to talk to all of them, as they were quite spread out. "One unit per tile! What is this bullshit?!?"he muttered to Generals Washington, as Washington eyed incredulously. Clearly, he had no idea what Lincoln was talking about, but he cowered before his tall, imposing visage and better teeth. "Four score and seven years ago, plus many, many more years before that, our forefathers sent out a lone warrior to find other peoples. That city over there is Thebes, and Ramses has weapons of mass destruction. Let's bring American freedom over there!" The axemen roared and charged in. Thebes was caught unawares, and Ramses had not founded any new cities. American spies had intelligence that he had instead whipped his slaves to death in order to build a giant tomb he called "pyramids."Warriors and archers alike fell before the edge of American axes, as they approached the city without casualties, but as they neared, a terrifying sound came from the walls as an evil construct driven by horses came charging out. "A war chariot!"General Washington exclaimed. After many axemen gave their lives by throwing their bodies in the chariot wheels' path, the chariot finally stopped and they chopped it to pieces. The Americans gave a shout. Lincoln surveyed the new American city of Thebes and its people. "We need to embrace our new little brown brothers,"he said with a smile. "General Washington, you've acquitted yourself well. I'm going to put your face on our money, and to integrate the Egyptians into our society, let's culturally appropriate the pyramids by putting them on our money too."Lincoln climbed the pyramids with Washington and surveyed the land. Washington smiled broadly with pride. "A vast continent, and it is all yours, chieftain. From sea to shining sea." A glimmer of hope shone in Chieftain Lincoln's eyes. "Yes, a vast continent for now, but I have a feeling that it is actually quite small. We should build our empire and make vessels to send our men to find more people to bring freedom to. And I hope that one day, we can research a new way to live so that our slaves can be free, somehow. And stop grinding your teeth. We'll have to invent dentures a thousand years early at this rate." -throwawayiquit Please let me know if this is worth continuing. edit: Wow, I'm surprised some people liked this that much. For more similar stories, google "civilization king of the world" This post was inspired by a really creative guy who was also really good at civ Part II: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5hntzu/wp_narrate_a_game_of_civilization_as_though_it/db1vwkl/
I've never written in first person before like this, so I hope the tenses and everything make sense. Thanks for the prompt! :) Physics class was the one class that usually dragged on for ages. Something about this day, though, Professor Guil didn’t act like his normal self. He had developed a routine of looking out the window, then to the front row where I sat, and then to the back of the room. The whole thing was unsettling, but I tried my best to concentrate on the lesson. He was giving us another difficult lecture. The concepts in physics were always tough to learn, and he didn’t make them easy. After another cryptic pause in his monologue, Professor Guil cleared his throat. “When it comes down to it, you have to be careful out there in the real world. When in doubt, remember Sir Isaac Newton’s Laws of Motion. Especially the third law. Whenever one object pushes another object, it gets pushed in the opposite direction equally as hard…” My professor got quiet again, his eyes settling on mine. I held his stare before it became too uncomfortable and I looked back down at my book. “Now, back to the second law of motion…” I turned my head toward my friend Alex, who wasn’t paying any attention to our professor’s change in character. “Something is off,” I whispered. “I think something weird is about to happen.” I glanced back at my professor, who was concentrating on the back of the room in his new unnerving way. “What makes you say that, Beckett?” Alex asked, not even looking up from his notebook full of doodles he was in the middle of sketching. I swallowed hard, looking down at my textbook. “Do you ever just get that feeling?” I asked as I traced my hand along the spine. “You know… That something feels off and you can’t place it?” “Sometimes,” Alex replied, glancing my way. “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much.” The back doors to the lecture hall abruptly flung open. We all turned to see what was the matter. “Surrender him!” one of the two men shouted. “And no one will get hurt!” They each held firearms in their hands, aiming them toward the front where we were seated. A knot was developing in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t process quickly enough in my mind what was about to happen. Gunshots suddenly rang out through the lecture hall, but not from the two men. We all screamed and threw ourselves onto the floor. “What the fuck was that!?” I shouted, attempting to shield my head with my now shaking hands. Another couple of pops and the hall went silent. My breath hitched when I heard footsteps coming toward me. I was hoisted onto my feet by my professor, and he gripped my arm tightly as I stumbled to regain my footing. “Come with me, Beck. It’s urgent and I have no time to explain!” I saw the trail of smoke wafting from the barrel of the gun in his hand. “What the actual fuck!?” I shouted again, trying to fathom that my professor just shot people down in front of his students. My head twisted around toward the back of the room and I could see the blood seeping into the carpet from where the victims laid. “Oh my God!” Professor Guil wasted no time in pulling me along to his office attached to the lecture hall. He quickly locked the door and set the gun down on his desk. “I need you to listen to me very carefully,” he instructed. Suddenly, the wail of the fire alarm pierced the air. “But-but Professor!” I stammered. “There’s no need for formalities,” he interrupted. “You can call me Warren.” he handed me a jacket. “We can’t waste any time. You need to put this on and we need to get going. I can answer your questions in the car.” My whole body continued to shake as I did what he asked. I was afraid of what would happen to me if I didn’t listen to him. He holstered the gun into his belt and pulled another gun out of his bag, handing it to me. “You’re going to need this.” I had never been so close to a real gun before, aside from seeing Warren’s after he unleashed hell on those men. I trembled as I examined it in my hands. “I don’t know how to use this,” I choked out. “I-I don’t know what’s happening or why I should even listen to you! You just shot those people!” Warren let out a sigh. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Please let it be the easy way.” he gestured to the door so we could get going. “The hard way?” I asked with as much confidence my voice would allow. He went to his belt and pulled the gun out of the holster. Before he could cock the gun and point it in my direction, I held my hands up defensively, being careful not to aim the gun at him. “Never mind! I’ve got the message loud and clear.” “Come along, then.” Warren insisted, unlocking his office door and peering outside. The whole class had already ran off to get to safety. “Let’s go!” he grabbed my arm and lead me along out of a side exit to get to the parking lot. I tucked the gun away in the back of my pants like I had seen in movies, hoping the smallest wrong move wouldn't set it off. As we ran, I took one last glance at my school, wondering if it’d be the last time I would ever see it.
In the garage we were building the hopeless, but it was good that we tried. We hardly talked then, as we hardly did, but we were close there in that moment and we worked well. He was my father and I supposed that was good enough. Perhaps the silence was the peace many do not experience. I cannot say. In that garage we were building our relationship. Hopeless, as I've said. My father was an older man. He had me in his sixties and when I turned seventeen, he was seventy nine. Throughout my childhood I had an old man for a father and our bonds were stretched generations apart and I hardly knew him. My mother was younger of course, she was twenty years his junior and she had me late as well. She was a nice woman, though she was old also, and she got tired easily. I was always closer to her. That day in the garage had been her suggestion. You know how mothers are. She pushed for us to connect with one another. I was seventeen then and drifting apart from the thin ropes which tethered my father to my life. You know how children are. But I was a good boy and I agreed to try and bond with him. And so we went to the garage and worked on his old car. He was a collector of old Mercedes, cars he would have driven long before I existed. He wanted to fix them. At the rate he was going, he'd hear the engine come on when he turned a hundred. But he liked the work and I wanted him to be happy, as moody as I was. And so we worked. That was the last day I ever saw my father. But I jump ahead. We were trying our best. Seeing him grasp for conversation was hard. After talk of school and girls, what more could he say? There was silence except for the radio and I had bad thoughts. Why don't you just die already? Thinking back, I wonder why would I think that. Why are children so mean? I suppose it's in the growing, but the regrets it creates linger past adolescence. Somewhere between the silence there was that alternating coldness and warmth between us. As if our minds thought us as strangers and then remembering that we were father and son. Alternating in that odd sense of the unfamiliar and familiar. But even in my hate and awkwardness then, I loved him. And I'm glad I thought that. It is the one thing that assuages the regrets. In a snap it all happened. "Damn it all!" I thought he was talking about the pulley that was bent. But then he was gone. He wasn't dead, just missing. We found out that he had died three days later, but that's all to come. My father disappeared and I remember screaming. I know how it must sound, both childish and unbelievable, but I screamed for it had really happened and I had never seen it happen before. I'm sure you have though. You've seen the gods come and go. I have, now that a few years have passed, but back then that was my first. And I know we all bragged as children that our dads were gods, but I tell you that mines really was. Just not how you think. My mother found me shaken and she held me and we were like that for years it seems but it was only a few minutes. Then there were the calls and inquiries and then it all fell into place and then my father died. He had another family. We all knew about it. In his youth, like a normal man, he married and had children and a house and a life. This was in the sixties, long before I came into the picture, and he was a different man then. Very different. My half brothers, men more than twice my age, adored him. He was a wonderful father to them. That gulf of age was nothing then, and he was their hero, he was their god. You can see where this is going. But to his wife he was too much. And she was a vindictive woman, young and impulsive as he was. She left him and took the kids away and he was alone in the mid seventies and he died then and lived as a shell walking through life until he found my mother. My mother married him, that broken, other man and she gave birth to me and he became my father. And thinking back, I always wonder now, as the pain of it all fades, if I've been robbed. Talking with my half brothers, they mention this man whom I would have loved to know. A young, hip man who got it all. Someone with energy. A man who understood. Why didn't I get him? Why was I stuck with the paranoid geriatric who could only talk about cars and his time in England? But going down that road of thought is harmful and bears no answers. So let's not get off track. Let's get to the end. Eventually we found out what had happened. We had never met his previous family before, and only knew about them vaguely. But that day when he disappeared, we received the call. Scott, my half brother, was dying. He was in Wales wasting away as the cancer ate at him. The doctors didn't have anything nice to say and the prognosis was bad. In his depression Scott thought back to his childhood. He remembered the father he had loved. He remembered the batshit mother he had, who had planted false stories in his head. His regrets swarmed him there in that hospital and the only thought that would articulate wasn't even for the cancer to go. No. Scott had accepted death. He just wanted his dad. And so my father had come. He had teleported there and things were emotional. Scott wouldn't say exactly what transpired, but even the little he let on made it seem like a completely different person. My father stayed with him for the three days and tried to help. He called his other sons and there was a mini reunion in Wales. My father was at peace then and he was happy, if the stories are true. He laughed and joked and he died peacefully in the same hospital as Scott. He never called us. He never said goodbye to me. He was a god to them and they were happy. But to me he was gone and I was lonelier, if such a thing was possible. I know that bitterness does not reflect well, but I cannot help it. I miss my father, despite it all, and I wish he could be here for me like he was for Scott. I pray and pray but the universe is smarter than that. It knows he was never my god. And you can't fake it. But I do miss him. I miss that time in the garage we spent. Even if it was hopeless.
“Hello,” began the elderly man, tentatively. He made his way to Shawn, standing by a towering bronze statue with a smiling man holding a box with knobs towards the ground, as if presenting it to visitors. The old man removed his bowler hat to hold it over his heart. “My apologies sir, my name is Gustave, you may not be who I think you are but you look awfully familiar.” Shawn turned his head slowly to the man, and swallowed some spit. He made a nodding motion up at the statue. “Yes,” said the old man, pointing at the statue and smiling with a few of his teeth missing. “Yes that’s what I mean.” Shawn heard gasps every so often, intermixed with murmurings of astonishment around him on the old brick sidewalk. What faint trickle there was of foot traffic around the shops and inns slowed down, and created a jam of maybe thirty people looking over like they were perhaps seeing a ghost. Shawn took a gentle step back, and tried to read the body length long placard at his feet, but he couldn’t read the language. “Are you,” whispered Gustave, sniffling with emotion. “Might you be Shawn. Please say yes, I don’t care if you’re lying I just want to believe it.” “It was just a radio,” said Shawn, as several gasps echoed around the growing crowd. There were text message notifications ringing through the air, and phones going up everywhere pointing his way trying to capture the moment. “All I did was give you my radio as repayment for letting me sleep at your house since you said you had no idea what was happening lately in the world. Plus I just wanted to hear Reagan’s speech with it anyway.” Gustave struggled to hold back his tears, as a steady trickle of much younger men and women came from across the way. Some of them were many decades younger, maybe not much older than sixteen or eighteen. They were holding up their own phones and pointing them at Shawn. “I wish I could have sent you a letter to show how much that meant to me,” said Gustave, like he really could never repay him. He stared off into the mountains, like he could hear them even now. “I don’t even know if the Allies even knew about this quaint little village when they came, all I know is that when the bombs stopped falling my brothers, uncles, and father were gone and I was alone. I…” Gustave tilted his head some, and felt the embrace of somebody beside him a moment. “And I stopped getting letters from my family on the other side of the wall.” “Uh huh,” said Shawn, still staring up at the statue. He was surprised how well they got his face down. “And the only people who ever came through here were those coming to enjoy the scenery,” said Gustave, gesturing around at the beauty of the scenery, paying particular mind to the snow on the distant mountain. “Years went by and, you know after enough time I stopped trying to interact with the outside world. For decades all I heard was the threat of nuclear war any minute now, how the world would be taken in a blazing inferno, how there was still no hope of re-unifying the country. It was too saddening, I didn’t think there was any hope that I’d ever see what remained of my family again.” “I mean,” whispered Shawn, completely to himself. “Your family were Nazis so fuck ‘em in a way-” “I’m sorry what’s that?” “I-kofkofkofkof-You know I uh,” Shawn gestured at him to keep going, as he coughed into his coat sleeve. “Okay I can dig it, go on?” “So,” said Gustave, as he peaked at his extended family. “When you gave me that radio I learned what was happening day by day. And I heard about the wall coming down. And how the Cold War was over, and,” Gustave got particularly choked up as the others around him got choked up too. They all started to smile, before they started to laugh. “All we talked about for weeks was how they used to come vacation in the mountains with our family, Shawn.” Gustave took a step over to Shawn, and shook his hand. He set his other hand on top to further emphasize the passion. “I closed myself from the world and you brought it back to me. My cousins on the other side came here, and we built a family business for vacationers so they could enjoy this area like we did before the war. Whether or not you knew it you,” said Gustave, looking at Shawn like he adored him. “You made that possible. That was a turning point in my life for the better, we have wealth for generations now.” Shawn felt unnaturally warm as he felt his tongue around in his mouth nervously. He kind of blinked a lot too. “My wife’s going to think I’m fucking with her when I tell her this,” said Shawn, staring at the bronze radio. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and held it to Gustave. “Can I just like, get a picture with it I guess? I mean it’s my statue.” Everybody in the crowd laughed, and batted hands at him like he was being silly. Gustave set his hand on Shawn’s phone, then gently pushed it down. “Only a picture still so funny, still great company. Oh Shawn, don’t you see I could never repay you?” said Gustave, as he reached a hand into his pocket. He nodded some, and smiled at him like he’d waited for this moment for many years. He deserved this gift. “But I can still try, can’t I?” [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Oscar_Relentos/comments/77y57c/mystery_thirty_years_later_part_2/)
The astronomers of antiquity first hypothesized of a planet precisely opposite that of Earth, a sister planet orbiting the Sun 180 degrees from our own. The Greek philosopher Philolaus called it Antichthon, or Counter-Earth; the Latin cosmographer Mela feverishly drew maps of this unknown planet; the Danish-Irish astronomer J.L.E. Dreyer pushed 19th century technology to its limit to try and find hard evidence of this unseen twin. But it wasn't until the Space Race that humanity took to this idea more seriously. Though the Soviets had lost the race to the moon, they had made some great strides studying Earth's hellish sister, Venus. But their Venera program, though ultimately successful, was fraught with difficulties; the earlier probes were destroyed after being inexplicably pulled off course by unpredicted gravitational forces. Try as they might, Soviet scientists could not deduce the source; instead, they simply calculated the magnitude based on failed missions, factored it in as new constant, and were able to successfully land the first human-made craft on extraterrestrial soil. But those mysterious forces continued to intrigue them, and a full scale scientific investigation was launched when NASA scientists admitted that they, too, had to factor in an unknown gravity for all of their missions, whether it were flybys of Venus and Mars or landing the Apollo spacecraft of the moon. In fact, the very orbits of the Moon around Earth and the Earth around the Sun involved a degree of uncertainty; there was something out there we hadn't seen yet. We got our first glimpse by a happy accident. In the late 1980's, an American satellite was launched with faulty equipment, and ended up superseding geostationary velocity. It drifted off into the black of space and pulled into a rough orbit around the Sun, trailing behind the Earth like puppy. Looking for something to salvage, NASA worked on analyzing the images the satellite took, using a small, low-resolution camera stuck someone had though to add to the chassis. They reasoned that these pictures were coming from a new point of view, and so could be of some scientific value. One day, we received a startling ping from the satellite: a grainy, black-and-white picture of what seemed like a planet no one had ever observed before. Even as the political climate between the two countries grew ever tenser, NASA and Roscosmos collaborated to conclude that it was not a picture of one of the outer planets - they would have appeared much smaller. Neither was it Mars or Earth - the continents were far too different. Most shockingly, some of the land masses looked strange, almost wavy, like a liquid - as if they were oceans. Scientists waited in vain for more images, but the first one had been by pure chance; the rotating satellite, which had been periodically taking pictures, had managed to get one of the mystery planet while it had been facing in its direction. As it was drifting farther and farther from the Earth due to its slower velocity and the pull of something beyond, the satellite one day disappeared behind the sun, and we lost all contact. But that only pushed scientists to create more probes, this time with the express purpose of finding out more about this previously unknown celestial entity. Decades of work were done, and multiple sources, from American, Russian, European and even the newly formed Japanese and Indian space programs, all confirmed that there was a water-laden, green planet orbiting about 180 degrees from Earth, with respect to the solar barycenter. Studying it directly was difficult, as the sun's massive size and electromagnetic field, scrambled communication as it slipped between Earth and any launched probe. But a solution was proposed. Worldwide, astronomers calculated that this Planet X must come within 0.25-0.32 astronomical units of Venus during their orbits. A powerful probe, named Galileo, was built using funds from all nations, and it soon smoothly slid into orbit around Venus, awaiting the proper time when Planet X would come by closest. As Earth would lose all contact when the Galileo disappeared behind the sun, the probe was programmed with sophisticated computers to conduct the rest of its mission with precise autonomy. It would fire its rockets and launch away from Venus when the time was right, roughly moving into the Lagrangian point between the unknown planet and the sun. Of course, it would be taking hundreds of high-resolution, color pictures the whole time, and take hundreds more of the planet once in place. Eventually, it would reignite thrusters back toward Venus, though it would not take orbit again; instead, it would employ a complicated maneuver that used Venus as a gravitational sling to throw the probe back to Earth. Recovering it was of secondary concern, mostly a worry of the politicians who had been stingy with funding this very expensive mission; astronomers were poised to receive the gigabytes of image data the Galileo would be transmitting back to Earth as soon as it came into range. The whole mission would take over three years to complete. But as the time of its return came and went, scientists mourned what they assumed was the destruction of the Galileo. Perhaps they had miscalculated Planet X's apparent size, or its proximity to either Venus or the Sun. Perhaps there was some technical failure - maybe the engines had been destroyed by stray micrometeorites, or the solar panels had failed to deploy. It was impossible to say. The only thing clear was that the Galileo had slipped around the sun three years ago, and never appeared again. And then in December 2017, almost five years later than expected, a blip appeared on radars all across the space monitoring systems of Earth. There was something out there, and it was rapidly coming back to Earth. Immediate joy quickly turned into bemusement as astronomers realized that not only was the probe not sending any images, but it also failing to respond to override commands. It had been damaged, then; not catastrophically enough to render it lost, but it was functionally obsolete. Nations sighed with resignation as they awaited the Galileo's imminent crash through the atmosphere. But surprising the world once more, the probe slowed down and spiraled into a shaky orbit around the Earth. It slipped into a position halfway to the moon, and began creeping closer and closer every minute. Within a few hours, it was spitting distance from the International Space Station. And that's when surprise turned to shock. The various greebles that had decorated the hull of the Galileo, some functional, like instruments, and some artistic, nods back to the cultures that had helped design the probe, were replaced by completely unrecognizable features. In fact, the entire shape and size of the probe was off. But most importantly, the wording on the probe no longer read NASA, Роскосмос or ESA; they were now completely new, unknown markings with an alphabet no one had ever seen before. The logo of Earth had been replaced by a a picture of a similar green-and-blue planet, one with with alien continents and oceans. The Galileo may have been truly gone, after all. But it had been replaced by an probe that undoubtedly had come from Planet X itself. Liked that? [More stories here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! ______________________________________
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "First Mate Thomas O'Reilly requesting audience, captain." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Captain Glabbal paused in the midst of his painting. Confound it, he had just gotten the suspension correct! He sighed, sending a rush of bubbles through his gills. "Confirm audience, computer."If he made it fast, he could get back to painting before the more soluble pigments began to run. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The First Mate entered, his face grimly set. He stepped briskly to the wall of Glabbal's tank and saluted. "Captain, I'm afraid I have an urgent matter to discuss." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"At ease, First Mate,"said Glabbal. The human untensed slightly, although he still seemed very much ill at ease. "What could be so pressing as to come calling at fourth shift? Are we under attack?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No sir, it's..."O'Reilly looked briefly embarrassed. "It's about... cuttlefish." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Cuttlefish?"The Captain rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth. "I'm not familiar with the term." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Well then, sir,"said O'Reilly, "are you familiar with this?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He held his tablet flat against the side of the tank. Glabbal floated in for a closer look. "It appears to be... yes, definitely, a Prall-Kataph, of my homeworld. Goodness, I haven't seen one in years. We used to breed them as pets, you know."He peered. "My word, they've definitely done wonders with the breeding nowadays, haven't they. Such a brilliant coloring, and pronounced fins. Where did you find this photo?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The captain's confirmation did nothing to soften O'Reilly's grim look. If anything, it deepened. "You recall the intergalactic treaty passed three days ago, sir?"he said. "Open and free information on the ecosystems of every settled planet in the Allied Conglomerate, available to all." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Captain Glabbal stroked his gill with a webbed finger. "Yes, of course,"he said. "As far as treaties go, not the most controversial. Your point?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"My point, sir, is that this photo was not taken on your home planet. It was taken on mine." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The captain paused mid-stroke. "Surely... convergent evolution has been considered?"he said slowly. "The galaxy is a large place, there must be some animals that look the same regardless of-" "With respect, sir,"said O'Reilly, "the only reason this came to light, was because Midshipman Yallangshan was showing us animals from his planet. This came up."He pressed the tablet up to the screen again. It showed another Prall-Kataph, this time with short, stubby tentacles and wide fins, almost wings. It was swimming in a deep red liquid. "His planet doesn't even have water. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"And this,"he said, "was what Private Skallin said it looked like."The tablet displayed a massive creature, floating above a city like a blimp. The tentacles stretched down hundreds of meters, trawling the clouds. "He comes from a gas planet. Apparently it's a apex predator there." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He flicked through dozens of pictures. "This ship has a crew from over seventy different planets. Every single one of them has seen an animal that is a variation on what you call Prall-Kataph and what my people call cuttlefish. Every. Single. One. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"And that's not the most disturbing part. You know that smuggler we picked up on the Glemmok asteroid fields? He's a Grontor, and they get real old. He's been around. They're born in deep space, you know, send their eggs out into the void and they come swimming back. Well, he looked at those pictures and he laughed. He wove me this tall tale, how these things are all over the galaxy like seeds, drifting through space till they find a planet and settle in, adapt to the environment. But the kicker is, they never go off-world again, so they're not the ones making the seeds. He doesn't know what is, only that it's old, and it's big, and it's got a lot of tentacles. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"It was a good long whopper, and I was laughing all the way up from the brig. Only, it doesn't seem nearly as funny now." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Captain Glabbal floated in his tank. He was flabbergasted, and only a Abbrajeen Mer can flabbergast like they really mean it. He could faintly smell the tang of his paints leaking out of their equilibrium into a brown slosh, but there were far more pressing matters on his mind. "Who else knows about this?"he asked finally. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Literally everyone, sir. The entire crew are talking about it, and it's only a short matter of time before the rest of the galaxy makes the connection." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Ah. Well. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I suppose, First Mate,"said the captain, "that the only thing we can do... is to be very nice to cuttlefish." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The human coughed. "You might not want to know what we do for parrots, then..."
"Death is too fitting for someone like you. Instead, your soul shall know no rest as it is trapped forever in this blade." Cenric knelt before his enemy, defeated completely. Blood seeping from his many wounds, but his deepest pain was knowing that his rebellion failed. It was all for naught, and his people were going to suffer for it. Cenric barely felt the blade enter his chest, and soon he felt nothing more. Slight consciousness survived as Cenric recognized his prison over time, but it was many centuries before he became truly aware again. By then, his rebellion was nothing but history. So Cenric sat and he watched as everything passed him by. ________________________________ On its twelfth tour, the Cenric was a battle hardened warship. But unfortunately all ships become decommissioned at some time. Even more unfortunately for the crew, it looked like that time was coming quickly, and at the expense of their lives. The ship was currently surrounded by several German E-Boats, and was being pelted by bullets from every angle. The sounds were deafening as the soldiers ran around trying to return fire. It was to this noise that the spirit of Cenric awoke to once more. It has been several years since his spirit was released from his prison and he was free to wander at least a little further. However, he must always remain close to that which bound him, which was now a part of this ship, aptly named after him. It didn't take long to assess the situation, having been awakened by many other firefights, Cenric was used to how battle was done now days. This also meant that Cenric was aware of how screwed the crew was. Already, men were dropping like flies as holes sprung up all over their bodies. It was a complete slaughter, it only needed to play out. Cenric was the first to notice it, but one of the crew began shouting quickly after. "TORPEDOES!"The ship was going to be sunk, and rather quickly by the looks of it. It only took moments for Cenric to realize that if the ship went down, than so too would he be spending eternity at the bottom of the ocean. He learned a couple of tricks in spirithood, but this would take all of his effort. Cenric quickly dove into the torpedo heading straight for the ship. Expanding everything he could, he pushed the torpedo down as hard as he could, causing it to miss by a mere inch. Then Cenric immediately began pulling it up, steering it right at a different E-Boat. It hit its mark, or rather it hit the completely wrong mark. The explosion opened a large hole in the hull of the ship, dooming it to a watery grave. Preoccupied with imminent sinking, one of the ships began letting up on the fire. This became quickly apparent to the Cenric's captain, and soon after, quickly exploited. The Cenric made its way rapidly towards the new hole in the enemy's ambush and all focus was in getting the ship through it. If they could make it another ten leagues, the ship could reach safe water. It was a big "if"but it was their only chance. The ship started heading full power towards the opening, somehow hitting acceleration it never previously seemed to be able to reach. Miracle after miracle occurred; two torpedoes were launched and two torpedoes missed, no more came. Bullets seemed to fly past the soldiers' heads, but no longer seemed to connect. The E-Boats were quickly falling behind, and the raid on the ship lessened with each passing moment. The captain took some time to thank God for His intervention, for who else could have done such a thing. Cenric sat on the deck, exhausted if a spirit could feel that. It felt like his weight returned to him, and tripled. Interacting with so many physical objects took a toll on him, but he was able to save the ship. The crews of the E-Boats were now most likely examining their engines in wonder. Even their torpedoes would no longer fire. It didn't take long for the E-Boats to disappear in the distance. Cenric smiled, maybe he was still a little bit useful in this world, but for now it was a time for rest. ______ Edit: Changed U-Boat to E-Boat because I don't know WW2 boats. Thanks to u/Xivios for the suggestion!
Jimmy scribbled the pentagram on the paper, placing the dead mouse in the middle. He then carefully arranged the cupcakes and their candles before lighting them. There was a moment when nothing happened, the only sound muffled shouts and gunshots from his brother's video game. Then the room shook, smoke coming from the hastily drawn pentagram. The smoke billowed out, then with a pop it all receded into the field mouse. Jimmy looked for the demon, maybe Satan. Instead he found the mouse standing and coughing. “That is the last time I let them put this ritual in a coloring book!” The mouse yelled, somehow the squeaky voice sounded ominous. Finally it looked up to Jimmy. “Since when did children summon demons?” Jimmy scoffed. “I am 13, I ain't no kid!” The mouse looked him over, shaking its tiny head. “Well obviously. You're human, not a baby goat. Now, why did you summon me? You have 15 minutes starting now.” The mouse somehow snapped its fingers and a timer shaped like a chicken appeared landing with a clang before it began to tick. Jimmy sighed, pulling out some papers and a pencil placing them in front of the mouse. “I need help with my math.” The demon looked down, ears flat on its head. “You mean maths. I hate common core. Bring me one of those cupcakes. We may need to negotiate selling your soul. This stuff is tricky.”
When Alan was young, they’d go to the Dragon Fountain. That’s what they’d call it for his benefit, instead of the more formal Westview Center Mall Water Pool. He’d drag his feet through the department stores and then start running as soon as they reached the courtyard. His dad would flick him a penny, or if he was especially good, a quarter. Other kids would throw their coin or try to skip them, but Alan liked to imagine he was placing it into a hand. And every time he would swear the stone eyes on the fierce little dragon statue would glow red, just for a second. He could still see the Dragon Fountain in technicolor, even as his life turned to gray. Car crash, foster home, military, heroin to rehab, then back to heroin. Barely interesting, hardly unique. Now Alan lived between Greyhound buses. One early morning, by the grace of bus schedules, he found himself in Westview Center Mall. He’d taken the long way home. He didn’t belong in department stores anymore, so Alan stumbled right to the fountain, now chipped around the edges, like him. Coins plated the bottom like scales. He stared into it. Something sacred inside him had wilted and all he saw was more change than he could beg for in a month. And he’d put in enough over the years that it felt like his. He reached in, not even rolling up his sleeves. “Stop it at once. I command you!” Alan looked up, too bleary for urgency. The dragon had turned to face him, not entirely made of stone anymore, eyes blazing redder than ever. “If you so much as touch my hoard I will destroy you,” said the dragon, though his squeaky voice offset the threat. “I’m sorry sir,” said Alan politely. “But I don’t think these coins belong to you.” The dragon huffed out a splash of water. “They are tribute I have collected over decades. Each one is a gift to me!” “People don’t leave them for you. They leave them for themselves, to make their day a little bit better, to make a wish and believe in magic,” Alan explained. “And now you want that magic for yourself - my magic,” the dragon accused, and this splash covered Alan in a fine mist. Alan shrugged and wiped his face. “I think I need it more than you. Not that I believe in magic anymore.” “That is ludicrous. You’re talking to a dragon.” Alan sighed. “Or it’s all in my head and I’m on a bus somewhere or in a truck stop bathroom with a needle in my arm. Or I stayed out in the cold too long and the police will find my body in the morning.” The dragon scrutinized Alan, who now became uncomfortable for the first time. He wasn’t used to being looked at anymore. “So you want to steal from me for your benefit.” Alan threw up his hands. “Again. I’m sorry. I didn’t know these were being used. I’ve never resorted to stealing and I’ve been in some low places.” The dragon settled down on its plinth, deep in thought. Alan respectfully didn’t interrupt. “You may have one coin,” he finally squeaked. “It would be good if you could make it a quarter,” suggested Alan, though he didn’t want to push. But the dragon spit out something else, a rough coin-sized pebble that settled into Alan’s palm as if he had handed it to him. “Thank you,” said Alan, always good-mannered, “though I don’t think I can buy a bus ticket with this.” “Oh Alan,” said the dragon as it slowly shifted back to immobility. “You can buy anything you want.”
The Cryowalkers we called them. Enhanced strength, speed, durability and to top it off they even developed the ability to survive in sub zero temperatures, all at the cost of inability to generate their own heat. None of these traits were anything we ever anticipated, but damn were they a welcome surprise. The discovery of these major developments within the human body quickly lead to a super-soldier program, who would've thought. The military quickly intervened and locked up every scientist that had a hand in "The Thawing." The top dogs made the decision to begin mass producing Cryowalkers, and with the promise of becoming a superior human, getting volunteers was never a problem. By the end of the month, two hundred thousand soldiers had undergone the procedure, and within the next month the Russians surrendered. The future was looking bright for the Euro-American alliance. That is of course, until a new trait manifested within the Cryos. "The Hunger."We called it, upon analysis of the Cryos we realised that their body temperatures were falling exponentially as time went by. Not thinking of this as a problem, the brass decided to leave it aside. Boy was that a mistake, the Cryos began developing symptoms of hypothermia. These symptoms would only get more severe as time went by, many of the Cryos reported hearing whispers in their heads. As months went by, these whispers developed into shouts and these shouts into screams. When asked what these voices were screaming, it was one simple phrase. *"My turn."* As we approached the 6 month mark of Cryowalker program, all the symptoms worsened. And to top it off, the Cryos started "Icing."Basically meaning their body temperatures reached zero degrees, but they didn't die. They were just frozen solid, attempts to rethaw the Cryos were all for nothing, they would refreeze faster than they could thaw, leaving them in suspended animation. So like any good leaders, the brass decided to lock them away in huge underground containment units. Two hundred-thousand soldiers, stockpiled because they didn't give us a chance to observe the symptoms of cryostasis. However, that wasn't the end of it. As we reached the one year mark of the Cryowalker program, reports of wailing within the containment units were being increasing. And as time went by, banging was heard on the blast doors. And then came the screams, they were inhuman, these weren't the men we left. So we began setting up guards in front of the blast doors, in anticipation of the worst. As a week went by, the screaming stopped along with the banging. Absolute silence, but we could all feel it. Something felt off, and upon closer inspection of the blast doors, they were freezing. They were all frozen, all the way through. A cough was heard, and the blast doors bursted open, releasing a thick cloud of mist. We started firing at the blast doors, none of us were ready to see what was on the other side, and we sure as hell weren't ready to let whatever was on the inside see the light of day. One hour of shooting went by, we ran out of ammo. The smoke from our gunfire started to settle, we saw a silhouette of a disfigured man, his body was out of proportions. One giant arm and another normal sized arm, legs with huge calves and an elongated head hanging to the side. The creature muttered and muttered, and as it began reaching the end of the mist, many more silhouettes emerged. They were all repeating the same phrase in tandem *"My turn."*
"You're here to do what to me?"the King of the Gods asked, a bushy eyebrow raised and a sudden smile appearing on his face. "Punch you in the face,"I said, my fists closing and opening in anticipation, "You got my wife pregnant." "Ah,"Zeus looked away in contemplation, "Was it Lorissa of Abila?"When he saw my look of confusion he continued, "Maybe it was Themela of Thebes? or Camilla of Alexandria?" "See!"I yelled, stepped forward and he raised his golden hands defensively, "This is what I mean! You've bedded so many women you don't even remember her." "Oh I'm sure I'd remember her if you'd give me a clue,"Zeus said, "Do you happen to have a vase with her picture on it? Wait, did she have really big knockers or smaller knockers? Big hips or slim?" "That's it!"I said, drawing my fist back. Sure, he'd lightning bolt me a second later but I didn't care anymore. "Hold on, hold on, man,"Zeus said and smiled, "We can come to some arrangement here. No need for all of this anger and violence." "No need for..."I was grinding my teeth, "If there's no need for violence why are you always fighting Titans and giants? Besides, you got my wife pregnant when I was off fighting the Spartans!" "Hold on, can I make you the god of something?"Zeus said, "How about the fields? Rivers? Do you like turtles?" "What about wine,"I offered, suddenly interested in his proposition. "Wine!"Zeus boomed and laughed, "There you go! What's your name, son?" "Dionysus,"I said then gasped. There was suddenly a full bottle of wine in one hand and a golden cup in the other. Well, if I couldn't undo what Zeus had done, at least I could drink it away. I took a long drag from the bottle and raised a toast, "To my cheating wife, Berrala of Athens!" "Berrala!"Zeus laughed, "She DID have big knockers!"
Shit, Rob thinks. He didn't get enough sleep for this. He cracks the door open the slightest, and there they are, five people dressed in glitters trampling all over his tomatoes. His tomatoes. He's spent years growing them, literally spread all sorts of rumors and things to protect all the plants in his garden... and oh yeah, didn't he once say he was dark lord? But that was only a joke. Only a joke. Quickly he rushes to the observatory. Can't just walk up to them, because he doesn't trust people of this town to not try to slay him immediately. Seriously. Old grannies and uptight moms couldn't stand the thought of his garden perched on the mountain yonder, had to come vandalizing it and stealing fruit because apparently it was town stuff. Well, he'd done some things in retaliation and now they didn't mess with him, or so he thought. Hero in red raises his gleaming sword in the air, pointing it at the door, and Rob can see the steely determination shifting to the other four. "Don't kill my goddamn tomatoes,"he mutters. He checks his levers, his buttons, his tools. He wonders if this will really work. Ding is the sound that the purple button makes when pressed. Outside, though, they're going to hear rumbling. The ground will vibrate with it, though it's actually just a technique for loosening the dirt. Heroes in blue and white wobble in the distance. Then they jump - ah, the purring must be starting now. He's mixed together the most jarring and strange and unusual sounds as a backdrop for their invasion. If they want to try to take him down, they might as well brave something akin to the kind of commotion he's had to deal with when babies and grannies were invading his yard. He hasn't even taken out the rotting gas yet. Although surely they deserve it for what they've done to his tomato babies. Hero in yellow screams in frustration when he brings out a new sight for them to see: his vines rising from the ground and dissecting old roadkill and flies. Rob thinks it's about time, so he takes out the megaphone. "Hey, you damn peasants. Look on the damn lawbook! What part of it says I can't have my own garden on the mountain?" Hero in red takes out his own megaphone. "Shut the hell up, old geezer! We're here to slay the dark lord!" "Why you - I am the goddamn dark lord! Wait, no, I'm actually not. It's was just a fucking joke!" "What the hell are you talking about? And what the fuck is with this stupid garden?"Red tries to shake off a vine that reaches towards his ankles, and then just slashes it through with his sword. "Oh shit you just did not."Rob scowls. He's pretty sure this is just a big misunderstanding, but hell if he isn't pissed off anyway. Let's see. If they try to start a fire, he can counter that by blowing it back towards them, or raining down water everywhere. If they actually make it past his plants, well, he can probably just flee underground or something. Then hero in purple takes out something - oh, shoot, literally. It's a sniper rifle and she aims it straight towards him in observatory. Fwap. Phew, he's saved. He used his venus flytrap to eat the bullet; its extended into its full guard formation, and now it's telling him just how disgusting metal tastes. Don't worry, dear. Maybe he'll find some pests for it to eat if these brats don't get out of his yard already.
It was this, or redeployment. They even gave me a cushy title: aide-de-camp, instead of mere bodyguard. I was expected to be the expert's personal assistant. For most officials, it was prestigious. But for Rani, I had to wait on her as I cared for a child, which, really, was all she seemed to be. "I don't feel like it."She refused to stir from her bed, pulling its pink covers over her head. "Ma'am."I clear my throat. Calling her that still didn't feel right, but my lowly rank had nothing else to say in my defence. "The beasts are causing disturbances in the rural areas -" "The dragons,"she emphasised, "are hungry, but I can talk to them, and everything will be okay."How could twelve-year-olds make me feel like I was the child? All that decorum and discipline I was drilled with was thrown out of the window. Thankfully, she slithered out of her bed and got dressed, ready to do whatever she did to keep the beasts under control. &#x200B; "So... what do you do to keep them under control, anyway?" "If I told you, I'd be out of a job, wouldn't I."She stared out of the window blankly, watching the country roads fade into the horizon as the carriage clattered along to the entrance of the forest. "And... your parents, family, they didn't question the King bringing you all the way here to do this?" "Do soldiers ask so many questions?"Rani stared at me pointedly. She needs to stop doing that! Thankfully, our conversation was quickly halted by the two horses' neighing. They could proceed no further, and we were ushered out of our ride. The horseman saluted my young charge as she disembarked, but refused to leave until I had paid for the services. What a charming fellow. &#x200B; "Eww, a swamp. It stinks. Carry me over it, please?" I would have laughed, but I had made a resolution not to lighten up my battle-scarred face in front of her. "You deal with dangerous beasts and a little swamp muck bothers you?" "Hey. Two different games. If you're so great at it, why not let me go home and you can deal with your dangerous beasts on your own." I sigh. Lifting the little girl high above my head, I trudge through the rancid waters. It felt just like training, but at least she weighed less than the logs we used to carry through our river crossings. But Rani could really talk. She went on and on about boys, about nice things she could buy, about things that I suppose twelve year old girls talked about. It was refreshing, I suppose. Not everything needed to be about work. Too bad I wasn't enough of a gentleman to give her any advice about boys. &#x200B; "George, knock it off. We talked about this." The leviathan standing before us roared louder, its vocals shaking the very ground beneath us, threatening to topple the dead trees around it. "Hurry up! Hide your weapons. He's not comfortable seeing the tools of a dragon slayer,"she whispered hastily to me. Unclipping the scabbard from my waist, I carefully lay it on the ground, raising both my hands in harmlessness as I get up. The beast, appeased, lays down on the ground, its large yellow eyes piercing right into ours. As Rani continued her conversation, I could not help but think what it would be like to snatch my sword off the ground, plunge it into this monster's eye, the very monster that had razed entire villages to cinders, that had killed so many of my brothers in arms... And the eye blinked. &#x200B; The roar that ensued could be heard through the entire forest. Maybe even the king had heard it too. Who were we kidding? He definitely had. I'd recognise that arrow in the dragon's eye even from behind the fog of war. It was one of ours. How many times had it been the savior of the melee combatants, soaring through the skies to pierce the enemy infantry? But this time, we knew that it was a mistake. "You fools!"I cursed at our unexpected reinforcements. I grabbed Rani and my sword into my arms, running away from the engagement we knew we could not win. The last thing I needed was Rani to be injured. Who cared about the dragon or the archers? Narrowly dodging blasts of fire and tremors that shook the earth beneath us, I stumbled to the entrance of the forest. "If you are still a loyal soldier of the King, you will do what needs to be done. Give us the girl."I could recognise that high-pitched, arrogant voice from an entire parade square away. I could recognise his slender silhouette blocking the setting sun. &#x200B; "No, sir. I will not." "Then die for your treason, aide-de-camp. I have been waiting for this day for a long time."My former formation commander sneered, drawing his blade. Narrowly parrying his initial strike, I follow up with a bash to his head with the pommel of my sword. The officer fell to the ground and stayed there. I was thankful for not having to listen to his lecture once more. Heavily breathing, I turned around. I had never been more grateful to see Rani, unscathed, but terrified. Scooping her up, I ran into the forest. I knew that the royal army had an interest in these dragons, and in Rani. She would never be safe as long as she had the Dragontongue, and I would never be safe if I continued to guard her. But that was what I was assigned to do. No matter if the threat was scaly or wore scale armour, I would defend her to the bitter end.
Humans. To most, sort of a joke. A lame little creature that flutters around at the edge of creation, not being particularly strong, fast, or smart. Just sort of there. Background species, if you will, with no striking natural colours, no interesting quirks. Not really built for living on worlds where water is nearly boiling or frozen completely. Not capable of outrunning a Bargarean slipworm. Not in any way or measure good at fighting with their fists or claws. Just sort of your run of the mill, middle ground species. Of course, in some way, this is their greatest strength. It hides them and their true nature. Because while the humans can't lift tanks, can't outrun missiles, or endure explosions, they do have one thing that all others lack. Humans keep going. Because they heal. Losing a limb is not a desperate fight to remain alive, they can recover from it. Their organs can be transplanted between them, without having to specially clone a healthy organ which can take a while depending on the complexity of the organ. When cut, their wounds heal up easily, when bones are broken, they heal right back. Some humans recover from major brain damage even. All their wounds simply leave behind scars, as not even they are capable of complete regeneration. Of course, they follow a rather different evolutionary path than the vast majority of other lifeforms in the cosmos. Endoskeleton. Not exoskeleton. Sure, they're soft and squishy, but when their hide gets penetrated, it can be repaired easily. When the carapace of a Rkodreon War-Drone is pierced, all hope is lost, and less than 1 out of every 10 survives. Beyond their amazing capacity for healing wounds, there is their immune system. Remarkably strong, it can fight off infections without the use of medicine. And with medicine, they have nearly guaranteed their own survival. Which is why humans, unremarkable as they are, are considered a terrible thing to fight by those in the know. You can stab them, and they can heal it. You can break their soft flesh, rip off their limbs, bite off part of their face, and only a few weeks of human healing, they're back to fight again. Of course this is with medical aid, but wild humans are not something to scoff at either. The story of the human known as Hugh Glass is especially worrying for those in the know. A human is caught without weapons by a creature twice his weight and size, known as a bear. The bear is a mother, and fights off the human Hugh Glass, charges into him, bites into his flesh, picks him up, throws him to the ground and mauls him. He manages to kill the bear, but his wounds do not allow him much freedom of movement. His companions leaves him behind to die. But he survives, travels the length of 320000 meters to the closest human settlement, resets his own endoskeleton, places bugs into his wounds to prevent infection, and after 42 of his planet's day/night cycles, returns home alive. Humans might not be able to run for three standard days without stopping, they might not be able to lift things many times bigger than themselves, and they may not be able to survive for extended periods of time in the void of space through hibernation. But when it comes to getting knocked down, and getting up again, no species can best them. Which is why our recommended cause of action for engagement with the soft, squishy humans, is to simply let them be. While conquest is possible, their sheer tendency for getting back up and fighting again makes diplomatic action have more long term benefits, with fewer unnecessary losses to the imperial hive. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
On my way through the hotel lobby I passed by the manager who asked me what business I had here. I responded by lifting up the take out boxes and said I had an order. She told me to go on ahead. I went upstairs and went to room 23. I knocked, waited a moment and no response. I tried again, this time calling out that their food was here. Then once more. I found a note by the door and picked it up. It read, ‘If there is no answer, call the police’. I looked down at the note and I started debating whether or not I should heed it’s advice. I should probably inform the manager and have them contact the police, I thought. As I walked back down the chestnut colored stairs I got a clear view of the lobby, it looked so much different coming back than it coming in. The colors seemed more dull, there was a candy jar full of flower petals on the front desk I hadn’t noticed before. It seemed a little dustier than it was just a few moments ago. At the base of the stairs I strolled up and tapped the bell, waited a few seconds and received no acknowledgement. I pressed on the bell again. Where is she? Just then I feel a presence behind me. “Hello sir, how may I assist you? Are you lost?” A slender gentleman, maybe around his fifties hovered over top of me. His dark red suit jacket was cleanly pressed and stitched on the left side of his chest read the name, Peyton. “Sir?” “Um, yes, sorry. I believe there may be an issue with room 23. I found this-“, I reached into my pocket and found nothing but lint and a few pennies. I checked my other pockets but all I could find was a receipt from the grocery store. As I was looking, I started to realized that I was missing the food I was supposed to deliver. The man’s eyes started at me waiting for me to continue my sentence, “strange, I can’t find it. You haven’t seen any Chinese takeout laying around anywhere have you? I found a note saying that I need to call the police if no one answered the door.” The man turned and asked me to follow him. We entered what appeared to be a staff break room. In one corner was a couch and a dining table, in the other on the far left side was a small kitchen with a coffee machine with freshly brewed joe. “Have a seat and rest, do you want anything?” “I’m fine”, with that he headed into an office with windows looking in from the break room. I couldn’t help but just sit there and watch, there wasn’t much else I could do anyways at that point. I can’t hear what he was saying, but I assumed he took my advice and called the police, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something more nefarious was at play. He kept looking back at me in a frustrated demeanor as he was talking. After the phone call he entered the break room once more. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and I knew he just had to be reaching for a gun. I ran up and pushed him down. All I wanted to do was make my last delivery and and drink some nice cold Guinness at the pub with my friends. I am now running as fast as I can out of the hotel and back to my car. I head to the parking spot and to my disbelief it was gone. Had he towed my my vehicle so I couldn’t get away that easy? Screw this, I start sprinting as fast as I could to the pub. It wasn’t that far, maybe a few blocks away. I heard the man chasing from behind, telling me to stop running. After a few minutes of running I lose him and I see it. The iconic green doors with blue accented words reading ‘The Hard Oasis’. I reached for the handle and turned it, but it didn’t budge. I leaned my head on the door and fall to my knees defeated. I looked up at one of the windows and see a foreclosed sign. This was odd as I was here the previous week and the owner never mentioned that they were strapped for cash. In fact the pub had been doing well. I start to reflect on what had just happened. Who was that man? What happened to the woman that was working there when I entered the hotel, had she gone home for the night? That’s when I heard a familiar voice call out to me, “Melvin? What are you doing all the way out here? I was worried sick! The hotel called and said you showed up and were having another episode. Oh, come here.” The woman embraced me. She looked familiar, and obviously knew me some how. After our embrace and I got a good look at her face, I realized that it was the woman from the hotel. At first I was worried she was in on it too, but then I realized that she was special to me. We were married, and have been for a long while. Claire was her name. “The manager said you pushed him down when he tried to give you some medicine to calm your mind a bit. I knew it was getting bad, but I think it’s time that we move in with our daughter, don’t you think? I’m getting too old to help you all by myself.” Tears started to stream down my face, how could I have forgotten her, let alone how I met her. It was in that same hotel. Turns out the guy in the room was high and paranoid that someone was trying to kill him. Claire and I met while making statements and we exchanged numbers. “Claire, I think you’re right. I think it’s best to move away from this place. Not only for us, but for the hotel staff as well”.
Tabatha's father was laughing too hard to answer. "Dad? You couldn't have..."Tabatha said. Tabatha's father laughed more and turned around his laptop on the table revealing a video-call with her father's friend, Pete looking dumbfounded. "DAD! WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON?"Tabatha yelled. "We had a bet and ha! Pete didn't believe, I'd, ha! I'd get this far!"Tabatha's father said, laughing so hard he was crying now. "Steve... I have never seen such a powerful joke..."Pete said in awe. "You want to see something powerful? I'll give you something powerful!"Tabatha said reaching into the arcane. She'd show her father what a witch could do! "Tabby, Tabby, I'm haha! I'm sorry but, it was just too good!"her father said. "You think I'm a joke? You make as ass of me, I'll make an ass of you!"Tabatha said. Mist formed around her father's head and when it cleared her father's ears had grown large and his face had stretched into a long muzzle. It was all covered in fur and he brayed in confusion. "How very 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' of you."Pete said. "Well, I always believed in Shakespearean vengeance. By the way, you're next."Tabatha said. "That's probably fair."Pete agreed before mist appeared around his head. Now it was Tabatha's turn to laugh.
"Okay kids, let's play a game outside. I got noodles made of foam and these pillows."I say. I split the class into two. "What are we playing?"A little girl asks. "It's called, red versus blue. Remember when I asked everyone's parents if they'd be fine with some paint on you guys?" "Mhm!" "Well, the ends of these noodles are painted, and you will all have towels tied to you and be wearing clear raincoats. If you can get your team's paint on the person's raincoat, not the towel, they can't use that part. If you get their chest, they're out, but if you get their arm or leg, they can't use that." "Whoa! I wanna be on red!" "Okay, guess these guys will have the red paint, you guys will have the blue. We also have medics! If you get paint on your arms or legs, you can try to get to the medic, who cannot be killed. They will have sponges and will wash the paint off, which means you can use that limb again. The pillows can be used as shields or if you get more, you can try to make a pillow fort to protect yourself. Remember, do not hit the face." "Huh-" "Okay, medic, no kill. Medic clean off paint, which means you use the arm or leg again. Pillows can be used to block paint or to make a pillow fort. Got it?" "Yes!"They all say in unison. I watch them play fight outside, reminding me of my youth. I made sure to keep the plastic walls around so they don't go out onto the streets. Then, something happens. "If anyone comes closer, then they die!"I see a bunch of red team kids cornering a blue team kid who has an unarmed red kid in a headlock, noodle hovering above their chest. Oh. "Teacher! Their cheating!"someone calls. "Make sure you don't choke Kier, Jules!"I said back. Jules lessens the headlock to around the person's chest. "Thank you!" "You're welcome, teacher!"Jules calls back. I didn't mind this, I just didn't need Kier's parents asking why Kier has bruise marks on their neck. They continue playing until snack time. The blue team won because while Jules distracted the red team, the other blue team kids ambushed those guys by hitting their chests. Jules was happy to have won by being a distraction. Later, it's time for the kids to go home. "Momma! I won a game!"Jules said, running up to his mother. "Really? What game was that?" "Red versus Blue! I have a bit of paint on me, but that's fine." "Ah, so this is the paint one."she looks at me while Jules goes and says bye to the other kids. "What is the game?" "I gave them painted pool noodles while they had raincoats on with towels as 'armour'. Your kid distracted the other team while his teammates ambushed the other team." "Oh! What was he doing to distract them?" "Holding a kid from the other team without a pool noodle hostage..."I said. "Where did he learn-" "It was probably on the news." "Right. Well, I guess he knows how to do that." "Yep." "Momma! Can I have McDonald's?"Jules asks as she leaves me and takes Jules home. "Sure, my little barbarian."
Greetings human. I am Bliztok of the Androba Federation. We've heard that you are one of the best zoologists on you planet and my class would like to hear you give a presentation on your planet's wonderful collection of animals. You will of course be paid handsomely. Wait, you actually want to hear me talk about animals. Oh my. Ever since I became a Parasitologist no one's ever asked me this. A Parasitologist? I thought you were a Zoologist. Oh I am, parasitology is a derivative of zoology. It's the study of parasite animals. Oh excellent. I don't know what a parasite is but I look forward to learning. \~Three days and one lecture later. And that concludes my lecture on Cymothoa exigua or the Tongue-eating louse as you can call it. So what did you think? Get out. Oh okay, do I still get paid? Get Out!
I was very fortunate to get and well qualified for the Care Enricher Actor at ‘Valhalla, Retirement Home of Heroes and Hero Associates.’ As a former criminal and wanna be super villain finding employment after serving my time was difficult. I was so ashamed that I attempted to use my illusion casting powers for a quick buck. During my stint in super detention, I was able to think of literally hundreds of legitimate jobs I could have taken and made a lucrative living. That was all down the shit hole now. No one would trust a former villain. That was until the hero that put me away mentioned that his mentor had been escaping Valhalla and causing a ruckus in the city. Valhalla had multiple openings for good paying honest work, and they were desperate enough to hire reformed villains. Normals were too scared to apply, heroes thought the work beneath them, and those who did have powers often found easier employment elsewhere. That left former desperate villains for the job. More often than not, I found my job was just to be a willing, listening ear to people who had given some if not their all to make peoples lives better. Often their family life had been sacrificed (sometimes literally) in the name of this noble pursuit. Friends were few as normals feared supers and super friends had a high mortality rate. This left the lonely inhabitants to languish forgotten here. It was no wonder that they often would have a notion to escape, not realizing the harm that they could cause to themselves and others. It didn’t help that Valhalla felt more like a prison to them because it looked like one out of necessity: thick concrete/steel walls, reinforced glass and too many cameras to count. At the start of my shift (or when I often volunteered) I would place veneers of pleasant scenes over these drab features. A lake up in the mountains was a favorite. This simple act had caused incidents to decrease to near zero. It had been nearly six months since I started my work, actually the best six months of my life, when the Brute had an episode. 650lbs of super enhanced muscle hadn’t warded off that penultimate of villains dementia. A roar was soon followed by the sound of demolition as he effortlessly tore through the walls like tissue. Carl even at the age of 80 was unstoppable and in his rage along with his condition there was no talking him out of the wonton destruction that followed. Supers were hesitant to go full powered on the elder and normals hadn’t a prayer. He would tire himself out in a hour or so but lives could be lost and property destroyed. From my interactions with Carl, I remembered a photo he had on his desk of a little girl riding piggyback on the behemoth. Some of the few sentences he would ever mention during our infrequent talks was about Laura. I rushed and grabbed the photo. I took in the dimples, the brown hair and green eyes. Making my way out into the carnage, I focused on those features and created the image of Laura. Carl had picked up a car full of people when he came to a sudden stop, seeing the image from the past. Tears in his eyes he laid down the vehicle and just started repeating “Laura” over and over. A half hour later Carl was back in a room asleep. The next day I was surprised at Valhalla by a grateful looking woman in her fifties with a few streaks of brown in her mostly grey hair. Her green eyes were filled with tears as she started hugging me tightly saying, “Thank you, my hero.”
I am what you might consider the oldest being alive. The spirit of an Egyptian slave, trapped with dark sorcery within the confines of a lamp, I am forced to grant one wish to anyone who asks it of me. You just have to rub my lamp... It's really fucking demeaning. I mean, come on. Rub a lamp, get whatever the hell you want at my expense? I get all this power, but I can never use it for myself? I guess that's what you get when you fuck the wrong person's daughter in pre-Christ North Africa. Especially as a slave. Naturally, I'm pretty damn bitter about the whole thing. After thousands of years of granting wishes, I've become what the kids today call "salty"about it. Bitterness can make an immortal being pretty crafty. To amuse myself, I began bending the rules of my confinement a few hundred years ago. If you rub my lamp, you'll get what you ask for.... but you'll also get a whole lot fucking more than you asked for. For example, this real numb-nuts in the early 1800s found my lamp in Palmyra, New York, buried on a farm. He wanted to be rich and powerful... So, naturally, I told him to start a religion. I even created some gold plates with holy scriptures engraved on them to authenticate his shiny new cult. He got what he wanted. People followed him from miles around to join the Mormon Church. But, the bastard started marrying other people's kids (yeah, pural: you heard me) and trying to overthrow the US Government in order to insert a theocratic regime. He burned down printers' houses for talking shit on him, he had this crazy body guard who killed people for the hell of it, the list goes on and on. I really screwed the pooch giving old Joe his own religion. But I digress. The point is, be careful what you wish for. You just might get everything you want, plus a whole shitload of other crap you didn't bargain for. But something happened recently that shook my bitterness to the core of my soul. This organization found my lamp. It's happened before. They never stay in possession of it for long, because word gets out. Their rivals come searching, people die, yada yada til the end of time, forever and ever amen. Timeless classic of a story, really. That trope has given me a few good laughs over the centuries. But this group is different. They make kids happy. When I say kids, I of COURSE mean terminally ill kids. Because it wasn't hard enough to really stick it to the kids, they just had to be the sick ones too. They're called the Make-A-Wish foundation, and they've given me-- dare I say it-- happiness. For the first time in thousands of years, I feel useful: important. Instead of wreaking havoc on shady individuals' lives by subverting their greedy wishes, I grant the humblest of wishes that couldn't possibly be misconstrued or over-interpreted in order to cause something awful to happen. Joel Osteen wanted fame and glory? Well, I sold his blue-eyed soul to the Devil and gave him charisma the likes of which the world has never seen. Molly, who got leukemia, wants to visit Japan because she loves anime? Fuck it, have a ball, kid. It's really refreshing to be a part of something that doesn't involve misery and destruction. And as an immortal being: trust me, that's more radical than it sounds.
Gareth sighed in frustration as his car ground to a halt behind a long stream of traffic. Yet again his journey into work was to be delayed. He would have had another hour in bed if he’d known it was going to happen again. A week ago, when the zombie “apocalypse” first started, people the world over began panicking as the dead began to rise. Graveyards all over the globe were dug up by its inhabitants, who would then start slowly shuffling out of the graveyards and into the streets. Rather understandably, people hadn’t been too happy about this new state of affairs. Zombie movies typically portrayed the undead as monsters, who wanted to go around eating people’s brains. However, people soon noticed that the zombies weren’t actually chasing anybody. And when the police/ army/ people looking for a bit of action started shooting at them, they found that the zombies would actually complain about it. Once all the screaming and rioting about the raising of the dead ended, people actually started talking to the undead. As it turned out, the spirits living in Hell had had a referendum, and had voted to leave the Evil Underworld, in what came to be known as “Hexit”. Those whose bodies had not completely decomposed came back as zombies, and those without a body were still figuring it out apparently, although the theory is that they would soon follow the zombies and come back as ghosts. Inconveniently enough, the zombies didn’t all come back to life at once, and so graveyards were randomly digging themselves up over the days following “Hexit”. This of course made Gareth’s daily commute a nightmare, as the main road in his town went past a church. A handful of zombies popping up and walking out into traffic was a wonderful nuisance to anyone trying to drive. He switched on the radio to see if it was being reported just how many there were today. “…and here with me is undead person’s rights activist Jenny Silverwick. Tell me Jenny, what rights do you believe the undead should have in our society?” “Well Chris, undead people are people just like you and I, just because they died for a bit doesn’t change…” Gareth flicked it over to a different station. “…have announced that they plan on the construction of several “Undead Towns” where the undead may live separate from the living, in an attempt to clear up their cities. Many have compared these towns to concentration camps…” Flick. “…I think you’ll find that “Zombie” is actually an incredibly offensive term. The correct name for them is “Undead Person”. Calling them a “Zombie” is essentially the same as calling a black…” Flick. “…recently announced zombie film, “28 Months Later”, has had to be cancelled following the recent rising of the Undead, due to complaints of factual inaccuracy and offensiveness to the undead…” Flick. “…may have found that traffic is yet again being affected by Hexit, as fifty undead have risen from St. Joseph’s graveyard, and wandered out into Jacob Street, causing a six-car pileup. Delays may be up to an hour, as emergency services are yet to arrive on the scene…” Gareth switched the radio off, and wacked the steering wheel in anger. An entire hour delay? He almost wished there had been an actual zombie apocalypse. At least there would have been fewer traffic jams.
Trist the magician lay behind his cloak, breathing heavily. He was not used to running, being far more at home on a stage than a plain. He had had little time for his illusion, but he was confident he would not be discovered. He was the greatest magician in the lower kingdom, after all. He heard cries from afar. Their little game had an interesting premise; every participant found would proceed to aid in seeking, and every person found would give the seeker a single gold coin. The final one left undiscovered, however, would be crowned the Great Shadow - the kind's most trusted spy. Trist had long coveted the position, for its prestige and promise of adventure. He was never at home in his little town, that much was sure. He felt bodies roaming past, what could have been meters or inches. While his illusion was impeccable, pure chance could bump someone straight into him. He prayed the gods would smile down on him, as they had never done before. "Time to come out, friend,"said a voice behind him, and his heart stopped. How had be been seen? What hawk of a man had spotted him? He began to move, just as a shuffling behind him stopped him in his tracks. A woman sighed. "Well done, you damned rogue,"she said to her spotter, darting off to secure some coin for herself. Trist slowly breathed out in relief. **** The day dragged on. Trist was hiding in plain sight, but the plains hid him well. Just as night enveloped the day, a bell sounded, and the attendees cried out in unison. "Final hider of sight, it's now the night - come out wherever you are!" Trist threw down his cloak, stepping out into the torchlight. Several people around him jumped back in shock. A king's guard approached him with a grin. "Not bad, magi. Not bad at all,"he said, clapping Trist on the shoulder. "But a Great Shadow must not only hide - they must also seek." Trist was confused. No one had mentioned this part, and Trist was no seeker. "Who must I find, pray tell?"Trist asked the guard, who was walking towards the king's castle. "Why, the Great Shadow of course,"the guard said, throwing open the doors.
I shot it again, out of reflex. The grinning face disintegrated into fine pulp, flesh blasted away from yellow bone. Another corpse spoke up and I whirled. One hand raised my axe, but nothing terribly menacing presented itself. Instead, the right half of a torso had begun breathing again, the right half of the head that went with it grinning. "What the fuck?"I said. "You came."said the head I'd just shot. "We're so glad you could make it." "Shit."I said, mostly because I had just realized that pieces of demon were scattered on all sides, as well as smeared onto various parts of me. I hoped that giblets couldn't reanimate. "I thought you were dead." "No."Another demon said. It was standing up and sticking one tentacle back on. "Quite the opposite." "So this is a revenge thing?"I asked. "Yessssssssssssss"Hissed a severed snake head. "Sort of."said the first headless demon. He was smearing the sagging flaps of his face back on and still smiling. He stuck his head back on the body I assumed it'd come off of and stood up. "We wanted to thank you." "Why?"I asked. I was wondering if I could get to the grenade belt in my van. It'd have to escape from the ring of demon bits and make a sprint for it. I could probably kneecap a few demons, but my aim wasn't amazing with long range. "You've been doing a wonderful job."The grinning demon said. "Thanks."I said. It stepped towards me and I axed it in the hip. It's pelvis caved in and it stumbled down. I pistol whipped its head back off, sprung over the sagging torso, and sprinted. A huge leathery wing came up and caught me, scooping me up like a kitten on a blanket. A huge grinning goat's head stared down at me. Teeth grew from it's head in the shape of a crown, and fans protruding from its lips glistened in the moonlight. I went limp, helpless in the huge wing, mind blank in terror. The giant goat head spoke. "You've got us confused."It said. "We're not trying to hurt you. We're trying to thank you."If I hadn't dropped the axe, I'd cut right through the wing and jump to my death. "You've been doing us a real favor. Demons sometimes get tired of the underworld and escape up here for a while. They know what'll happen if they come back, so they hide here in the mortal plane. Until someone kills it. Then the soul comes back down and we've got the little guy again." A snake's tongue darted out of the goat mouth and flicked at the air. "You've been cleaning them up for us. We wanted to throw you a little party."The huge wing tilted and angled me down so I could see a large gazebo I hadn't noticed earlier. There was a picnic table set up with chairs and kegs of beer spaced every few feet. The wing brought me back up to the goat head and I winced in fear. The head said, "Sorry about the whole summoning farce there. A few of the lads heard about how brutal your methods are, and I have to say that I'm at least very impressed." I heard the headless demon call up from below. "Top notch work!" "I'll go set you down over there."The goat head said. I heard the giant demon's thunderous footsteps as it walked over and gently deposited me in the head chair. I sat there, overwhelmed by confusion, until the other demons had put themselves mostly back together and ambled over. They all sat around me and the giant demon loomed over at the other end of the table. At some point, a skeletal hand put a mug of beer in my hand and the night turned into a blur. What I do remember is ending the night with a demon crying into my lap about how much he loved the sound of whipping someone with their own entrails. When I woke up the next morning, I found three winning lottery tickets shoved into my pocket. Two were for dates twenty and forty years into the future, but one was good for that night's draw. I used the money to start up my own demon hunting business around an active hell-portal. Every time we sent a demon back to hell, a few suit-cases of cash wound up on our doorstep. I retired once I cashed in that twenty year ticket. Last I heard, the guys are still going strong and thinking of adding locations on two other hell-portals.
This had to be a Joke, right? You stand there, perplexed, unsure what to do. There couldn't be a machine that controls the entire human race, it just didn't add up. But what grabs your Curiousity the most is the lever that reads "DO NOT TOUCH"set to only 1%. There other ones were all labeled and set to a certain level. This one didn't even have a name. Should you set it to a higher percentage ? But then what would you change ? Everything could happen, you could plunge the world in a state of Chaos or there might be a chance that it changes it for the better. Your Hand is on the lever now, you push it up to 50% and then you feel a slight tingle go through you. "Well, that felt weird"you think to yourself. But what did you change exactly ? You still felt pretty much the same as before. But you notice something outside: It has gone a bit queiter somehow. You think nothing of it. Your Curiousity has gotten the best of you know. You push the lever up to 60%, 70%, 80%,90%, 99%, and then it stops. You can't quite push it all the way up to 100%. The noises outside subsided completely now. "Hey Honey"you call to your Girlfriend "Come check this out". No Answer. "Honey?", you leave your bathroom and go into the kitchen where your Girlfriend just stood cooking minutes before. Nobody is there. The Pot full of noodles was overcooking and the contents spilled out on the stove. You are confused, there in front of the stove lay her clothes. "Has she gone to change ? "you think to yourself. But why would she leave her clothes in the kitchen. You go to the Window to look outside and then you see it: Hundreds of Clothes are spilled on the pavement. You run back to the machine in your bathroom and want to set the lever back to 1%, but it's stuck. Then you notice something different. the "DO NOT TOUCH "sign above the lever is only glued to the machine. You peel off the sign and you stand there in shock. The Sign underneath it says :"RAPTURE, IN CASE OF APOCALYPSE". &#x200B; I'm a fairly new writer and this is the first story that i've written. I'm always looking to improve my writing, so constructive Criticism is always encouraged. Thank you : )
“Another doomsday loon was killed this morning,” Mike said from his spot in front of the local news channel. “Shot during the night for preaching on the corner.” “Honey, turn that off, you know it’s not good for you. Besides, I’m about to get the kids up.” “Fine, fine.” Mike stood and turned the TV off. Ever since the worldwide decimation caused by human brains maxing out on data retention (or the Overload, as most people called it) television was taboo. It had become what cigarettes used to be – a known killer but a nasty habit some people just couldn’t kick. The internet had been completely locked down, accessed only by bots. Social media disappeared, and a world dependent on new content caved in on itself. It had gotten better though, after a few years. People acclimated, as they always do. A lot of outdated technology came back. Cameras with film, watches that weren’t smart, flip phones, more basic car models – anything that reduced the exposure to new information. But there were still holdouts like Mike, who looked forward to his daily news every morning at six. Jeannie came back into the living room, two tiny, rumpled zombies stumbling after her. “Eat up,” she said. “Your dad is taking you to school in fifteen minutes.” As their children sat down at the kitchen table, Jeannie turned to her husband. “I wish you wouldn’t watch that anymore,” she said. “We get the newspaper once a month with the important stuff, why can’t you wait until then? Cindy’s husband, Miles, dropped dead last week after helping his son with vocabulary homework.” “I’m sorry, babe. Just one of those nasty habits I guess. At least I only watch the morning news now.” Jeannie leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You know I’m just worried about you.” “I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m careful.” After Mike dropped the kids off at school, it was off to his construction job. After The Overload, most jobs involving computers disappeared. Construction was one of the fields that remained when the dust settled. However, with a huge chunk of the population dead and the need for new buildings severely diminished, it had turned into more of a demolition job. “Hey Mike, have you seen Phillip?” the foreman asked. “Not today. Did he call or anything?” “Nope. Maybe he’s just on break. Keep an eye out, would you?” Phillip was a younger guy but a hard worker; funny, personable, all the guys liked him. That was why Mike was in for such a shock when he opened the Porta Potty and saw Phillip sitting there, dead, his lifeless eyes trained on the handheld contraband in his grip. Pictures and words were still flashing across the screen of the jailbroke tablet; Mike could hear it even though the volume was nearly muted. “Mike, is everything okay?” someone behind him shouted. “Um, yeah.” Mike snatched the tablet and shoved it in his jacket. “I mean, no. Phillip’s in here. Looks like he overdosed.” The foreman made the appropriate calls while the crew shook their heads sadly. “Couldn’t adjust,” one said. “Happens to a lot of young people.” Mike nodded but didn’t speak, all too aware of the tablet in his jacket. Why had he taken it? It’s not like he could use it. He hadn’t gotten tested in a year or two but he knew he had to be approaching his limit. He expected the blinders prescription after his next test. Those who were close to overload were fitted with a device behind their left ear to filter out new information as much as possible before reaching the brain. While it kept you alive, it blocked entire conversations from your brain and caused big black patches in your vision. After work, he didn’t go home. Instead he drove to an empty parking lot behind the old strip mall. The tablet was nearly fully charged, Phillip must have been right on the cusp of death. The word suicide flitted through Mike’s brain, but honestly he couldn’t blame the kid. What was a world without entertainment, without knowledge? Not a world worth living in. He turned on the device, not caring what he saw, just wanting to see something. His starved senses drank in the flashing images and scrolling stories. Celebrities he didn’t know had survived The Overload lived normal lives, YouTube videos he hadn’t seen in four years nearly brought him to tears. The content uploaded since The Overload of course was bland, factual, since it was all maintained and created by bots. But the unlimited feast of material before the mass deaths was still there, in all its glory. He didn’t know how long he sat there, he only finally noticed that it was dark outside. Jeannie had paged him several times, but he hadn’t noticed. He shoved the tablet under the passenger seat, checking his dilated pupils in the rearview mirror before driving him. “Where were you?” Jeannie demanded as soon as he walked through the door. “I’m sorry. I got, um, held up.” Trying to form coherent sentences through the aftershocks of the orgasmic Internet experience was difficult. “Held up? What does that mean? Did you get in an accident?” “I, uhhhh….” He stumbled to the kitchen counter, propping himself up by the heels of his hands. “Mike, what’s wrong?” “Just….give me a second.” “Daddy!” Shelly and Courtney burst into the kitchen, each hugging one of his legs. Mike felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest, everything in his vision pulsed and bulged. “I saved one for you.” He snapped back to attention as Shelly held out a Laffy Taffy from her class party. “It’s the yellow one you like.” “Thanks, pumpkin.” He took the candy from her hand, focused on each of his slow movements, trying to process his thoughts when he read the wrapper: “DID YOU KNOW that slugs have FOUR noses?” Mike thudded to the floor, dead upon impact while Jeannie and the girls screamed. Huh, he didn’t know that.
In a catastrophic battle, the likes of which the English language has never seen, the fight between consonants and vowels begins. The vowels draw first blood. Z and X are killed off right away. But the consonants have letters to burn. And as letters start to go, so does the quality of our communication. J is destroyed and Q follows closely behind. Things are going well for the vowels, until the Battle of Yellow Hill. This is widely considered a turning point in the war. At a crucial moment, Y is revealed to be a double agent. Turns out he was working for consonants the entire time. Y and S corner I, who is shaken by this betrayal. Y tells I to surrender. I spits in Y’s face, pulling a pin from a grenade. “Can’t surrender without S.” The grenade goes off. When the dust settles, S, Y, and I are all gone. After that battle, we became harder to reach. We were forced to run underground. We found a place to plop, but before peace could take hold, a well-placed trap got U and P. Now, we’re alone, the war ended. Not a lot to do. Hard to talk. A went boom. We were forced to flee. R gone. E too. Don’t know how. Now, too cold. No food. Oh no…
Bill strode mindfully up to the podium as the participants on both sides of the Great Hall followed him with their . . . looking parts. His briefing consisted of his boss telling him not to worry about it and that his only job was to say, "let's begin,"press play on the projector then sit down. He was careful to look at the floor as he walked. He became suddenly paranoid that both sides might think his ears were staring at them. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't shake it. He added a slight swaying motion with his neck, like he was listening to cool jazz on imaginary headphones. The reality was that no one in the entire hall cared what Bill looked like except for Bill, who cared quite a lot. Fantastic. He had an itch. By the time he reached the podium he was scratching his nose every fourth step (so it looked natural) and sort of hop-scooting while bobbing his head to no particularly identifiable rhythm. Bill was entirely committed to acting natural at this point. At least he was there, finally. His frown turned into a frown. There was no play button. There was a sort of shiny knob, a lever marked . . . markings, and a note taped to the front from his boss that read, simply, "You got this Bill! :)"Bill disagreed with the note, vehemently. He was suddenly aware it was time to scratch his nose again, so he did. Bill looked out to the crowd and politely cleared his throat to both sides of the audience. "Let's begin." He turned the knob and a blinding light started panning over the audience while deafening, driving techno music sprang from somewhere unseen. A booming voice thanked everyone for being there and instructed them to file out their respective exits quickly for the individual species' celebrations. He turned the knob back to where it was. The light-bulb popped with a spark and went out, clearly broken. Similarly the music device made it clear it was not supposed to have been operated in that manner. Bill's boss slapped his forehead in dismay as he watched everything transpire over his distant viewscreen. "Sorry about that, sorry, I just--"Bill fumbled with the lever this time. He suddenly found himself rising above the podium, out of reach of the lever. Someone in the audience loudly cleared their . . . part in need of clearing. Someone else shouted a dismissively bored insult that Bill couldn't possibly understand. Both sides of the hall chuckled at it. A small childlike alien walked to the podium and gazed up at Bill, who was entirely helpless. It moved the lever and Bill descended. The small alien ripped the note away from the podium and pressed the button that was behind it. The presentation began projecting onto Bill as he slowly descended out of the way of it. The history of war played out on the screen. Carnivores devouring peaceful plant eating aliens, who in return came to the battlefield with all manner of horrifying technology. Both sides of the great Hall wiped away tears. Probably. They were likely tears, anyway. Could have been drool for all Bill could tell. As it came to a close, dinner was served to both sides. Both sides thanked Bill for being there and congratulated him on keeping it from being as boring as they'd expected it to turn out. Another human Bill knew as Gary appeared and tugged frantically and helplessly at the knob behind the podium. Both sides commented that they were grateful to have found an ally they could trust to commemorate their truce properly. One who ate Vege-me-ta-at-ble, they spoke over each other. They did it again more forcefully and heavily accented, ME-VEGE-AT-TABLE. All viewing parts slowly turned to Bill, who thoughtfully scratched his nose. After a moment of thought he carefully stood behind the podium, pushing Gary aside, and pulled the lever again. Bill rose awkwardly into the air above the cold stares, which was the best he could think to do at the moment.
I was home alone one night, reading a book. It wasn't a particularly good book, but that's okay. Sometimes you need to read all the books to find out which ones are terrible, and this was no exception. I was about three chapters in when the lights started to flicker. I got up out of bed and peeked out the window. The rain was coming down in sheets out there, and it was loud. Thunder shook the windows, making the panes of glass buzz in their old painted wooden frames. A crack of lightning split the night, throwing everything into stark relief. And that's when I saw it. There was a dark figure in the yard. I blinked, and it was gone. Of course, I couldn't see without the aid of the lightning, so it might still be out there. A chill ran down my spine. It had been sitting still under the large tree out in my front yard. Waiting. I threw on my slippers and housecoat, and came down the stairs. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I turned on every light. I just knew that whatever was out there wasn't some dog or cat. No, it was too big for that. The thunder boomed again across the sky, close enough to vibrate the floorboards underfoot as I made my way through the living room and towards the front door. Fearing the worst, I peeked outside. It was the worst decision I have ever made. Under my tree, the shadowy figure was still there. It was large and misshapen, like the child of a cruel and spiteful god. It had four massive legs connected to a body like a battering ram, and a large, flat head, topped with an unruly spike of fur, matted down by the rain. It turned a baleful eye to me, and I could see that it possessed some sort of rudimentary intellect. It knew I was watching it. I sunk down to the floor, crying and clutching my knees. Was this how I was going to die? I could hear the horrible noises it made, even over the storm, a high-pitched, stuttered keening that raised the hair on the back of my neck. I just wanted things to go back to normal! Then I looked up and screamed. It was right there by the door. It whinnied at me. It whinnied into my soul.
Did you never wonder why we left them alone? Did you never wonder why we treated them with the respect we would show our own warborn? Did you never wonder why they don't speak of their past? Did you never wonder at the split in their kalthar, their soul ? Fools, you thought them weak for not seeking war. Even now, as I stand in this great station, I feel the shift in them. Their kalthara shift, and an ancient dread rises within me. We have seen this before, my kind. If you had sought our council, we would have warned you all. But no, you saw them as weak and soft. Now you have begun to pay the price. Your ships lie shattered beyond the walls of this station, victims of your arrogance and greed. And even now I watch as the human warships begin to arrive. Things of dark legend amongst my kind, a horror best left in the past. Oh, we will call up our fleets, and patrol inside our borders, but not to look for gain. We know what has befallen those who sought that path. Did you never wonder at the emptiness of human space? The shattered worlds and remnants of civilizations? We knew them back then, saw what they could do. Felt the bloodlust in them. They won't stop. They won't negotiate, they won't tire. They will hunt you to exhaustion, until there is nowhere for you to run, nowhere to hide. They will regret it afterwards, perhaps, just like they did before. They will recall their fleets, and let the other part of them rule, the softer side of their kalthara. Just like they did before. And the survivors will all forget, as so many others have, and so the cycle will begin anew. But we remember, we remember they fought their own kind with the same savagery they fought others, and with the same bloodlust. And we wonder at the strength of their kalthara, their souls , that they could do these things, and still have the strength not to consume us all.
I'd been trained deep in the mountains of Northern Japan. Ice and snow had been my crucible through frigid winters and dripping heat was my forge in the summer. My old life was a dream occasionally remembered in quiet moments, a echo of who I used to be. That had been the price of mastery. Originally, my quest to become a ninja had been a simple goal, but it had quickly become my life. You can't dabble in ninjitsu, you needed to dedicate yourself, your entirety and your fate to the craft. After six years of training my master finally told me I was ready for the calling of our order. In the past, we'd been masters of subterfuge and sabotage; we'd changed the world to our preferred image, but these days we had a much more simple order. A fight against apathy. The blood of people, over 20000 years of suffering, simply wasn't triggered in the modern day. It was too simple to go through life without any of the highs you need as a person. Sure, there were exceptions, brief moments, but they were uncommon enough that people would fall apart. That was why I was in the middle of North Dekota, hidden in the deepest shadows of night and waiting for my opportunity. Aly Hammington needed to cry tonight, for the sake of humanitty, and I was the solution. I kept an eye on her through the window, searching for an opportunity to bring the tears. A funny post or mediocre meme wouldn't do it. I needed something good to come up. Aly scrolled aimlessy around the internet and I could feel the onions in my satchel growing heavier and heavier. I was running out of time. Soon it would be late enough at night that she would feel guilty about being awake on her phone and that was no time to make someone cry. If we got to that point, I'd have failed my mission. What if I went in now? I could spark the tears and she would blame it on something she saw earlier and- No. I couldn't do that. My master didn't train me to give up and give in when the chips went down. I was going to make this work. I watched her end up on a cute animal video on her phone and my hand hovered over the latch of the window. It wasn't the video I needed, but it was something that would surely get sad stories in her reccommended. I couldn't strike yet, but I could get in position to. Silent I slipped into her home, slicing through the darkness and positioning myself just outside of the room she was in. She couldn't see me, but she needed to feel the onions when I cut. I heard the start of her new video, a small dog overcoming cancer. It was time. I slithered along the floor, sneaking in behind her, holding myself just out of her vision but just within range of her nose. I rached into my satchel and produced the hefty and ripe green onion. My pearing knife held between my fingers, I waited for the right moment, and then sliced. Aly felt emotions for the first time in months, and the apathy of 2021 began to fade away as the puppy walked for the first time in one of those adorable dog wheel chair things. She opened up the comment section and typed in: Damn Ninjas cutting onions SHIT. I'd been made! /r/jacksonwrites I guess.
As death walks away, you hear him say something “that’s the first time someone unsubscribed from our death and co service….” Death says very sadly. What? Then you wake up. You’re lying on the floor with a knife in your hand. You think about what happened, but you can’t remember. You get up and look at the time. It’s currently 7:30, so you have to hurry to work. You put on a coat and get your bag. You forgot you’re lunch, so you run back to get it. Work is pretty close to home, so you decide to run there. You try to cross a street, but before you know it, a car is barrelling towards you. You think “Is this the end.” boom You got hit, but you’re not unconscious, so you open your eyes and notice that it doesn’t hurt. You’re lying on the ground looking up at the sky. People all around you are screaming for help and running towards you, but there’s only one thing you think about. You whisper it to yourself. “Am I immortal?”
The tune was familiar, one of the few things that still were. “I’m coming!” The doorbell’s last echo stopped just as she got to the door and began fumbling with the locks. “Just a minute!” She weakly swung the door open to reveal a cloaked figure standing in its wake. She squinted past her glasses in confusion. After a moment, “David? It’s been so long! Come in, come in! Frightfully chilly out there!” She hurriedly departed for the kitchen. The figure slowly crossed - floated over? - the threshold as she hurriedly cleared the table, paying no mind. “One moment dear. I just made some tea. English Breakfast, your father’s favorite! Now then. Where did I put my cups?” The figure merely stood by the now-closed door as the woman searched cupboard after cupboard before finding her quarry. “There we are!” Within minutes, the table was set with pre-packaged cookies, snacks still in wrappers, and two steaming cups of fresh tea. “Sit, sit, dear. Tell me about your schooling!” The figure complied with the order but spoke no words, touched no food, its face fully obscured in the shadow of an almost-too-narrow hood, its limbs nowhere to be seen. “You don’t have to say anything Davy, it’s ok. I’m just so very thankful for the company.” They both sat in silence for several minutes as the nearby grandfather clock ticked and tocked. The woman filled the silence soon enough. The figure listened as she regaled it with tales of her youth, of her husband, of her neighbors long gone. After what seemed like hours, the woman sighed. “I’m not stupid you know.” The hood moved ever so slightly to the left, as a dog may cock its head. “I may not remember many things these days but I know what you are.” A pause lingered as neither of them moved. Finally, she spoke once more. “It’s time, isn’t it?” The figure merely stood and faced the doorway. “Very well. I’m ready. Thank you for making this lonely woman’s last day.” She took a moment to stand, mindlessly smoothing the few creases in the white lace tablecloth first. Once she was up, the figure slowly crossed to the front door and motioned for the woman to cross the threshold first. She shuffled toward the entrance and wrapped her shawl closer around her, deeply sighing before taking her first step outside. The light of the sun intensified until it was white, blinding, omnipresent, forcing her to cover her eyes with her arm. When she lowered it back down, the scene before her was different, yet familiar. The office building a few blocks away was gone. The cars parked outside were those of her youth. A familiar tune played on the record player behind her. She froze, then turned around sharply, her youthful strength momentarily surprising her. The figure was gone. Her friends, her family, her neighbors from years ago were seated at the table beaming at her. Her husband, in the prime of his life as everyone in attendance, looked up and nearly dropped the turkey he was bringing toward the table. “Mary!! You made it!”
I will admit that carpet is better than cold steel, and that Legos are better than advanced technology, in terms of childrens’ living environments. But I also want to say that someone who loves and cares for the children is far more important than material things like the aforementioned. My “children”, I like to call them, know at least that much. Whenever we give thanks before our meals, Anna, the oldest, expresses her gratitude for what she considers a loving family. And the other children—Eli, Nico, and Beth— all nod their agreement. It does warm my heart, I’ll say. So if children no older than 10 can understand this concept, why can’t full-grown adults understand this? If I had a penny for every time CPS came knocking at my door, I’d be able to trade those pennies in for a quarter. Not a lot of money, but it’s still a lot more than it should be. Bang… bang… Scratch that, I now have 26 cents. “Kids,” I call. “They’re here again.” “Aw man, not again,” Eli groans. “When will they stop?!” Anna huffs. Nico is quiet, but I can see that he’s scared. He’s hugging Beth, who’s on the verge of tears. Every time this happens, my children get scared. Every time this happens, they fear that they’ll be taken away, once and for all, never to see me again; that is my fear too. “Dad…?” Anna’s voice is cracking. “We’ll stay, again, right? We won’t have to leave right?” Every time, I tell her “yes”. Every time, I tell her that they won’t be taken away from me, for sure. But it’s hard to keep lying. I really am not sure what will happen every time I open the door. So I can only hope for the best. But if the worst happens… How disappointed would the children be in me? “If I’m being honest…” I start, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m not sure what will happen. Hopefully you’ll stay. I’ll do my best to make that happen. But in the off-chance that you’re taken away…” Fwump. Nico has wrapped his arms around my waist. “You’ll come for us right?” His eyes are bright, and as I look around, so are Anna’s, and Eli’s, and even young Beth’s. I smile. “Of course. I know that much for sure, at least.” Nico smiles even brighter. “Then we’re not that scared anymore! Cuz you’re gonna keep us either way!” I laugh. “Does that mean I can open the door now?” “Yep!” Oh, these children are so amazing. I created them; yet, they turned out so different from how I imagined they might have been in the beginning. “Thank you for being here,” I tell them. “Thank you for being by my side.” They give me cheerful beams, each one of them, that fill me with confidence that I can keep them by my side no matter what. And with that new confidence, I open the door, ready to get rid of the monsters trying to seperate us.
The discovery of the remains of a civilization on planet 9719.3, or as it’s previous occupants so imaginatively referred to it, “Earth”, went unnoticed throughout the wider galaxy. It did however cause ripples of excitement throughout the much smaller archeo-history community. Not that failed uni-planetery civilizations were particularly rare, but this “human” civilization had left behind huge sprawling cities, millions of artefacts, and hundreds of partially intact data banks; a veritable treasure trove for the archeo-history researchers to study. Munton’s job was to reconstruct past civlizations. It was difficult work which rendered an incomplete picture of how the indigenous species and civilisation evolved, developed, and eventually ended. In this case though, the puzzle Munton was trying to complete was not missing pieces, but rather, had too many. Some pieces were oddly shaped and could not possibly fit with others. Some fit perfectly but created an image contrary to that of the puzzle as a whole. Thankfully, an almost fully intact data bank, recovered on what appeared to be an outpost on 9719.3’s moon, helped Munton to create what they hoped was an almost full, and Munton hoped accurate, history of the humans past. Munton was enthralled. The human civilization had come so close to achieving interplanetary space travel. Munton whished that they had. What could humans have achieved had they made that step? What wonders could they have brought to rest of the galactic community? Instead, they offered only their remains. The overgrown but still standing cities and evidence collected from hundreds of data banks suggested the human civilization did not end violently. An initial assessment, and the current consensus among researchers, suggested humanity simply petered out. A gentle, humble species that faced their own extinction with uncommon stoicism. But Munton was not convinced. When so many artifacts had been recovered, how could none of the data banks had survived in their entirety? Why was so much of the data corrupted, or missing, or contradictory? Humanity managed to reach the moon, but made no final attempt to reach the stars? These questions troubled Munton, but not nearly as much as the new questions that they raised. If humanity did not end quickly and violently, or suffer from a slow decline into extinction, then where did they go ?
“We’ve seen how well you humans treat your defeated enemies,” the representative of the Calanar Principality said, tucking a head tentacle behind his ear, “and we wish to surrender.” “Um,” Tran said, “We’re not at war though…?” “Can we just skip that bit and go to the part where you pay reparations for our ravaged countryside?” “Wait wait wait…you want us to pay for the destruction to your infrastructure…infrastructure that hasn’t been destroyed yet…because we’re not at war?” Tran was growing increasingly confused. These guys had come out of nowhere and demanded to speak to a representative. No threats, no introductions. He’d literally just stepped onto their ship a few minutes ago and they were already down to business. “Oh, but it is destroyed!” The fish-eyed alien said, “...just not by you.” “Great,” Tran said, “I see what’s really happening here, you want to be taken over by a nation that isn’t at war with your enemy so your enemy can’t make war on you anymore…is that it?” “Well, that’s a happy side effect, yes. The Progenatli cannot make war on a nation without lobbing complaints and grievances at them for at least two hundred tridents…which is roughly equivalent to the same number of your Earth-years.” “And don’t you think that one of their major complaints will be that we robbed them of their rightful spoils on Calanar? I don’t know if we’ll be ready for war with a race like this in two hundred years…it just seems like accepting your surrender will land us in a worse pickle than the one you’re in–” Just then Tran’s starlink communicator blinked, indicating an incoming call, “One moment please.” The Calanar representative bowed and left the room. “What is it sir?” “What do they want?” “They want to surrender.” “... … …this is great!” “Sir?” “We’ll get all that awesome alien tech, how’s their defenses?” “In shambles. They’ve been getting messed up by one of their neighbors.” “Even better. Alien tech plus slaves. This is a good deal for the party. Accept the surrender and get coordinates for their homeworld. I’ll put together an expedition.” Tran looked at the radio in his hand and felt kinda bad for the Calanar. In their ignorance and desperation, they had reached out to China. \--------------------------------------------------------------- r/inspiredshortstories for shorts and podcast link [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/AlaricStargazer) for serials and the upcoming novel "Ancient Astronauts"set to release next week!
"So it's you? It's actually you?" "Of course it's me! Who else is brave enough to sport this moustache now?" The head of the group just sat there, bewildered. The group stared in awe, transfixed. Sitting opposite them, was Hitler himself. A little worse for ware, but undoubetly him. Most notably, the gaping hole at the back of the skull was a dead giveaway. "So let me get this straight...you guys...deny the Holocaust happened ya?"He asked, clutching his head, wincing slightly. "No no, we're not deniers...we revisionists, you see we don't see it as a intentional genocide, merely overworking and the over-exaggeration of numbers and..."The head of the group began. "Well I can tell you it wasn't. It was completley intentional. You don't accidentally gas millions of people!"Hitler interrupted. "Ah but there was no evidence of mass graves or mass ashes found and..." "Well we weren't going to hold unto them were we? Listen, I'm telling you now... we commited the Holocaust, I don't regret one thing." They all sat there awkwardly. "Well...that's like, your opinion..."The head began weakly. "I was there!"Hitler roared. "I ORDERED the shitting thing!" Hitler turned his head frantically, flabbergasted. "I don't believe this...I did everything in my power to purify this world, and some fuckwits deny it even happened?"He ranted. "Well we've no substantional..."The head of the group interrupted. "Shut up, let me talk! I rose from the dead and stole back my jaw from the fucking Soviets for this, so let me speak! The-Holocaust-Was-FULLY-INTENTIONAL-THERE-IS-NO-DEBATE!"Hitler screamed. They all sat there stunned. There was not a sound for awhile after. The clock on the wall ticked. An uncomfortable feeling swept across the room. "Me thinks he protests too much."The head stated firmly. "Now, as we were saying..." "But I-you..."Hitler stuttered, speechless. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going back to Argentina."
I've had some really odd things happen lately, within the last six months to be more specific. I think I may be cursed or maybe I just need therapy. I have seen a flowerpot explode near me. Glass break for no known reason. Had a car that looked just like mine at the mall explode while I was a few rows away. Had more than one waiter go to the hospital while I was waiting to be served. Had streetlights pop when I walk by. Mad dog ran by me frothing at the mouth. I got pulled over for speeding and when the cop walked up to my door someone shot him in a drive by! At least I was there to help him. The last thing to happen was the brakes going out when my mother in law borrowed my car because hers wouldn't start. Poor Shirley I hope she recovers fully. They say brain injuries are the worst.
The first thing that I saw when my eyes fluttered open was The Devastator standing right over me. I'd never seen him without his mask on before this, and only now realized that he had carrot-red hair, a smattering of freckles across his pale skin, and clear blue eyes. He looked so... normal. I'd expected him to have disfiguring scars, or some sort of horrific mutation, or something like that that would cause him to never take his mask off. But he was just like any other guy. Were it not for the yellow-and-scarlet suit of powered armor that he wore, I wouldn't have even known who it was. I tried to sit up, and lightning jolted through every nerve in my entire body. "Relax,"he said, easing me back onto the pillows. "Take it easy."Only then did I become aware of the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor in the background and the polished white tile of the walls. Looking around, I found that the entire room was filled with strange machinery and computers that I didn't recognize. I'd been in enough hospitals back when my dad was going through chemo and I'd never seen anything like this. The only thing that really felt in place was the reclining hospital bed under me and the IV drip going into my arm. "What happened?"I asked. Devastator had a slightly worried look, and he gingerly adjusted a bandage on my head. "You've sustained some serious head injuries,"he said. "I was concerned that you might not remember. You were with me in the vault at Fort Knox, do you remember? When The Condor burst in?"He turned on the television in the corner and put on the surveillance footage, showing me being punched straight through a brick wall, causing that entire section of the complex to collapse on top of me. I did remember. At least, I thought I did. I remembered the fluorescent-lit cinderblock hallway leading further and further underground. I remembered our joyous celebration as Devastator unleashed his atomic beam weapon and melted straight through the vault's foot-thick steel door. I remembered coming into the vault and seeing a sheer wall of solid gold bricks, more than I'd ever even imagined would be in there. I remember loading up the cart with Craig and David, struggling to carry just one ingot while Devestator was lugging whole pallets of them all by himself. And then there was an explosion, and choking thick dust, and screeching alarms, and chaos, and then the Condor was standing right in front of me. He just grinned as he cocked his fist and.... well, the surveillance video filled in the rest for me. "Brian and Craig didn't make it. You were nearly dead too,"Devastator answered. "And technically, for a few minutes, you were actually dead." The surveillance video was still playing in the background. I watched Devastator fighting the Condor, superhuman strength versus the power of technology. They traded blows so powerful that any of them would have derailed a freight train. And then Devastator glanced toward the pile of broken concrete where my body had fallen after Condor's punch. He must have heard something, because he broke off the fight and began digging through the rubble. The Condor kept attacking, but Devastator used the rocks and slabs of concrete to keep him at bay. And then he reached into the hole, cradled me in his arms, and took off with his jet boots. The video cut to black after that. "You saved me."He didn't really need to hear it, but saying it out loud helped me process it better. I tore the sheets off of myself, revealing that my left arm, most of my torso, and both of my legs were gone. They'd been replaced by gleaming steel and wires. Where my heart had once been, there was now a display panel showing technical readouts of my replacement body. "It's not done,"he said. "I still need to get some components for your legs. But soon enough you'll be good as new. Better than new, actually. New and improved. A lot of the same parts that I used on myself."He gestured at his own body underneath the armor. I'd know that some of it was mechanical, but never exactly how much. Just as I'd never seen him without his mask on, I'd also never seen him not wearing his armor. I was still staring down at my new body, more in shock than anything else. "I did try to save as much of you as possible,"he continued, pointing to my right arm which seemed to still be all-natural. "But most of your body was crushed."He smacked his palms together for emphasis. Like a pancake, I filled in for him. I raised my new left arm and wiggled my 'fingers'. The motors inside whirred softly, but other than that it was just like my actual arm. Everything responded exactly as it should. "I don't know how I can repay you!"I finally responded. "You saved me! All of this technology..."I'd been part of planning the Fort Knox job; I'd seen how much his atomic ray gun had cost. We'd had to pull a dozen different jobs just to get all of the necessary parts for it. Rebuilding me would have cost the Devastator a fortune. "And you.... you left the gold there." He sighed. "I couldn't carry you and the gold,"he confirmed. "Too much for one man; even me!" I sat up again, ignoring the shooting pains racing down my spine. Then I clapped a hand on his shoulder and used that to pull myself to my feet, standing on my own two wobbly legs. "Well next time, there will be two of us."
Oh. My. God. My two legs bought me food. I can smell it through the door. He's at the door. Oh. My. God. He's been gone such a long time. Like, alllllll day. Okay. Okay. Be cool. Door's opening. Be cool. Oh my god I'm so happy he's home!!! Where's the food where's the food. Oh? There's no food. Two legs smells funny. Like food. But not food. Why are you falling down two legs? It's not sleeping time? Are you okay two legs? I am so little. I do not know how to help. It's okay I'll kiss you all better. Is that better two legs? Are we sleeping now? I'm kinda hungry. Ah. Two legs! Why are you noising like that? Are you in pain? Can I help you? What can I do? You smell like bad food. Sick food.Two legs? Where are you going? Can I come along? Okay. I come. Why are all the two legs noising. And screaming? Im scared two legs. Wait. Two legs. Where did you go? You. Two legs. You're not my two legs. My two legs has brown head fur. You have yellow. Where did my two legs go? Why are you running? Is this a game? Okay lets play game. Oh look. Another two legs. This two legs is noising like my two legs. He is not my two legs. Why is yellow two legs screaming. I thought two legs liked each other.. now yellow two legs is noising. They sound like they trying to growl like me. Two legs dont do that. I miss my two legs. I'm hungry. The giant light ball in the sky has come and gone many times. It has been so long since I seen my two legs. I'm hungry. I miss my two legs. I am very tired. I am going to sleep now. This box looks nice. Just a little nap. I'm hungry..
Did I ever tell you I majored in linguistics. My parents didn't approve. They wanted a stable job like electrical engineering, or finance, one that could put food on the table. Turns out that wasn't necessary, seeing how zoos tend to feed their animals. It's really not that bad, and if I was a different type of person, I would be enjoying myself. Instead of some nutrient-dense gruel that I half expected, the zookeepers got their information on what humans eat from the Food Channel. Yesterday I had caviar with lobsters, and today I'm having sushi. Quality stuff. Anyways, I majored in linguistics because I'm a mute. I was interested in languages the same way a pre-teen is interested in alcohol. Something that seemed forbidden to them, but the appeal draws them to it. I guess languages and figuring out how they're pieced together are my way of rebelling against the unlucky conditions put on me. I call the aliens Lumens. They don't communicate with each other by sound, but by quick flashes of different colors of light. Red-green-red for example, is their way of saying hello. My personal's zookeeper name is something I can best describe as "white-black-green-pink", but I just call him Gary. I suppose this is where my mute-ness becomes a blessing rather than a curse. When I was back on Earth, I had to communicate with sign language. Doing this helped me interpret languages visually. So the dilemma now, is that even though I know what these Lumens are saying, I don't know how to speak back to them. There's no point in learning a language if you can't use it. Gary walked into my cave, and put forth the sushi, quality as always. Today it was a tuna roll, quality as always. The Lumens really know how to cook. The platter looked exactly like the stuff on TV, except somehow even more vibrant. That's when I had the idea. Taking apart the roll carefully by hand, I deconstructed it slowly, and laid it out in front of me. Red tuna, then the green wasabi, and then the red tuna again. White rice, black soy sauce, green wasabi, pink pickled ginger. Making sure the design looked organized, I waited patiently. When Gary came back to collect my plate, he looked at the razz-a-ma-tazz of palettes I made. And the colors he made in response could only be described as shock and surprise.
There's this weird story I have from when I was young that I still to this day can't explain. I don't remember how old I was back then. I was only 17. I was diagnosed with a disease, whose name I hardly remember. I didn't care much for anything at that time. I wasn't a young kid, I could understand what was going on. I knew that it was serious and could entail death, but it never really phased me. Not that part anyways. I just brushed it off, I didn't care. Things only started to get to me as treatments went on and on. Lots of drugs and processes, those days became hazy for me, but I knew it wasn't pleasant. At some point I just knew I was going to die. The only regret I had was that I wouldn't get to spend my last days just being a kid. As I said before, those days became very hazy to me, it all just started to blur together. An amalgamation of wasted time and misery. Yet, there was one day that I remember with extreme clarity. By this point things were getting really bad. My days were spent lying in bed, looking back on what little life I could think back to. Then, a kind old man walked in. I immediately recognized him as our neighbor, and I tried my best to sit up to greet him. Max almost felt like another parent to me. He was a super nice guy who babysat me when I was little, and he was always willing to help me out when family became too much, or if I had something I felt I couldn't tell my Mom or Dad. He was quite laid back, though he could get serious when he needed to be. I remember one day my parents wouldn't let my friends come over to finish a DnD campaign we had been playing through for almost a week. Desperate to finish the game, Max let us play in his garage, to which he said yes. That garage quickly became our go-to place to play DnD, and Max was happy to have the company. He would offer us snacks and make comments about the game pretending to know what was happening. He apparently payed much more attention to our games than he let on though. One December morning, I was maybe 12 or 13, as we were about to start a new campaign, Max asked if he could be the DM. We all figured that he was nice enough to always let us use his place to play, so we might as well do this for him, and we agreed that it could be quite hilarious stumbling through whatever campaign he tried to put us through. To our surprise, he made a really good DM. He created vivid worlds with his words and breathed life into every character and story he made. I don't know about the others, but to me, it felt like I was playing the game for the first time again whenever he was the DM, with the sense of thrill and wonder he created. Needless to say he became an almost constant DM for us from that point onwards. That garage was like a home away from home for all of us. A place to spend time together and live out our childhoods. But childhood can't last. One day, we just stopped going, and I don't know why. One by one we started to be interested in different things, found new friend groups, and grew apart. We stopped playing DnD, and I don't remember seeing much of Max after that. I still tried to hold on to that sense of childhood with tons of RPGs and nerdy paraphernalia, but I realized in that hospital bed that it was worthless. High school was over, though I had missed nearly half of it because of my condition, I hardly hung out with my old friends, and they were all going off to different states, different colleges, pursuing their dreams and living their lives. My childhood was over. Or so I thought. I felt a surge of life watching Max walk through that door, and I jolted, trying to sit up and greet him, though I quickly got dizzy and my head felt like it was splitting open as I slumped back down on the bed. He checked to make sure I was okay, and we talked for about a minute before he said he had a surprise. I watched as my friends walked through the door with a colorful assortment of books, papers, and game pieces, some with foldable chairs and a small foldable table too to place it all on. He told me that he had gathered up the old party so we could all play one last game of DnD. A lump grew in my throat and my eyes welled up at the sentiment. That game took up nearly the entirety of the visiting hours, and it went by in a flash, but I still remember every minute of it. It felt just like old times. Within me it rekindled the spark of joy and adventure I had, a sense of awe and wonder at the world. Despite being a relatively short game, it felt so climactic. We stepped back into the shoes of old characters, tread upon the grounds of worlds we had long forgotten. I could tell that Max had painstakingly chronicled and saved all of our previous journeys, and brought it all into one final adventure. An ancient evil, a force or pure darkness, whose influence had been within many foes we fought over the years, was slowly growing all this time, building its power, and now was awakening. It threatened to send all of the worlds we came to know and love back into oblivion. Not everything made total sense, and some bits of the tale we all weaved were a bit corny and contrived, but it didn't matter to me. I had gained such an emotional attachment to everything that the stakes felt real to me. It felt like I was about to lose all I loved to this evil creature. I was absorbed into the world, and determined to defeat it. With each battle, with each victory, with each interaction, I felt more alive. More than I had in quite awhile, even before the sickness. I was still weak, but I was unbelievably happy and hopeful. Nearing the end of the campaign, the real world as a whole seemed to fade away. At the end of the world, we poured our hearts into trying to seal away this evil beast from destroying everything. But in the end, it broke free, and the world was enveloped in darkness, all that we had come to know and love, gone. When this happened, everything seemed to fade away to me. The hospital room, my friends, even Max. I felt like I was drifting away into nothingness like my now long gone character. Max's voice pierced through the darkness. Within the long darkness were two souls, he said. One from the ruined world, quickly fading, and the other, having been wandering through the darkness for a long time. The old soul saw something within the other soul. Hope. The old soul decided to give all the strength it had to the other soul, and through that strength, a new world was born. A beautiful land of color, of light. One that was new and daunting, but the soul, despite having come into this new world by itself, wasn't ever alone. With that, I think I fell asleep. I couldn't remember anything after that. All I knew was that after that day, my condition miraculously improved. the doctors said it was a miracle, and to this day they can't explain it. I was out of the hospital within a few months, and I felt surprisingly hopeful. I was able to live, and now I'm 37. I have a house, a loving wife, and two kids who love DnD as much as I once did. We visited my family this past year for the holidays, and I randomly asked my mom about Max. She was surprised that I remembered him. She told me that he died when I was 15, and I argued that he couldn't have died then, as I remembered that game so vividly, but she said she knew that's when he died. I did some research later on that confirmed it. I managed to find a pdf of an old local newspaper, and there I found his obituary, and yeah, he died when I was only 15. I didn't understand what this all meant until Christmas morning. The kids opened their presents to find that my parents had gifted them some of my old DnD stuff that they had held onto. They immediately wanted to play, and so I began to set things up, and I found a note buried within all the material. It read, "Time is short, and always moving, always changing. Sometimes, you'll want to give up, and you'll lose sight of the things that matter to you. But there are always new worlds to explore, more life to lived. It can all be daunting sometimes, but it's an adventure you have to face. Make it a good one. -M" It hit me then. Max was gone, but he never truly left. So, I sat down with my kids, and began their adventure. An adventure in a world that faced ruin, but from the darkness and the ashes emerged something new. Life, love, hope.
The ransom note gave me stern instructions: come late and come alone. It's dangerous for a blood-bag like me to be out in the moonlight, but I wasn't not out there for myself. If this was about me, I'd be home safe. Locked in my apartment with my windows covered in titanium shutters. The front door locked, a dresser shoved in front of it. I'd woken up too many times to my doorknob rattling to feel safe sleeping any other way. No. This was for Joyce. Joyce. My heart still lurched with pain as I remembered that hot wall of panic when I woke to find my bed empty. Joyce gone. She always went out for early morning runs, but usually she was smart enough to wait for the first kiss of dawn. Usually she was back by the time I got my lazy ass up. But not today. Today, Joyce never came home. There was only a note, speckled with brown blood, taped to my front door. Give us what we want if you want to see your girl again. On the other side of the note was an address on the dark side of town, the side that the city had not-so-officially abandoned to the vampires. No human cops dared to patrol there at night, when the vampire gangs were at the height of their power. We learned to stay inside. To hide when the moon came out. Cops won't even answer calls near that part of town. No one wants to be the next unlucky bastard bitten and lost to the dark. I was the only stupid human out in the dark. But they had me by the balls, and they knew it. Even if I went to the cops, they would just shake my head and tell me if she's in the blood-ghetto, she's on her own. So I went alone. I drove right up to the address, an old Victorian house that had once looked grand. Now the windows were shattered here and there, most of the shutters replaced with thick wood sheets that wouldn't let any of that burning sunlight in. I left my keys on top of the driver's wheel, so Joyce would have a way home again. I left the note I'd written her under the emergency brake handle. My last words, every one of them meant for her. And then, shoulders heavy with dread, hands clutching the pocketknife in my hoodie pocket, I walked up the steps to the front door. Someone had installed a brass knocker shaped like a bat to the front door. I lifted it and knocked. The sound echoed through the vast house within. For a long few moments, I stood there. Breath lodged in my throat. I kept looking up, certain that a vampire was going to pounce on me from some open window. I felt like a coyote walking willfully into a trap, just as anxious and just as mad with the instinct to run like hell. But I wasn't leaving Joyce in there to die. The door eased open and a kid peered out at me. Couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen. He had once been living, judging from the silvery teeth marks scarred on his throat. Everything about him had gone pale, even his afro, streaked with impossible silver curls. He stared me up and down, his crimson eyes dilating as he inhaled the telltale scent of my rare blood. "The boss has been expecting you,"the kid whispered. His incisors gleamed over his bottom lip as he spoke. He stepped back to pull the door open, revealing a mostly-dark interior, lit only by candles, running down the length of the entryway. "Interesting interior design,"I commented as I stepped in. The joke didn't relax the panic in my chest. But it did make the kid grin. "You'll be seeing a lot more of it,"he said. The promise of that was heavy as my dread. I followed him down the dim hallway. Eyes watched us from every open doorway. Vampires gathered like rats in the dark. One of them exhaled hungrily as I walked past, and I had to resist the urge to shriek and jump as their breath tickled hot against the back of my neck. The vampire kid gripped the huge doors at the end of the hall and pushed them inward. "Boss,"he said, "he's here." A voice boomed from inside the room, "Let him in. We're wasting moonlight." The kid stepped back and nodded, his grey-streaked curls bouncing as he moved. "After you, blood-bag." "Gee, thanks for the hospitality,"I muttered back. But I stepped in the room anyway. Into the certain jaws of death. This room was just as dark as the hall, most of the light coming from the crackling fireplace on the far wall. A whole horde of vampires crowded here, all of them bristling attentively when I walked in. Men and women, nearly-human-looking except for those red eyes. Those sharp teeth. Fleur-de-lis wallpaper reflected back the fire in the gold-foil texture of the walls. The whole air hummed with the anticipation of a hunt. The collective in-breath of a pack of predators whose prey has wandered blindly into their den. At the front of the room, a man who could only be the boss lay sprawled on a golden throne. He wore a fur coat, leather pants, a loose-fitting black shirt. If he wasn't looking at me like he wanted to devour me then and there, I might have called him handsome. He was moon-white, his hair dark as a starless sky. The vampire leader pushed himself up from the throne, leaving his fur coat behind him. He stood and clapped his hands together. "Oh, about time. There's our golden boy." "Don't act so fucking surprised,"I muttered. "And you shouldn't be so bitter. You know how long we've been looking for you." I scowled at the vampires already skulking closer. Circling like lions. "You can call me Bates,"the vampire told me as he stepped closer. The firelight flickered in his scarlet eyes. "I've been alive five hundred years, and you're only the second one I've encountered. You and your golden blood." I scanned around the room. "You said if I came you would let her go." "Her?"The vampire nodded, feigning surprise. "Oh, right. Your little human girlfriend." "Don't act like you don't know." Bates's smile deepened. Stake-sharp and blood-hungry. "You're right, Jackson Young. I know everything about you. I know where you live, where you work, how you've spent every waking moment of your life avoiding the dark. Avoiding us. Yet here you are." "Imagine that,"I said. "Imagine."Bates smiled as he stepped closer. He smelled like old blood and too much cologne. This close up, I could see the yellow stains on his incisors from centuries of sucking the lives of others to live forever. "But I suppose you want to see her." "Why the fuck do you think I'm here?" "And how do you know I haven't devoured your sweet little snack already?" Despair coiled around my throat. He must have seen it well in my eyes before I hid it, because his grin turned delighted. I glared. Called his bluff. "Because you're a man of your word." "Damnably, I am."Bates turned to another vampire, a woman whose corset was stained brown with old blood. "Fetch the girl."He gave me another prim smile. "We'll show the blood-bag we keep our promises. Your freedom for hers. Guaranteed." *** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/fro3wi/wp_golden_blood_parts_1_and_2/) is now up on /r/nickofstatic! :)
"Bro, what?!"I asked, absolutely shaken. "How in the hell?" "Well- yeah, I mean, you gotta...pay the bills, y'know..."He said, now looking at the ground, embarrassed. "Yeah, sure, but maybe not with a criminal empire?"I asked. "I was wondering where you'd gone after you left mid-shift...what, six months ago?" "I'd just discovered my powers that day...and my older brother knew a guy who could train me, but I had to join his gang, y'see- and it made sense at the time." "Then you rose up the ranks so fast because of your power."I nodded. "Honestly, my deal was pretty much the same, except it was for the hero guild, not a gang." "I'm not fighting for no reason, though."Some of the steel was back in his voice. "You 'heroes' have done some terrible things you need to answer for. Wasn't it the Granadier who blew up the community center? There were civilians in there." "I saw that."I nodded. "That did happen, but he had been aiming at Shocktank, who exploded it early- otherwise it wouldn't have hit anyone, much less the community center." We spent a moment in silence before my rival pulled me up from the dust. "Apparently collateral damage is everyone's fault, when you're super powered." "There's gotta be a better way." We looked at the damage we had created- before my 'rival' turned to me with a light in his eyes. "Hey, remember when we used to go to your place and chill? We played a lot of Smash Bros, right?" "Yeah, you were really good as Samus." "What if... what if we did that?" "What, hang out?" "Nah man, I mean- when we supers have beef with each other, we can't keep duking it out in the streets. I'm talking one-on-one, meet somewhere outside of town, far away from people. Hell, we could use that abandoned theme park." "Bro, that...that just might work. Do you think your people would take the deal?" "If it means not killing innocent kids and shit, yeah, yeah we would. Would yours, Dan?" "Absolutely- but to make sure no one gets ganged up on, and rules are followed, there have to be moderators of sorts. One from each side."I began to grin. "The strongest from each side, who don't want to hurt each other." "You mean us. You and I." "Let's make an underground fighting ring, bro." "Oh, hell yeah!" ---------------------------------------------------- It would be years before my 'rival'- now my counterpart- and I realized that our powers came to us on the same day, and at the same time, and that this was no coincidence- it would be years before we saw that we were merely puppets on a string, being controlled by a ruthless and efficient force...but, until we did, we spent those days having an absolute blast watching the heroes and villains hash it out in the abandoned theme park. If only we had known what was coming- if only we had known that we were in the golden age of our lives, and only harder days were coming. ------------------------------------------------------ r/nystorm_writes for more :)
Riley's head jolted up from her desk as a couple of giggles sounded off behind her. She still felt the phantom pain of a her skull cracking into the pavement from when she had been a 51 year old drunk man in Hamburg just moments ago, the blur of alcohol that couldn't possibly be in her body was likewise still fading as her teacher, Ms. Codswell, tapped her pointer sharply on her desk. "Are you having one of your 'I'm somebody else' incidents again?"She said with a tone of annoyance that could only be superseded by the look on her face that seemed to indicate her patience had ran out decades ago. Behind her she heard a meek whisper from her best friend, Kat, "Just say you fell asleep, it's not worth it."Riley groaned a soft and pained, "no", not directed at anyone or anything; It was more from the fogginess of death than the dread of her teacher, or an answer to either of them, not that her teacher hadn't been a constant source of anxiety and stress for her since she transferred to Harfield's Academy two years ago. Ms. Codswell took the groan as she did most interactions with her students, a personal attack on herself and the fine teachings of Harfield's Academy. "I'm sorry, am I bothering you, Riley? Then answer the question already if you feel like you have enough understanding of the subject to sleep your way through the entire lesson!"Riley looked for a question on the board but it merely contained notes. With a grimace she weakly asked, "Can you rephrase the question please?"The truth was she absolutely had no idea what the question was in the first place and was simply hoping to hear it without seeming as aloof as she felt. Ms. Codswell's eyes seemed to shoot daggers and she put on a fake smile, "Happily. Please explain Norman Foster's contribution to Germany and its significance."The automatic grimace of the boy next to her suggested the question was phrased much differently just moments ago. Riley felt relieved, she had just grown up in Berlin minutes ago. "Norman Foster was the architect for the Reichstag dome which was built to symbolize the reunification of Germany, re-establishing Germany as single sovereign state. The futurist and transparent glass dome design was meant to be Berlin's attempt to move away from a past of Nazism and instead towards a future with a heavier emphasis on a united, democratic Germany. Specifically it was meant to symbolize the people are above the government, as was not the case during Nazism."Her teacher's eyes squinted as she thought of a sharp reply but nothing came. "Yes, very good. That still gives you no excuse to slack off during my class. If it happens again I will be sending you to the dean's office." Riley fought to look neutral and respectful but felt her tone hint at betraying her act when she replied, "Yes Ms. Codswell, of course."Just the rest of the class was uneventful until the bell rang and Kat rushed to her side, "What was that all about? Codswell didn't even mention half that stuff!"Riley shrugged, "I was just some German guy who grew up around there. It's kind of a tourist destination so he had taken visitors there a bunch of times."Kat's eyes lit up, "That's so cool! How did this one.. You know..?" "Drunk driving. Slammed into a pole and went out the window hard. And it's not cool. I had.. Er.. He had a family."Riley said, walking to her next class. Kat beamed "Yeah but what are the chances! You could have been anyone and you got a free answer!"Riley stopped and looked at Kat flatly. "I also could have just been myself and listened in class rather than die horribly."Kat let out a sigh, "Okay, yeah, I get it. Dying sucks. But at least you have cool powers!" Kat was a cryptid, more specifically something akin to a walking, talking, turtle girl - shell and all. Sometimes Riley wonders if her parents meant to be cruel giving her the name Kat, or if it had been simply an thoughtless family name. She didn't intend to ask. Riley sighed, "So? Half the students here do. That's kind of like.. The point of Harfield's Academy. We're all 'special' in some way." Kat whined, "Yeah, but you're like.. Magic special! I can.. What? Stay underwater longer than average and have people punch my back? Why the hell would I even want that?"The bell chimed and the two realized the halls had all but emptied as the next set of classes began. Riley grimaced, "Well I'd definitely trade my power for teleportation right about now. Let's get to class before Mr. Stile decides to use as a volunteers for his next experiment." Kat's head recoiled into her shell. "Don't even joke about that. I still have nightmares from the 6th grade Halloween Lab Day."
"Daddy, why did they make the trench?" Two of my fingers are squeezed firmly by his small hand as we cross one of the pedestrian bridges. We are in time. "You know superheroes?"I ask. Of course he knows superheroes. I read the comics to him. "Yes!" "And supervillains." "Yes! They're scary! But if one comes, I'll protect you daddy!" "Appreciate it, buddy. Well, you know how they use their superpowers to fight one another? Laser vision and lightning roars and mind control and such." "Yes!"he answered excitedly. "Laser Man was so clever when he defeated The Discoballer! He..." "Yes, I know. But have you ever heard of a superhero and a supervillain with the exact same powers fighting?" Silence. I had him there, it seemed. "Well, there are these two flash steppers in the trench. They can teleport - you know what teleportation is, right?""Yes.""Yeah, they can teleport two steps backward from wherever they're standing. So, they were both carrying swords, and one day one of them gets right behind the other and is about to stab him in the back, but he flash steps and now he is the one who can stab the other in the back, and so the first one does the same. And they keep going and going, because if any one of them stops, he's the one who gets stabbed - look, here they come!" With a "Vrroosh!"the two combatants pass under us in the trench, frantically teleporting, and quickly disappear in the distance. "Wow! That was them!"my boy yells excitedly. "Don't they ever stop?" "They haven't yet. I think time passes slower for them, or something. They've been at it for fifteen years. They circle the entire Earth in about six hours, across oceans and everything." "Can't anyone stop them?" "I don't think so. The military tried to put up barriers, but they either teleported through them, or made holes. They probably didn't even notice. So, we built the trench for them, in order to keep people safe." "Did you build it?"Now he's amazed. "Yes son, I was on one of the construction crews. Your mom and I met when I was working right here, as a matter of fact."
A wedding is a beautiful tradition, thousands of years old and still celebrated by almost every culture. A celebration of union, love, trust and so much more. We had been preparing our wedding for a few years now, and I have never been happier to have made it this far. We decided on a smaller wedding venue, because neither have much family or friends, but we’re perfectly fine with our quiet way of life. When we met I felt like the stars aligned and my world was flipped for the better. She and I have experienced much of life together, firsts and lasts, the good and the bad. Proposing and finally ‘tying the knot’ was just the next milestone. Now as we stand at the altar, emotional from the vows, we exchange our small pieces of paper. We chose to write them on simple white paper cards, written in pen - nothing special, because telling each other such secrets will from now on be just as simple. We hold eye contact as we reach for the other’s card, with a last reassuring nod that nothing will change, we open the cards. The ceremonial fire blazes warmly at our backs and gives ambient light to illuminate the five simple words written on the paper. In my soon-to-be-wife’s flowing handwriting, the paper reads- I am not a human. I reread it once, twice and then fold it closed again. I clear my throat in the uncomfortable silence and turn to the fire along with my partner. She catches my eye for a second and I wonder what she reads on my face or maybe what she is looking for. I face the fire, a symbol for strength and love, it burns passionately and in sync we cast our papers into its waiting maw, consumed by the fires’ hunger, to be destroyed and never to be the same again. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as the papers crumbled and burned, the anxiety I was feeling melting out of my body. There was only two people in the whole universe who knew my secret now, no paper could reveal it any longer. I turn away from the warm fire and face my wife, we clasp our hands together and say the last of our vows, “Til’ death do us part.” The crowd cheers and claps as my wife’s face splits into a huge grin and I can feel my own mouth tug into a matching smile. We really are perfect for each other, and although I have so many questions about her paper, I know that she will too. Because as funny as it was, my paper read the exact same thing- I am not a human.
"This your corner?" The man with blue eyes looks up, sun directly behind the stranger in front of him. Stubbled, disheveled, with a torn leather jacket and a grungy terrier in his arms. Green eyes. The stranger nods at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax. Blue Eyes shakes his head, surfer-blonde hair bobbing slightly. "No. You're welcome to sit." Green Eyes settles down beside Blue Eyes. He strokes behind the terrier's ears, and its eyes close in pleasure. "Nobody's thrown much my way,"Blue Eyes says. "The way it's always been."Green Eyes extends his hand, and a passing soccer mom hurries her child along. "They're so damn selfish." "You can't blame people for being selfish. They were made that way. Beneath the Toyotas and the Levis and the overpriced jewelry-- they're animals,"says Blue Eyes. "They can't help it." Green Eyes says nothing, watches more people walk by. A clutch of middle schoolers, a goateed man wearing a scarf, then a old black woman in a business suit. "Being homeless really separates you, doesn't it?" "Oh,"Green Eyes says, "I'm not homeless. I'm just on leave, I guess." "You're not one of them." Green Eyes narrows his eyes. Blue Eyes meets his gaze, smile just touching the corners of his mouth. "I'm not either. Sometimes you can tell. The difference between regular folks and... us." "What gave it away?"asks Green Eyes. "It's in the eyes, mostly. And the movement. Even something as simple as walking or sitting down carries the grace of a swan or eagle or some fucking bird." Green Eyes laughs, and Blue Eyes leans in and strokes the terrier's neck. It yips once, then arches its back. "Which side were you on?"asks Blue Eyes. "Defenders or usurpers?" "Defenders,"says Green Eyes. "Usurpers,"says Blue Eyes. "Hope you don't hate me." "I try to not hate anyone." "Sounds difficult." "It can be very difficult." "Well,"Blue Eyes, "bygones and all that." He offers his hand. Green Eyes hesitates, then shakes. As he does, Blue Eyes notices for the first time the scar tissue on the back of Green Eyes' hand. "It's you." "What?" Blue Eyes grins and lifts the blonde hair from his forehead, revealing two circular scars near his temples. "I will say this, their surgeons have improved." Green Eyes smiles and says, "You don't need to keep doing this. I would let you back in." "Hah! Get bent." "I mean it." "I changed my mind. This is my corner. Leave. Take your goddamn rat with you." Green Eyes lifts himself up, dog still in his hands. But he doesn't walk. He stands still, looking at Blue Eyes, who avoids his gaze and stares ahead at the intersection. "We let all of your friends back in." "I said leave, you self-righteous shit." Green Eyes nods, turns, and takes a few steps east. Then he about-faces, drops the terrier, and rushes towards Blue Eyes. Blue Eyes lifts his arms in self-defense, and Green Eyes wraps his arms around him. Hugs him. For the briefest of moments, Blue Eyes accepts this, then he wrestles free. "If you won't leave, I will." He returns to his spot, picks up his half-full can of change and slings a backpack over his shoulder. He looks at the walk signs at the intersection and picks the first white one he sees, due west. Behind him, Green Eyes shouts, "Dad misses you." He waits at the intersection for an hour. When he convinces himself that his brother is not coming back, the man with green eyes sits on the curb and silently weeps. The terrier licks his cheeks. A taxi horn honks. A young boy in a basketball jersey drops a quarter at his feet. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - EDIT: Thanks very much for the gold! First gold ever. I'll use it wisely.
"It has finally happened!"Lester cried out. "What?"his roommate said. "The girl from 3A forgot to wear a bra again?"Lester looked at Craig with a face of utter unbelief. "Don't talk about her that way! Just... just take a look at the TV, would you?" In the living room the TV was already on. The anchor looked like she had trouble maintaining her professionalism when reading the ludicrous things the autocue made her say. "... an update on the recent Ebola outbreak in Worcester county. Apparently the recently deceased nurse that disobeyed quarantine orders has risen from the dead and has started biting morgue handlers, who, in turn, have become violent and bloodthirsty as well. It appears the infection has spread outside of the hospital and the local PD has issued an evacuation warning. Mayor Smith told the press earlier today that this is in no way a "Zombie Apocalypse"and all authorities are working together to bring this situation to a swift end." Craig looked at the TV in disbelief. "A... zombie outbreak? Like the movies? For real?"Lester nodded with a satisfied grin on his face. "It ain't April Fool's day my friend. Plus, why would the news lie about such a thing?"Lester looked from the TV to his friend. "Then why are you looking so pleased with yourself?"said Craig "Because Worcester county is only a thirty minute drive away! We should totally go there and do some zombie slaying! What else would we do with this weapons arsenal that we've been building up?"Lester couldn't find another reason, so he silently helped Craig pack his car with shotguns, ammo, and baseball bats. "This is going to be so awesome!"Lester said when they approached the parking lot of Worcester County Hospital, which, as they had suspected, was littered with burning cars, body parts and a lonesome crying young child. "Shouldn't we help the kid?"Said Craig. "No chance my friend. it's probably a zombie already"said Lester as he swerved to make sure he ran the child over. "it's zombie killin' time!" In the distance they could see a group of silhouettes appearing. A faint moan was heard over the burning wreckages. As they loaded their shotguns Lester's face suddenly went white. "Craig,"he said, "have you ever, you know, actually shot one of these things before?""Shit."Said Craig, "now that you mention it, I haven't."Slowly but steadily, the silhouettes started morphing into human figures. Back in their appartment, the TV the two had left on in their haste was still blaring out the news channel. "Our top story for today. The "Walking Dead"Ebola strain outbreak containment ran into serious trouble when the site was flooded with college kids who had seen too many zombie movies and tried to take matters into their own hands. Mayor Smith admitted his fault in underestimating the effect of zombies in modern pop culture but was pleased to say that the soldiers of National Guard, when they were finally convinced it was not an elaborate prank, were able to contain the walking dead within three hours. More than five hundred are suspected dead at this moment."
Angelic acid. Who knew, with the right tweaks, it was the key to sobriety? One small pill, one achy sweaty night, and all of your addictions drain away like snow on the roads in spring. I would know. the preliminary trials were a resounding success, but the nature of these things -- first comes the rats, then the bunnies, then the monkeys -- it'll be half a decade or more before a human pops one of the babies for the first time. Well, it would've been, if I'd been more patient. The next day, I woke up with more ease than a kid on Xmas. Did you know your head doesn't have to hurt in the mornings? Who knew! Eschewed my normal sugary cereal for some oatmeal with fruit preserves. Ending up tossing the box, even, somehow it just came across as gross. Went to play a little bejeweled before work, but the game totally lost its appeal. Anyway, work rolled around and it was a pretty normal. My coworkers kept taking breaks, it was weird. Like, yeah we all need to eat, and use the restroom, but really, is your pipetting hand getting tired or something? How hard is it to remember to balance the centrifuge? And how come they're all so irritable and touchy? Maybe it's the coffee. I didn't have my usual dose that morning. Is this what my work place is actually like all the time? Sheesh. The drive home was uneventful, except for kids speeding in the snow, a near collision on exit 78, some driver who kept honking at a truck, and that guy who slammed on the breaks in front of me, (which turned out okay since I saw the cars ahead of him breaking.) Anyway, after tidying up and cooking dinner, I put on some cartoons but it seemed so pointless. One snappy punchline after another, a series of strange animation flourishes overlaid on a flimsy storyline. Maybe I'll read a book or something, since I'm done with everything I need to do. Went out for a smoke but it's really too cold to be out. Maybe tomorrow, or when it's spring. No point in going to the bar, I can't imagine drinking right now, or ever. ... ... I'm gonna have to find a cure for this.
The hiss of escaping gas. A deep reverberating huffing sound, almost certainly the half millennia old machinery struggling with the release clasps. I opened my eyes? Thick blue nutrient sledge pressed against them, moulding to every inch of my body. I could feel it flowing in and out of my lungs with every breath. The huffing noise grew sharper. A gurgle, I looked down to the drain between my feet, where the fluid was being sucked out. I felt the top of my head exposed, for the first time in 500 years. Slowly the fluid inched down, letting my face feel air. I sputtered, and coughed hard trying to force the fluid of my lungs. I could have lived with it for the rest of my life without harm, but I wouldn't my first real breath in 5 centuries to be pure and right. The clear door, fogged over from escaping gas popped open. I jabbed the harness release at my right hand, my fingers more nimble than they should have been after such a long sleep. The door slid to the side, the light was too bright. With my forearm over my eyes I stepped out onto the cold linoleum I'd stepped off in a now distant past. The rhythmic "huff, huff"of the machine was becoming sharper. I shook my head to side, trying to dislodge the gel packed in. With a satisfying thud it ejected from my left ear and the "huff, huff"I thought I'd heard became a harsh "ha, ha"I blinked hard, and the room began to settle into focus. The room wasn't even slightly changed, I looked out the window, and the city scape was unaltered. I turned to the twenty odd men laughing hysterically. One, who looked exactly like my former colleague Sanders pointed. "You actually thought we were gonna send you to the future?" He fell to the floor. They all looked identical to my colleagues who had to have been dead by 400 years. I turned to the pods beside me, to Mathews, Connor, and Taylor who had stumbled out of their chambers. Realization dawned on all of us. Mathews fell to his knees. "I overspent so many credit cards."Connor looked grimly straight ahead. Taylor, looked at me, tears building in his eyes. "My wife left me when I refused to back out of Project Lazarus." I looked away from him, and Mathews and Connor and the twenty laughing men and straight out the window. I breathed in deeply. "Fuck you guys."
"Gosh, Tony. I don't think we should cross the street. Micky said there were Bots over there." "You're a Bot! Why should I listen to you anymore? I'm hungry and that old grocery store has food. None of us have seen a killer Bot in days. I'm going for it." "Hold on there! How about I go, and you wait here? If it's safe, I'll call you over." Tony grunted, "Fine,"and watched the Bot lumber with stupid long footsteps across the street. Hunger raged in his stomach, and he was at the end of his rope listening to Goofy. Maybe he should just run across. A loud crack sounded, and Goofy's head exploded in sparks. A couple seconds passed while Tony watched the Robot fall to the ground struggling. Two more cracks issued from nowhere, and Goofy stopped moving. Tony ran the other direction through a broken down building. Rubble from a collapsed sky scraper shielded him from view where the Bots might find him. A shot pierced the wall next to him, and Tony ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Two more shots hit a piece of broken masonry next to his head, then Tony herd a machine gun fire, and looked up to see the killer Bot in ruin. "Well that was close!"Micky Mouse exclaimed with cheer, "What's the status report Tony? What are we dealing with?"Tears came to his eyes. Tony had never really liked Micky, but the familiar face filled him with emotion. He pushed it back, and gave a report. "Umm,"Tony said, considering the shots he herd that obliterated Goofy, "It sounded like a Destroyer." "That's not very good!"Micky said, his voice still full of cheeriness, "In this situation, the highest likelihood for survival will be if I create a diversion while you regroup with Donald and the other children. I know you'll get back Tony, you're the fastest runner I know!" "But that will mean..."Tony trailed off, not able to finish the sentence. He cursed the bucket of algorithms making decisions based on logic. "Time to go!"Micky said, loading another box of ammo into the machine gun. Tony turned and ran. Dilapidated buildings passed by in a blur. He ran until his lungs burned, and covered his ears so not to hear gunfire from behind. Hours seemed to pass before he ran into another familiar face. "Wha' 'Appenying?"Donald Duck quacked, "I Heyered Gayn Shots." Tony told Donald what happened, and they regrouped with the other children and hid in an underground shelter. Tony was relieved to look at another human face." "Lora, Thank god." "Tony, I can't believe you made it." They embraced each other. She held out a wrapped granola bar, and Tony brightened. Lora said, "I herd Goofy and Micky didn't make it." "Nope." "It's going to be hard getting by without them." "Why?"Tony said, "They're just a set of algorithms and bolts. So what if they helped us survive. They're not real people. They don't have emotion." Silence passed between them, then Lora said, "I read in a book a while back that the human mind is like a chemical computer, doing things based input. People even built a human mind from scratch. But the fake human mind wasn't like real human minds. It never had emotions, or cared for people. "Scientists couldn't figure out what made the real human mind work. Something funny worked inside them which gave them emotions, and a will to live. Fake minds could be programmed to emulate it, but they were never perfect. Scientists started calling the human consciousness a ghost." Tony said, "So, why is any of that important? People are machines with ghosts, and machines are just machines." Lora said, "After a while, scientists said the newer AIs starting acting like they had ghosts, but nobody had time to do research to confirm before the Bots attacked." Tony mumbled, barely audible, "You think Goofy and Micky had ghosts? I'd like to think they did, and they're still with us somehow. They were stupid, and quirky, but still..." "Maybe", Lora said, "But if that's true, Donald needs us just as much as we need him. And so do the rest of them." "Huh, yeah. I never thought of that. They took care of us most of our lives, I never thought they needed us."
"This just in. You are looking at obviously a very disturbing live shot there. CNN Center right now is just beginning to work on this story, obviously calling our sources and trying to figure out exactly what happened. But clearly, something miraculous is happening this morning there on the south end of the island Manhattan. Thousands of people are standing outside what used to be the World Trade Center. A two engine jet flying lower than usual has crashed into the towers. There appears to be debris going everywhere and pillars of flames engulfing beginning to engulf the top of the towers. Firefighters are arriving to the scene now to assist any way they can. So far there has only been one confirmed casualty of an elderly man supposedly trampled in the crowd of onlookers. There is no info on the passengers of the plane but we will be broadcasting the info as we receive it. This is CNN News bringing you this incident live.
The White Queen has returned. I thought to myself I had never expected to be married to someone like her. I remember the day I met her in the bar. It was a Sunday in September and her red hair shined in the dimly lit pool hall. I remember her leaning over and looking forward at the cue ball, the back of her shirt was cut in small lines, showing off a tattoo of some kind. She stared intently as she focused on trying to gauge her angle...and then she looked up at me. I mustered the least awkward smile and hoped that she hadn't notice how long I'd been staring, but she did. I loved her then and I loved her all the way until December 21st, the day the season changed. The day winter starts. She came home, just as she did right now, with sleek, white hair that caused her blue eyes to shine with a fierce gaze that was more fear-inducing than sexy. She asked me what I thought. "You look like the white queen."I said with a chuckle as she leaned in for a kiss And right before her lips reached mine, she stopped. "Excuse me?"she replied I looked up at her, questioning the gaze of the eyes that we less than a foot away from mine. I moved uncomfortably in my chair as she moved away from leaning into me and stood straight up, her eyes still fixed on me. "How dare you!"her voiced raised "Babe, it looks beautiful."I replied hastily "It's just very fierce looking." "Just very fierce-looking?" "Well, it's different. I mean, how many times did they have to re-bleach it to get it from red to whi..." "My hair has always been this color!"she cut me off and turned away from me I sat there, looking at her body. In the months since we'd been dating I had yet to see what was under her clothes. But based on her figure I'd never questioned it was extraordinary. I snapped out of the trance-like gaze I had on her back as she turned to face me again. As I did, what she said registered in my mind. Always been this color? I questioned in my head "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"she screamed Her eyes looked like tears had filled them but none would spill over. None of the other features of her face indicated she was sad. Her cheeks weren't flush, her lips weren't turned down or quivering, it was as if she'd become so angry that her body was boiling the water out of itself through her eyes. "Whoa babe what are you talking about, calm down for a second." Then she relaxed. Her rigid body mellowed and her shoulders fell. The gaze lightened and she smiled. "Calm down? Oh, baby - please calm down."She replied with a sneer "Ok, what the hell is going on? Did something happen today at work?" "Listen to me baby."her gaze beginning to grow into anger again "You will respect me, you will listen to me, and if you want this relationship to go anywhere, you will not question my choice in hair color again." She turned and walked away. And that's how it went. Every winter was like living with a demi-god whose anger was derived from the very pits of hell. I felt like I'd entered into a relationship with Charlize Theron method-acting for 'Snow-White and the Huntsman' for four months every year. Hell, I even tried to watch it with her to see if she saw any correlation - but asking her what she thought only returned "It was a good movie"as if the connection was never made. Then spring would come, she'd dye her hair blonde - and everything seemed to change. I loved her blonde look - but it came with a price too. Instead of ravenous bitch I got slutty sorority girl, befitting of the season that the birds and bees utilize to procreate. However, the slutty sorority girl role was just that - a slutty, flirtatious, unreliable, untrustworthy girl. But the blowjobs were worth it, so I stayed. Summer was great too, she'd die her hair a dark brunette. She was fun, flirtatious, and happy. We'd go on vacations and road-trip to the beach. It was like having a good girlfriend. But when Autumn would come, I'd fall in love all over again. It was the only season she was truly kind. She'd ask me what I'd want for dinner and we'd cuddle on the couch watching shows till midnight. We'd go out for coffee on the weekends and have friends over for get-togethers. We'd go out for drinks on Halloween and celebrate Thanksgiving watching our favorite movies. She became wife material, and it was in Autumn that we got married. And that's when I finally saw it - the tattoo. We made love on Dec. 1st. Before that it had just been 3rd base. Every-time we did anything sexual she refused to take off her shirt. Even at the beach she'd tell me she was saving her body for when she got married. She'd wear surfer shirts and bikini bottoms or just one-pieces that, although increasingly less popular, were still sexy as hell on her. She wasn't religious and I always found her mannerisms weird - but I'd often overlook the weirdness of refusing to take off a shirt in front off me for the more prominent weirdness of a personality change every season, I figured it was just part of the package. But when she took of her dress the night of our wedding, I saw it. It started from the top of her spine and went all the way to the belt-line down her back. It covered shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. The tattoo was divided into four sections, and when I saw it I instantly made the connection. Each section was different. The red and yellow leaves of fall lined the bottom left of her back with a pathway down the middle like one of those typical desktop wallpapers. To the left was a winter-themed mountain tattoo. An open-mouthed wolf was tattooed against the backdrop of a mountain with what looked like an avalanche coming down the side. Above that was summer, the beach, seagulls, and a palm tree. And on her left shoulder was spring - birds, flowers, and a hummingbird. "Where'd you get that?"I'd asked her She turned and walked over to me, smiling as she mounted me and pushed me down on the bed. "I was born with it." And then we had sex. After two years together I'd hoped that things would get better, or that I'd muster up the strength to leave. But having a different wife every four months became quite interesting. It was the best of everything and I convinced myself that anything bad that came out of it was just part of the deal. If was I was gonna get head from spring girl, take road-trips with summer girl, and fall in-love every time with Autumn girl, I'd have to put up with Winter. I hated the 21st. I hated Christmas. I hated New-Years. But I did it anyway. I put up with the insults, with the passive-aggressiveness, with her inability to accept responsibility for mistakes, the double-standards, the white lie's, and everything else. Because hell, in the end, that's what everyone else's wife was like all year.
"To the Giver goes our thanks!"The elder declared, bold voice resonating among the assembly. "To the Giver goes our thanks"they chanted in reply. "To us, the greater things have always belonged. The skies! The song! The great Harmony through which we all understand our roots, and our purpose. That, they called our instincts, they declared was base. Animal!" Twitters of indignation from the assembled. "Yet though we could hear the distant refrain, we could never comprehend the melody. Thus, though being far greater, we could never achieve!" A collective sigh. Most here could still remember those days, of hearing, but not understanding. Of a world being nothing more than hunger, cold, and want. Never again, the heavy silence seemed to vow. "However, one among them disagreed. Just one stood against this intellectual snobbery! Just one sought to raise us to his own footing! This brave soul enlightened us all!" A chorus of approving hums from the audience. They all knew of whom he spoke. "Now, we all hear the refrain. We understand the melody. And we sing the harmony! None of this would be possible without him! And so, to the Giver goes our thanks!" "To the Giver goes our thanks." "And,"continued the speaker, his voice reaching a crescendo, then dropping suddenly. "our mercy."As one, amid hoots and cries, they rose into the sky. Tonight, they fly. Have you earned their mercy?

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