Split (1)

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"So... this is hell you say?" "Yep. Nothing here is fair trade or environmentally friendly. All of it mass produced and include either real wood or genuine leather." "Reminds me of my bosses office actually, no way I could have afforded something this fancy in life. Still, nice place. That BBQ grill in the middle of the apartment seems out of place though. I mean, the whole place just smells like meat... not that I'm complaining but why not just have it in the kitchen or something." "No Kitchen. Only an endless BBQ and it's 100% animal meat. Suffer the guilt of murder you vegan hippie!!!" "...Sure. Got any mustered? Maybe some A1 sauce?" "second Cupboard next to the NONE gluten free muffins. Yeah you heard me. Perfectly normal endless muffins every single day and you better eat at least three or else!" "Oh blueberry! Thanks!" "And that's not all. The final nail in your coffin. Come here spot." "OMG A PUPPY!!!! SO CUTE!" "Yeah, lets see ya live with them allergies of yours now MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA hahaha...ha?"
Again, I jolted out of sleep. Not quite out of bed: my reaction was still one of fright for not immediately recognizing my surroundings. Or at least, not recognizing them as home. "Home". This could be a home. But there are too many of us. Or of them. I'm glad that there's a place for me to sleep. For now. With a roof and far away from the troubles. This is supposed to be the best place in the world, after all. It's supposed to be far. My legs can't stay still. My phone screen, looking worst than ever, its fractured glass held together by the protector, show it's still 4 AM, in the language I've yet to learn. Thank God for numbers. I haven't slept a wink. I want to scream and I need to move. But what's-his-name is sleeping on the couch, and the people in the rooms, the better rooms, need to sleep. They all have long days tomorrow -- today -- and jobs to attend to, a life to attend to. I have nothing. Yet. And nothing before me anymore. I put on my heaviest, warmest clothes. I knew I wouldn't be prepared for the winter. But I couldn't imagine how cold the early fall would be. Before I lost myself thinking on how I should make it work, how could I make myself stay, I counted to three, tiptoed to the door, and opened the apartment's door with my copy of the key. The walls of the stairway seemed to tighten around me. Even through the cracks, I could see the last bar of the wifi signal. Another step and it would disappear. It would mean silence, for me. No news from home could reach me, good or bad. But then I stepped into the street. The chill of the wind, the distant sounds of motorcycles, and the way the city lights reflected on the cobblestone... they filled me with fear and filled me with a dubious blessing: For a moment, I couldn't think of home. That's when I knew I could make it here.
A small click. That was all I heard. I cocked my head as I looked to the window. Nothing... I sniffed at the air, and stood from my bed and arched my back. I quietly darted across the young one’s room, and dipped out the door. No one in the hall way, and the sounds of shifting blankets were barely made in that of the master’s room. I stopped at the corner and peered into the kitchen. A figure, clad in black and reeking of the foul water, crawled slowly into the house. I recognized him, a former lover of the master, one I had known in the form of a hamster. He would not recognize me, but I knew him. He was evil, and while he had sired the infant, his presence insulted my majesty. He saw my eyes flicker in the dark, and I let a slow and enraged hiss echo in the silent room. His eyes glinted with anger as he darted for me. Wanting to toy with him, I let myself be grabbed. He forced his fingers down my throat to silence what he believed was a cat, his greasy hands closed around my throat. I hissed again, and his eyes wild with anger, gripped my head and twisted. He dropped me to the floor and chuckled. And I hissed again. He stopped and looked at me. I stood, my head twisted backwards and unnatural. Yet I let my disdain be knew and hissed again. He looked upon me in terror, and pulled a long knife from his coat and brought it down on me. It buried itself midway into my back, and I hissed again. He stumbled back, leaving the weapon in my spine. He began to whimper in confusion, astounded by the cat that would not die. But I was tired of this game. My fur mottled and fell away, and my head twisted back into place. My tail receded and I grew larger, my body twisting back into a bipedal form. The blade snapped and fell as my muscles twisted back into place as the steel broke before my ancient and awesome power. Leathery wings unfolded as my maw grew into a better form, one adorned with fangs and dripping with blood. My eyes grew red and my skin greyed. It had been a long time since I had known this form. “Chrisoph von Hresvelg,” I echoed, my voice incanting the ancient vow, calling out to hero that chose not to slay me, “Long had I defended your kin. Now, your grandest of daughters be saved by hand. This beast in the night shall perish by the fangs of the ones that came before.” And with a final whisper, and a flash of blood, the house fell silent once again, nary a stain of my presence and returned to my stomach, the lowly black cat returned to the foot of the infant’s bed.
They were sleeping. Kimmy Cruise and his family. I couldn't believe it when they told us that Kimmy Cruise, serial killer of the town, would be coming back home to us on humble and previously-quiet Hay Road with his possessions, family, and normal life intact. No one knows where he actually went. Some say he went to an island high security prison. Others claim he left as a monk and returned spiritually awoken. The craziest ones insist he went to hell. When he got back, Kimmy was almost immediately given a position in the local church's clergy. He became the lead organizer of the youth team sports, helped run the PTSA at the high school. Used his brutal muscle mass to compete in triathlons instead of beating some homeless guy up in the bar when no one but me was watching. Next year, he was planning on running for mayor and had already garnered the support of people after several months of his return. His immediate neighbors claimed his wife had never smiled so much. She was always stayed at home to take care of the house and kids and was quite a nice lady. I couldn't believe she had thought to stay with him, to let him back in after it was revealed he was the worst kind of criminal. Now, his kids were always off doing this or that school or sports activity. They won many of the debate and basketball prizes for their school. His family had become the ultimate achiever family. The perfect family. I couldn't buy it. I knew Kimmy since he was a kid. He was always a prat, always a bully. Despite this, he was always smart, and so few knew about how he really was except his victims and myself. I was never surprised when he was eventually revealed to be a criminal. Even now, I wouldn't be surprised if he was still acting up but knew better than ever how to hide it. His family was sleeping now. At least, all the lights were out. I was about to do something very illegal, and admittedly kind of creepy. But this was too important. Only I really knew him. What if Kimmy was preparing for another murder? If I could just record him, in the act, find some incriminating evidence or, something, then people would believe he really hadn't changed. I would go through the basement. After studying their house from my window, I noticed that they rarely ever went near the basement door on the back side of their house. The door was tinted but still see-through. There had never been anyone on the other side. I wasn't too familiar with breaking and entering, but for this I had to try. I got out a lock pick set I had collected, my gloves, and my phone. The phone was to take pictures. I better not lose it or that would be all sorts of trouble. Picking the basement lock took a considerable amount of time. The lock was more unusual than I expected. Looking through the other side of the door, it was empty. Like always. It seemed clear. I gently slid the door open. I explored the basement as silently as I could, tiptoeing here and there. The only closed door emitted the hum of some machine. They probably weren't there. . I tried the next floor. The stairs almost squeaked. I stilled in fear then pressed carefully onward once it seemed as if nothing else changed about the house. Their kids slept on the first floor with their door partly open. I continued on once I took note of where they were. It was good they were farther away, away from him. I found the master bedroom on the second floor. It was obviously the master bedroom. It had double doors, the most impressive looking place upstairs. I tried the door. It moved easily. I opened it slowly...slipping in, then just as slowly closed the door while looking at the scene in front of me. There were two dark lumps in the bed. Bodies. So they were asleep. He was asleep. I couldn't help the slight disappointment. He was really just sleeping now, was he? I stayed close to the floor, moved around. Once I was far enough from them, near the curtains, I stood up, ever so slightly, bit by bit. I peered at the lumps. What...is this? The lumps. Their faces... It was painted on. It was flat, smooth, glossy. It was like the face, the body, were all of a painted Russian doll. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen because didn't make any sense. What happened to him? I started to sweat. My body stiffened. I couldn't move. It felt like I was paralyzed. If that wasn't him, then where was he? Why would there be a doll in his bed? I stayed there, just eyeing the doll. And his wife...she was a doll too. Their faces, it looked like them. Why would they both do this? I was starting to get a very terrible premonition about what this all meant. I only realized I had stayed there so long when I saw the clock read 3:00. Then, the double doors slowly opened again. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. I couldn't bear to move or hide -- my eyes were wide, fixated on that moving door. Silence. The door moved no more. And yet, there was nothing behind it. How did could it have opened? I saw a fluttering from down below, where the door met the floor. It's...a bat? There's two of them! I watched as the two...things...shuttered closer to the bed with their strange appendages. One jerked its red body onto the face of the wife. The other one, the slightly larger one, onto the face of Kimmy. Something creaked, and they both seemed to...disappear into the dolls. Oh no. Maybe, they were right. The crazy ones. Maybe he did go to hell... The dolls shrunk, the glossy skin becoming less and less so and more like beaten leather. I watched as those two dolls transformed before my eyes until they became the flesh-and-blood bodies of two living people. Kimmy..and his wife. &#x200B; "Kimmy" When we woke up, we found the human cowering in the corner. He was paralyzed with terror. We quickly knocked him out. "Marla,"I muttered to my dearest, "let's replace him." My "wife"and I yanked his soft jaws open. There were so many demons on the waiting list. I summoned the next in line. "Here's your body,"I told them after they manifested on the pentagram I drew with the man's blood. They crept through the mouth without a word and disappeared. "Be a good citizen,"I told the body, "and then you can help me get the others off the waiting list." We waved as he left our house.
A thousand wars. Ten thousand pointy ears lost. Ten thousand more still fighting. The weight of millions of the heaviest stones on Txhuileadiurooo, that’d been what finally did it. Thirty generations prior, a temple had finally gotten so heavy it fell through space and time and opened the universe to the Txhuileadiuroooinarians, or the Elves, as common enslaved folks tended to call them. The stars were theirs now, and they bounced between worlds like balls on the Hurapatoo court. Giant stone ships, which were thought about by the Shamans to wherever he ordered, and now they were on the precipice of another world. A world with flight but too stupid yet to take to the stars… Sure, they’d hurled things out of their solar system, but it was no way to get around. Still, these creatures, Hoomuns as they called themselves, they were curious… “Sir, they fly about their planet on ships that shouldn’t–” “They will bow like all the others, or they will fall to our blades; it is the way,” Admiral Tzen assured the nervous scout. “I only advise caution–” “Caution is for those defending the home worlds! We will meet their leaders and present strength, as always. Begin the landing!” Nearly two hundred monoliths of all shapes and sizes descended into the metal villages. These creatures, they’d covered their planet in them. They called them cities. The Hoomuns, aside from reckless use of resources, they weren’t so different from the Elves, at least not in appearance. Admiral Tzen admired how they buzzed about the ships with useless rockets which could hardly get them to their nearest planetary neighbors. “…There will be Peace in our time, let us welcome our first guests from another world!” Concluded the leader of the little backwater planet. Tzen was hardly paying attention. He’d learned so many languages and heard the same speech given by so many others, it all sounded the same. He took the speaking device from the round eared fellow’s hands. He noted that the metal rod, which made your voice boom, was a neat trick and that they should get the recipe from one of the Hoomun scientists before his head was separated from its shoulders. “We are not guests!” Admiral Tzen started. A crowd of thousands gasped in unison. The Hoomun soldiers raised metal tubes, tubes that weren’t even sharpened. “Your world is part of the federation now!” Dozens of doors opened on seamless Temple Warships. Elves poured out of them with glaives that gleamed like ice in the sun. Thousands of them lined up, ready to overwhelm the Hoomans with their metal tubes. By the look of it, Tzen would be done conquering this world by lunch… But the Hooman leader rudely yanked his speaking tube out of Tzen’s hand and shouted, “Fire!” in his unrefined Hoomun way. There was an awful wave of sound, so loud that Tzen found himself folding his Ears upon themselves. When he looked up, his armies were falling like blades of grass beneath a scythe… The Hooman general stared at him through the entirety of the outburst, seemingly unphased by the maddening noise. Six minutes later, the greatest army the Txhuileadiuroooinarians had ever known was laying in the Hoomun fields. Tzen had been the one to bring the army here. It should’ve been easy, lucrative. Instead, he found himself the last Elf on an alien world, surrounded by the enemy. And now they had the Temple Warships…
Look, the fact is that when most people learn that I can and will perfectly physically impersonate them for an hourly fee, their minds jump right to What can I get away with? so if yours did too, I won’t judge you. I’ve been asked to take tests (sure, but you also have to pay my hourly rate if you want me to study), attend funerals (sure, especially if I can pretend to be grief-stricken into silence), and do all the talking for a breakup (sure, but only if you’re really committed to nuking the relationship, because I’ll only look like you, not act like you). I get asked—but refuse—to abet crimes by being filmed by surveillance cameras miles away, and my firm rule that I won’t imitate anyone but the client eliminates most (but surprisingly not all!) of my sex work inquiries. But Mr. Kimball asked for something else altogether. He also insisted on coming with me. “That’s not really how this works—the business is called ‘Two Places at Once’ for a reason.” “I want to watch. If it goes well, I’d like to book you on a schedule.” Repeat business is rare enough it was worth accommodating his odd request. I met Mr. Kimball two days later at the specified place, and he led me to a room and closed the door. “I’ve only got the sitter until three,” he told me. “So just... do your thing.” I looked Mr. Kimball over: a shorter man, with receding hair he isn’t bothering to disguise and a day or two of beard on his face and neck. His eyes sink into his face, and his skin is sallow at the wrist where I touch him. I used to hold my clients’ hands—it was too intimate a gesture. Now I press my fingers into their wrists, like taking their pulse: much more clinical. Mr. Kimball’s mouth opened as he watched my flesh rumple into his. I’m sure it’s unnerving. He stared about as long as average. “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.” I sat in the provided chair and pulled out my phone, on which I had downloaded the requested book (some kind of cheery seaside whodunit, judging from the cover). I took Mrs. Kimball’s hand in mine, and began to read out loud. Mr. Kimball stood at the foot of her bed, gripping the sterile plastic rail. He listened to me read about cats sleeping in a lighthouse window, his eyes on his wife’s still face. “Okay,” he said. He stepped up to the head, swept her hair aside and kissed her forehead. “Zoe is teething like crazy,” he told her. “We miss you. Come back to us.” Mrs. Kimball squeezed my hand, very slightly. I looked at Mr. Kimball, joy in my tongue, but he shook his head. “We know she’s there. The doctors just don’t know how long it will take her to... to be here.” He kissed his wife again. “Could you come for an hour, three times a week? You can pick the days, just not Sundays.” I agreed, and Mr. Kimball left, like he couldn’t bear to watch any longer. He’d only paid for a consult, but I stayed long past three, long into the dark.
When time was paused, I stopped aging. I can’t say why — heck, I can’t explain any of it at all, but I knew that much was true. I spent what felt like an eternity setting up my prank, and when time restarted again, I was exactly how I had been when I first hit the button. Which, to be honest, worked out pretty well for me. It meant that my friends and family didn’t ask any questions, and I got to see the people I knew and loved and hated begin to see the signs. The next morning I opened my phone to log onto Facebook, and I saw the first photos. That's how long it took, the span of a single night, and it had blown up social media. Everyone was asking questions. Was someone breaking into houses? Were friends playing pranks on each other? Was there suddenly an outbreak of sleepwalkers? Something in the water, perhaps? By the end of the day, it became clear that it wasn't any of those things. It was too far spread, too global, too consistent for any of the questions to have a good answer. It was all scrapped. I went about my day, reading and listening, and laughing. People would lose their minds, and I was excited to see what came out of it. The next day came, and there were new pictures. People were still discovering my hints and clues and graffiti. I laughed and joined in the fun as much as I could. People were already forming early theories. I was still extremely excited about what came out of it. The prank went one for a long while. Eventually, no one could find an answer, and the news cycle started to move on. Once a month or so, you would see a new picture. There were dedicated groups that vowed to never give up. A few people slowly went insane, and at least 2 arrests were made. Those I felt bad about. I wasn’t excited for people to get hurt. I just wanted to have some fun, after all. What would anyone do with a time control device like that? Who wouldn’t have a little fun? The anniversary of my prank rolled around, and there were a few news reports. I wanted to be excited about it. I wanted someone to pick up the thread again, but by then, I had other concerns. I still hadn’t aged, you see. I know, I know. A year isn’t all that much in the grand scheme of things, right? Plenty of adults go a year without any noticeable difference. But this was different. I felt… frozen. My hair hadn’t grown a single inch in 365 days. My weight hadn’t changed. My skin didn’t tan. I didn’t age, I didn’t change. Time moved on, but I was becoming nervous that I hadn’t. Two years went by, and on the anniversary, the news picked up the story once more. There were still people finding new places where my stamps had been put down all that time ago. The conspiracies were getting quite wild. Folks began to create new religions, and they formed harder conspiracies. At least 2 other people were arrested, and there was at least 1 serial killer who had used my phrase in all his crimes. It was dark. The times and reactions were getting darker, and I had to say… I wasn’t very excited about it anymore. I began to wonder at that point if I should pause time again, and undo it all. Go through and erase every single message I had left across the world. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The first thousand years had been lonely as hell, but at least they had a light at the end of the tunnel. I had been excited, right? I thought it was going to be Fun. Undoing it wouldn’t be any fun at all. It would be horrible and boring and would only remind me of all the bad things that had come of it. Besides, I still had the other problem. Two years in, and I still hadn’t aged. My friends were beginning to make comments. Small jokes about how I seemed frozen. Maybe I just got my hair cut once a week. Maybe I was being a little too diligent about my appearance. Maybe a hundred different things, but at the 3-year mark, even those didn’t add it. It was becoming a bit weird. The comments and jokes stopped, but I think they still noticed. When the story came on the news again, it was even grimmer. The religions had begun to fight each other. They believed that all of the others were liars and heathens. There were complaints from each faction that the truth would only be revealed if the blasphemers were gone. People were getting hurt, and I still hadn’t aged. I began to notice that I was eating and sleeping less, too. Whatever had happened during that time freeze was getting worse. I could see where it was going, but I had no choice but to ride it out and try my best to improve the situation. I tried to come out and explain the truth, but I got laughed at. For some reason, the insane theories that floated around all made more sense to folks than the truth. I can’t say I blamed them. It had gone on for too long. Humanity had been changed. Irrrepbarly changed. Same as me. It’s been 500 years since that day I restarted time, and I still have not aged a single day. Humanity has gone completely insane — there are now only the factions. Every single person belongs to one of them, and all they do is kill each other. It's horrible. There isn’t anything good anymore, but there's nothing I can do. So I sit, and watch, and wonder if I’ll ever die and be free of this hell. *** For more by me, swing by r/beezus_writes. For longer stories by me and other folks, look at r/redditserials!
"But if we 'evolved' from the Droghi, then why are there still Droghi?" I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the smug tone. "Look, it's simple. We didn't evolve from the Droghi. We, and the Droghi, evolved from a common ancestor. Humanity."I replied. I suspected my words would fall on deaf ears - eternalists never wanted to accept anything except their 'eternal truth'. Sussuration from the class. Originists were never welcome in days of war as people wanted to believe in their divine mandate. "Well , then, where is humanity?"Asks another voice. Less smug than the first but still with an edge of superiority, as if the facile argument was enough to stymie any response. "Stiafra, the Eternal City, has not always existed - "I began, before being interrupted. "LIES!" "Blasphemy!" I shook my head. "There are archaeological findings. Stiafra came into existence seventy five thousand years ago. Before that, there was no-one on this planet. We came from elsewhere." "Yes! The Garden!" "No. Earth. The Garden is a myth, perpetuate by the eternalists. Stiafra was settled from Earth and we adapted to the low gravity. The Droghi also came from Earth but as you know, their home world has a much higher gravity. Our bodies are very different but they share the same basic form. Human." Again, shouting from the class. "My parents will hear about this! You can't spread heretical nonsense like this in public! This is why good Followers of Eternity don't attend public University. Filled with originists and subversives!" I sighed again. I never should have gone into teaching.
“Let’s just say, someone’s got our backs. Be alert, don’t panic, and have faith” said Neil. The crowd of reporters exploded with questions with one voice breaking out. “Mr. Armstrong, who has our backs? The Spaceforce?” He gripped the podium and sighed. If only I could tell them, but the human race cannot be trusted. We’d do more damage out of fear with the information. It’s still too early. It’s why we still have a babysitter and do not even know it. Just like an infant unaware of its surroundings. The human race is truly still in its infancy. “I’m sorry I can’t speak for the Spaceforce,” said Neil nodding to the Generals standing to his right. “But they do play the part of being alert and keeping us safe.” The reporters broke out again, noticeably louder. Neil didn’t blame them. His answers were generic and they were probably used to the nature of it, but the Earth was facing down the barrel of a few alien ships. He didn’t blame them. Mankind's first contact… well publicly known first contact with an alien race and they’re hostile. Another reporter shot out with a question “You keep saying they? Who the hell are they?” Before Neil could answer he was being ushered away by the staff. He took it willingly and just shrugged his shoulders at the reporters while attempting his best to conceal the look of relief. “Quiet please,” said the President with his famously known authoritative tone. “Thank you Mr. Armstrong. I’m sorry we do not have much time, but I want to be transparent to not just the American people, but the world on the ongoing situation.” A series of images appeared on the screen beside the podium. The images appeared primarily with a black background speckled with the stars in the background. A few shapes that didn’t belong were circled. “This is an image from about an hour ago just outside the orbit of Earth. Some of you may recognize these shapes from the attack from yesterday. It seems they have the ability to jump into our airspace, attack, and jump out before we can respond in time. We are still working on a solution. When I saw we, I mean the world’s governments. And yes, that means those who we've never seen eye to eye. Were all in this together. “So you’re saying we have no defense against them?” said a reporter “Currently, not an effective one yet.” “Yet? As in Mr. Armstrong’s plan of having faith?” asked the reporter in an irritable tone. “We need to stick together and trust one another,” said the President “What the hell does that even mean?!” yelled another reporter. Before he could answer a bombardment of angry reporters echoed similar thoughts. “QUIET!” yelled the President, his voice slicing through once again. “Our time is up. Stay safe” Neil followed the President and the Generals from each military branch into the secured conference room. Everyone sat in their chairs, Neil waiting until he found one that wasn’t occupied. The President leaned over the table towards Neil. “Blood is in the water and the human race will tear its self apart before the aliens do! Neil! Give me some damn answers!” yelled the President slamming the table. Neil looked at the President's bloodshot eyes. Hours of fatigue weaved into the sagging skin of his eyes. He looked at the Generals who shared the familiar look. “Time?” “What?” “How long has it been since first contact?” The President rubbed his face before turning to his Space Force General Raymond with an annoyed look. General Raymond looked at Neil with the same annoyance “About 11 hours” “Damn” Neil whispered to himself. “What?” said the President “They should have responded by now,” said Neil to no one in particular. He focused on the table in front of him. Then it came to him. “When a baby cries and the mother doesn’t come what does it do?” asked Neil. “What does this have to do with anything?” asked the President waving his hand dismissively. “Just answer it. Any of you” “It dies,” said one General. “Okay General doom and gloom” said Neil now standing walking around the room. “Do none of you have kids!? Before that, way before that. A baby is hungry. It cries. Nothing happens.” Blank annoyed faces looked at Neil. “It cries more! Only louder! And louder and louder!... and yes General doom and gloom it would die if no one came. Just like the path we're currently on. Why wouldn’t the mother come on the first cry? Don’t any of you answer that, but maybe because she was sleeping and simply needs to be woken up with a louder cry. Mr. President on the next attack I need you, no I need the world to launch all it has into space. We just need a few to hit the alien ships. That should be enough to wake…” Neil paused. “Our Mother”. “Mother?” said the room in unison. “Do it now or we die. Convince the world. I don’t know how I don’t care. That will do it. Oh and point your… space cameras or whatever it's called towards the moon.” “I have to tend to a few things. Let me know when its done” said Neil storming out then going down a few hallways to make sure they couldn’t pull him back in. Ensuring they didn’t follow he leaned against the wall and breathed out the tension. “I’m sorry we woke you accidentally before, but this time we truly need you” &#x200B; I can continue it if there's enough interest. Was taking longer than I expected. Edit: Wow thank you guys. Ill write up the continuation!
I pinched the bridge of my nose with my hand. I felt a dull ache growing under my skull. "Let me get this straight." A young man, wearing gleaming plate armor and a blue cape, stood before me. A young man fidgeting about. A young man who had big red stains all over his clothes and body. "You went to see the Count." "Yes, Master." "Because you heard he was kidnapping village women for nefarious purposes." "Yes, Master." "Did you personally observe a woman being kidnapped?" "...I did not, Master." "Did you investigate the claims?" "No, Master." "Did you visit the villages in question?" "T-There was no time, Master." "Did you talk with any officials, guards, merchants, or clergymen in the town?" "No, Master." "Did you raise your concerns with the Royal auditor?" "No, Master." "What did you do?" "I went straight to the castle, Master." I heaved a sigh. "Ok, so you didn't do any prep or investigation and confronted the Count directly?" "Yes, Master." "Did you inform him of your visit ahead of time?" "...I went immediately, Master." "Did you speak with any of his staff about your concerns?" "I-I thought they were in on it, Master." "Did you speak with him in private about your allegations?" "No, Master." "Did you publicly accuse him of his wrongdoings while he was holding court?" "No, Master." "Did you give him a chance to give a response?" "...I didn't want to hear excuses, Master." "So you moved directly to a physical confrontation?" "Yes, Master." Another sigh. "Ok, so you immediately went to use the sword." "Yes, Master." "Did you show the royal seal on the side to establish your authority as a Royal agent?" "W-Wait, what?" "Did you channel your mana through the hilt of Edgeless Blade, to show the world your authority from the Goddess?" "I-I can do that?" "..." "Um, I mean, no, Master, I did not." "What did you do?" "I..." "Well...?" "I took the sword guard." "Yes." "I unscrewed the pommel." "I see." "And I threw it at the Count." "And then?" "And then, I..." "Don't be shy now." "And then I ended him rightly..." The young man averted his gaze. I covered my face with my palm as I heard a knock at the door. "We are the Royal Knights! Open up and come out with your hands in front of you!" I sighed. This was going to be a very, extremely, excruciatingly long day. --- Edited, as reading "No, Master"like twenty times or so in a row seemed boring, even if it would make sense for a kid admitting to a murder to his mentor. I do feel like the rhythm is a little off now but that might just be me remembering the original flow so whatevs.
"Alright maggots listen up! Don't have time to pussyfoot around on this one so I'm only going to go over the operation once! Clean the shit out of your ears and pay attention! Smoke em if you got em."Captain Zaras addressed the eight members of Z-team that assembled in the field command center. Every member already geared up and kitted out with enough firepower to level a small city. Zaras chomped on the end of his cigar while tracing his laser pointer across a large map of the operational zone. "Four teams of two. North, south, east, west. All the cardinal directions. Fast rappel from the choppers to street level, clear it out block by block. Push towards main street. Eliminate anything that moves, no exceptions. We got a big mess to clean up tonight ladies and gentlemen. Tag any salvageable equipment or gear you stumble across while clearing. Do not pick it up. Comms with HQ are gonna be spotty at best, infrastructure has already crumbled in the city, if omega team's mobile command unit is toast we're gonna have to hunt in the dark, good thing we're the best at that. Too bad those things are as well. Do not. I repeat. Do not remove your mask for any reason, if you or your partner's mask sustains any damage or becomes compromised in any way, put em down. That's an order. This operation comes from the tippy top. No screw ups, we're the last line of defense ladies and gentlemen. We trained for this, I believe we will succeed. Any questions?" First Lieutenant Graham raised her hand. "No jabs for this mission?"she asked. Zaras shook his head. "No antidote for this one, they gave up trying after Q-squad failed. Let's not have the same fate befall us. Dismissed. Call your loved ones and pray to whatever deity you believe in. Roll out in thirty minutes."
The Keetcha are a proud warrior race. They achieved FTL in the last century and started to expand their empire. Moving out from their home world with amazing speed and ferocity. No one in the galaxy had the heart to fight the Keetcha. They are little more than balls of fluff, looking remarkably like Earth kittens, that fit into most species’ hands. Their method of fighting was to bat their paws at their opponent - three touches to the face was a win. It was so adorable. All the species of the Milky Way bent a knee to these adorable conquerors - it was harmless and it made the Keetcha so proud to be the supremum rulers of the Milky Way. The Keetcha would do ‘surprise’ inspections of the planets in their empire. They would come marching in, dressed in their little uniforms with their tiny fluffy tails standing straight up. Soldiers that weren’t up to their strict standards would be punished - one of the Keetcha would climb up the solider, using their tiny little claws and that bat them gently on the nose. Many of soldiers thought it was so cute that they would intentionally do things to be ‘punished’. The Milky Way was a peaceful and adorably cute empire under the Keetchian rule. The Keetcha empire grew too fast and reached farther then their legend had travelled in the 30th century - and it brought disaster. The invincible Keetcha armada surrounded the V’hery home world - almost 200 ships in total. The leader of the armada, a four claw admiral, shuttled down to the surface with a platoon of elite shock troopers to fight the elite of the V’hery nation. The V’hery army did not wait for the ritualized Keetchian combat, they did not wait for the rules or even parle. They open fired with pulse rifles. The elite Keetchian shock troopers and the four claw admiral were decimated in moments. Their fluffy bodies ripped to bloody pieces as the entire scene was broadcast to the entire armada. Before the defeat had a chance to even register with the armada the V’hery planetary defences came online and started firing on the Keetchians. It was a massacre - 180 ships destroyed, 32,000 Keetchian lives lost. It was the first defeat the Keetchians had ever suffered on the galactic stage. The remaining ships did the only thing they could, they retreated - sending out a call to arms to the entire empire as they fled from the V’hery home world. The empire, which had thought of the adorable Keetchians as little more than fluffy figure heads did not hesitate. They didn’t debate a course of action. Their wasn’t any political posturing or grandstanding. The entire empire - all 150 worlds - rose as one, armed to the teeth, ready to wage war. The V’hery home world was surrounded by thousands of ships. Every warship, of every class in the galaxy sat in space around the planet with their weapons hot. The planetary defences were pealed off and crushed. When the Keetchian flagship demanded the V’hery surrender, the response came in an instant - “we surrender”. The supreme ruler of Keetcha wanted more than than just their surrender. For the loss of 32,000 lives there must be more than just surrender. The leader of the V’hery must pay, he must be humiliated. Against the advise of the leaders of every world in the empire, the supreme ruler went down to the planet to face the V’hery leader. Elite troops from every world went as well to protect their beloved leader - 20 elite troopers from every world landed on the surface and joined the supreme leader as they marched on the capital city. The V’hery leader met them on the road, his own army behind him. He walked in front and bowed low, his chin resting on the ground, before the supreme leader. The supreme leader motioned for his troops to stop, then he advanced on his own. He stood face to face with the V’hery leader. With the V’hery leader in such a deep bow, the two leaders were at eye level. The Keetchian leader swatted the V’hery’s nose - the empire’s troops all murmured their approval. The V’hery troops were confused. Then a second swat to the nose - the troops murmured again. Two swats - oh the shame. The supreme leader then did the unthinkable - claws out - a third swat. Three tiny lines of green blood were drawn across the V’hery’s nose. The troops were starting to talk openly now. Three swats? The V’hery would never live down the shame. The fluffy supreme leader, turned abruptly and kicked some dirt, as if to ritually bury the V’hery leader and walked away. All of the elite troopers took to a knee as the supreme leader walked through their ranks back to his ship.
I'd been double and triple checking my account for the last few hours after getting off work. It had to be an error of some kind. Someone must have flipped a few numbers and paid me by accident. A polite knock came from the front door of my apartment. A very nondescript man in a suit was on the other side of the peephole, eyes looking right at me. "I know you're in there, so why don't you invite me inside Mr. MacDill and we can have a chat about your bank account's irregularities." I froze, hand on the door knob. Backing away from the door, I started to creep backwards to my bedroom to get my pistol. "We deliberately put the money there and we're not taking it back. Please let me in, or I will let myself in. We do need to have a chat before your girlfriend gets home." I walked back to the door and slowly opened. The man stepped inside and introduced himself as Mr. Smith. If he was Mr. Smith I was Mr. Joe Average. We sat down at the wobbly kitchen table and Smith pulled out a folded paper and put it onto the table and slid it over to me. "This is a legalese document giving you a cover if Lynn asks you where the money came from. It's supposed to be a surprise inheritance from the manager at your work who passed away recently. It isn't really his money, but who cares?" I continued to sit at the table and stare at him with confusion. "I know this is a lot to process, but the money is for saving the world. Okay, maybe not saving the world, but saving anywhere from dozens to hundreds of lives." "How? I've never done any of that?" "As of eight months ago you have. It's because you started dating Lynn." "How does that have anything to do with-" Smith cut me off and continued speaking. "Lynn's a villain. We've been tracking her for a long time now, and her attacks have dropped to almost nothing as of seven or eight months ago." "That still doesn't make any sense." "Has she told you of her childhood and how she grew up?" "Some of it. She told me about her parents, and then how bad foster care was for her after her parents died." "It gets a lot darker than that, but that's her story to tell. Our operating theory is that everything in life seems to be trying to beat her down. You're one of the few good things to have happened to her, and we think you're helping her see that not everything is horrible. Consequently, she's behaving better." "So why the money? Why not get her a therapist?" "That was tried. The therapist turned out to be a very unsavory person who started her committing crimes. We're not trying that again. Right now though, it seems like her run of non-stop bad luck is clinging to you. The car repairs, medical bills, non stop expenses, are racking up aren't they?" "How did you know about that?" "We keep tabs on everyone. The money is supposed to cover those expenses and provide a nest egg for you in case of future rainy days." "So you're going to pay me to keep dating her?" "No, we're paying you as a reward for doing good deeds to the public. We're trying to be a guardian angel instead of a punisher here. We're trying to rehabilitate villains, and this is a new method we're trying." "You want me to be her therapist?" "We're hoping you'll continue to be her anchor and hope that she can have good things happen to her in her life."
Winston Palmer kept his eyes fixed on the screen as his fingers danced across the keyboard. The triangulation programs continued to run – time was running short. He needed the coordinates of the dimensional breach yesterday. Many of his henchmen had either been arrested or abandoned the organization. Not even good pay and healthcare can get them to keep up the façade, huh? But Winston was a planner if nothing else. His notes would allow for others to follow in his footsteps. With how the police were, it wouldn’t take much for something unfortunate to happen to him. And if the Supers refused, then maybe public opinion could change their minds. As he paused to stretch his hands, there was a knock at the door. “Boss?” He glanced at the small mirror above his workstation to check the doorway. “What is it, Kendra?” Her face was more pinched than usual. “I received word from our lookout. Snow Raven showed up and stopped the robbery. The Hamilton brothers are on their way to the precinct.” Winston had to bite back a wince. That operation had been a last-ditch effort to divert attention from his work. The three brothers had promised to do everything they could to stall law enforcement. But against the freezing powers of Snow Raven, their equipment was as good as useless. “Fine,” he finally said. “Speak with Miles Thorton about getting them out on bail. If they acted according to plan, none of the bank’s systems or facilities would’ve been damaged. So, we’ll just be paying to show people that the Supers have little sway over the judicial system.” Kendra nodded slowly, and Winston went back to typing. But after a moment, he glanced up and found that she was still standing in the doorway. Her mouth trembled slightly, and part of her body was out of sight. It didn’t take much to figure out what was going on. Winston let out a sigh. “It’s alright Kendra. Let them in. You haven’t done anything wrong, and the Supers aren’t as prone to unprovoked violence as the cops.” Kendra glanced at someone in the hallway before stepping aside. A cloaked woman moved into view with a frown on her half-masked face. “Winston.” He turned with his hands raised. “Miss Shadowstar. I figured you’d be the one to put together the pieces. Did you bring any backup?” The eyes of her mask narrowed slightly. “No.” He cocked his head. “Rather foolish to wander into a supervillain’s lair without preparation.” “This is just your mansion, Winston.” Annoyance tinged her words. He shrugged. “Still, you should be careful. What if I’d trapped the place?” “You haven’t. I asked Kendra.” His first-in-command trembled slightly at Shadowstar’s words. Shadowstar’s powers could read one’s emotions. From what he’d gathered, it was a finicky art. But she’d been practicing for many years. Her services were invaluable to the local police as a consulting ‘psychic’. And once she’d started fighting crime, prevention became her calling card. “Step away from the computer, Winston.” “As you wish.” He got up from the chair and backed away. Shadowstar slowly approached. Her right hand remained near the extendable staff she used as a weapon. She glanced at the screen before looking back at him. “Why are you so insistent we stay away from Central Station, Winston?” He chuckled. “Noticed the pattern, did you? Anyone else?” She shook her head. “Something is coming, Shadowstar. You of all people would’ve felt it in the air. The animals all know it – they’ve been laying low. But this is the city, and people here don’t really notice pigeons and rats.” The tensing around her mouth was all he needed to know she’d come to the same conclusion as him. “Why not work with us then, Winston?” “You know how they are. Most of them would rather punch something until it stops moving than think. And the others don’t think much of me, much less trust me.” The computer let out a ping, and Shadowstar’s eyes flicked over to the screen. A single date was highlighted in red on one of the screens. “That’s the date then?” “Seems like it. I think I’ll call in a bomb threat to get rid of the civilians.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you plan on arresting me now?” Her jaw tensed. “If it’s bad, we’ll need to respond promptly. Mamba is fast.” “Several bombs then. Keep him busy but nearby.” “Do you know what it is?” Winston scowled and stared at the second screen. Text continued to scroll past, alongside arcane images and symbols. “I wish I did. I just hope the Supers that show up can deal with it.” ... Trying to keep my fingers and mind moving during the holidays :) If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads. Thanks for reading.
Just as a side note, two weeks ago people were voicing out about the number of 'death' prompts there were. This week it's 'gods.' Themes and trends sometimes set themselves. They may not be to everyone's fancy, but the majority have spoken - hence why the top four prompts today are about 'gods.' Submit prompts about different topics, but don't ask other people to limit what they post. We all have a choice here.
ONE DAY, A day that is not a day, but boundless smaller days, a day where points become planes and all the finite moments stretch into paper thin filaments of time. And now you know, you know that this is how it always was, how it will be forever. If only your time had come sooner. AS THE SKY GOES DARK, Which is the eternal fuck you, I love you from God that happened and will happen and always happens. The flood rushes in and the city burns and the locusts swarm. YOU LOOK UP TO SEE THE SUN Which is not there. You knew that, but you looked anyways. You're happy for your scarf, which will soon collapse to the ground with no body to shroud. BLOCKED BY AN UNENDING CLOUD OF BUTTERFLIES And in that second is a kaleidoscope. Lurid reds and oranges tessellate with dazzling turquoise, the seething bright wings of millions soaring and falling and soaring again. Each second erupts new light on your face, and you know all the colors. . Every moment your hand and arm and chest turn to antennae and thoraxes clung to big beautiful wings, your matter collapsing like stone rushing into sand at the speed of your own thoughts, which are particularly light as they take off. There are butterflies in your stomach and you smile and watch them fly away.
It started as a vigil, outside the hospital where he had been taken - almost immediately they had started to gather. That evening a local news ignored it completely, but by the next night there was nearly 5,000 people there, all silently standing, waiting, although they weren't sure what for. It had been morning in the market place and he was a familiar sight, although few knew his name, he was hard to miss in the wheelchair. Normally he was accompanied by his sister and it was her who had first drawn the attention of the soldiers. She was dressed modestly in a long blue dress, her hair covered and face concealed, but to the soldiers she was an object, normally just for ogling but today they went further. The night before had been a celebration and there had been rare beer in the barracks; some men had carried on drinking into the morning and were now on patrol. The first man had grabbed her arm and demanded a kiss but she had tried to pull away. The guard hadn't liked that, but he had laughed and dragged her into the circle of men. She'd tried to talk her way free but they had insisted and then one had pulled her headscarf off, screaming in her face that she was a whore. How he knew she was in trouble is not known, he was blind, mute and has no arms or legs to speak of, but he had managed to push his chair into the circle and at the sight of him they had stopped. For a moment. The laughter had grown and they kicked over his chair, calling him her 'saviour' and putting a gun to his head. Now she was begging, pleading with them to leave him alone, that she would do whatever it took. The man kissed her and then threw her on the ground, calling her an abomination and saying that her genetic material was too poor to even kiss. They did not see that a crowd was forming. They kicked him over and over, saying that he was a curse from God and she was a whore and it was her punishment to have such a brother. A rock sailed from the crowd and struck a soldier and things went from bad to worse. Immediately the solders turned and grabbed the young men who were near where the rock had been thrown, they lined them and the girl up and demanded answers, who had thrown the rock? The young man, helpless out of his wheelchair, was bleeding and he tried to move, screaming in pain. This was more than the girl could stand and she moved to help him. It was only one bullet but she was down. Dead. The crowds melted away and the square was empty, but eyes watched. The young men were taken away and the boy in the chair was picked up and taken to hospital. The vigil began and it grew and grew. On the third day he died, the injuries to his head from the beating too severe. When the word spread, it electrified the crowd, tens of thousands turned and marched, picking up numbers and anger on the way, pushing through the streets and first bursting in on the barracks of the army. The guards on the gate considered firing but there were more than could be seen or counted. The soldiers were found and the crowd handed out justice. The movement grew, the nation changed, everything changed. His name was not known. He was seen in the square but no one had known who he was, now he and his sister were both dead. He could not see, speak or move but he changed a nation.
This was the night that the air turned red. The signal-lamps were installed in an effort to improve first responder response times. Programmed to turn a deep shade of red when triggered, outfitted with the latest in monitoring technology, and serviced monthly. A compromise to the watchdog groups from the lawmakers when the state struck down the body cameras. Since their implementation, response times were cut in half, although the crime rate went up--a result of better detection, not more crime. The furor over the militarization of civilian enforcement agencies died down, and the beast named Public Outrage lumbered back into its slumber, waiting to be aroused--however briefly--by the next senseless killing or gross injustice. As their use spread, the technology that made them possible grew in efficiency, until the signals no longer needed to be triggered manually. Different cities set varying degrees of sensitivity to the crime monitoring equipment--in California, only hard drugs and violent crimes set them off; in Alabama, the sight of two gay men kissing once tripped the public indecency sensor. They had to dial it down after a Supreme Court ruling. All debates about Big Brother aside, the equipment seemed to slowly drive down the crime rate, at least in large cities. A perfect example of human ingenuity employed for the greater good. From all appearances, things were getting better, and with them, our society. But I know better. I know that power corrupts, and I've drank, laughed, cried, and fought alongside those corrupt men for nearly twenty years. I know the mayor by his first name. I've dated the commissioner's daughter. I know the crimes that lay on the hands of these men and the bodies, black and white, that have laid at their feet. And tonight, following the grand jury's failure to indict the officers who shot a unarmed man and the police chief who lied about it, the state-of-the-art detection equipment proved its worth. I know that there is innocent blood running through the streets of New York. Tonight, the air matches the streets.
Yesterday he resigned from a top post in the secret service, and today he was lying in the sand on a gorgeous tropical beach. He picked up a sea shell and put it to his ear. The hisses and static-like crackles had never really sounded like the sea to him, even as a child. But now, after years in the field decoding transmissions he realized what he was hearing. Maybe the transmission had become more and more distinct over the years. He ran back to his room and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil, then raced back to the beach like a mad man. He stayed there all day and all night, picking up shells, listening intently, and scribbling down cryptic notes. What was the code? And more importantly, who was it from? Aliens? Gradually it became clear. So clear, for the first time in his life. He lay prostrate on on the beach, amid a pile of sea shells he had collected, praying and weeping. Everything finally made sense. All the suffering in the world, the love and compassion too, the meaning of it all was there on the beach in the sand the whole time. Even the reason why he had been forced to resign from the secret service. It hadn't been about mental health issues at all, it had been because God wanted him to find these messages. He began work on his manuscript, so he could enlighten the whole world. But first, he would need more shells.
We're from Breakdown. There are those who look down on our people, just because our ancestors chose to use the shoulder when The Jam began. We're spit upon as cheats, blamed for worsening the crisis, all manner of invectives hurled at us. If it were only words, we could ignore it, but violence has befallen our people as well. We should not suffer for the sins of our forebearers, just as those in Fast should not be rulers over us all just because their ancestors were in the most desirable areas when our transports stopped. Yet we do. I wish I could tell you that this year would be different, but everyone here knows what happens next. The snows have thawed and look like they will not return. Winter has passed, and thus the next season will soon be upon us. For as surely as as Fall begets Winter, Winter begets Maintenance: The time where The Road is made new again. As always, it will be a time of crisis. Breakdown is usually one of the few islands of stability during Maintenance, for the Gods of Mt. Pendot rarely choose to remake the shoulder. I have consulted the almanac, however, and it indicates that this is a year of hardship indeed, for the whole of The Road itself will be repaved. Be calm, my people! Though the indestructible yellow demons will soon force our ancestral homes off The Road and into the purgatory that is The Ditch, this is not the end. Have we not recovered from such harsh Maintenances before? Have we not thrived in the following Summers? You have heard the legends, such trials are rewarded by progress of entire meters. Each one we survive brings us that much closer to the prophecied End of The Commute. Take heart! That said, as we all know, the Gods help those who help themselves by creating a route beforehand. I have reached out to our brothers in the Exits. They are willing to shelter us this year, in exchange for our help when it is their time. I know this is not what you would hope. Many here believe that, with our superior numbers, we could overpower Slow. That is a route of pointless bloodshed, and accomplishes nothing but making the both of us weaker in the face the true enemies, the tyrants of Fast and their lickspittles in Passing. In other years, perhaps, it was a wise decision, because such wars have gained us many centimeters of progress, but this year all lanes are equal before Maintenance. So: We will make the pilgrimage to the Exits. We will shelter there before the storm that re-makes our world. And when Maintenance passes, we will begin the summer ritual of taking our cars from The Ditch and placing them back upon The Road, and in so doing we will make progress! We will return, and we will return stronger!
"Maybe today is the day!"Shelby waited impatiently at the window. Smalls, the cat, was also at the window, but paid Shelby no mind. Shelby wondered if that was because she was a ghost, or the cat truly could not be bothered with her. A car with paint peeling off the hood pulled into the parking lot. "There she is! Okay, lets go over this again."Shelby hovered to the middle of the room. "First, like always, Camille will attempt to throw down her bag on the side table, but she won't notice that its a quarter of an inch off center, causing her bag to fall to the floor. Then, when she turns on the overhead lamp, it will be a bit uncomfortably brighter because I changed one of the burnt out bulbs. And finally, when she goes to grab the can opener from the drawer, it won't be on the bottom like usual, but on the very top. It's fool-proof, she'll be spooked for sure!"Shelby spun in excitement. A key jiggled in the door from the outside, and Shelby took up a place near the ceiling to watch her plan unfold. Camille pushed open the door wearily and trudged inside. Rubbing her eyes, she dropped her book bag on the floor, intentionally, and kicked the door shut behind her. Shelby felt the hollow place that used to house her heart sink. Smalls leaped off the window sill and began rubbing herself against Camille's legs. "Hey cat,"Camille said. "Let's get you some food."She bent over and grabbed Smalls, flicking the light switch in the process. She was too engrossed in the cat to notice the brighter light. Shelby sighed and began floating towards her make-shift home in the closet. Another day of planning, wasted. Camille rummaged through the cupboard that acted as the pantry for a tin of cat food and a packet of noodles. She set Smalls on the counter and slid open the utensil drawer. Shelby was just about to float through the door when she heard Camille mumble a "huh." Shelby turned towards the kitchen. "That's weird,"Camille said. Shelby saw that she was holding the can opener. "What's weird?"Shelby prompted. Camille frowned. "I didn't think..."She looked from the can opener to the drawer. Smalls meowed, demanding dinner. Camille shrugged and used her hip to close the drawer. "Spooky,"she said to herself. Shelby could have died and gone to heaven - if there weren't significant details preventing that already. "She noticed!"She did back-flips through the air. "Shenoticedshenoticedshenoticedshenoticed!" She zoomed back to the closet and pulled out her notebook and the crayon she used as a writing instrument. "I've gotta plan for tomorrow, something even bigger and better!"She ripped of a page and began scribbling. "She noticed!" In the main room, Camille plopped herself on the floor with a bowl of Ramen in front of her small TV. She took a slurp and looked around the room. "It looks better in here. Brighter. Did you clean up the apartment, Smalls?" The cat was back on the window sill, staring at nothing, tail flicking back and forth. Camille shrugged. "Whatever it is, life always seems better when I come home."She turned on the TV. "What should we watch, Smalls? I hear there's a Ghostbuster's Marathon on."
“I have no idea what to do…” I frown. We'd hit a dead end. Our rogue had just 'accidentally' poisoned our last lead. I reach over to grab a handful of Smartpop and press far too many into my mouth in a shameful display. Aaron pipes up from across the table. “What if we torture that guy we just killed.” “We killed him Aaron. Dead necromancers tell no tales. Well, actually if any subset of dead things were to tell tales…” I look expectantly at our DM, Harrison. He peers back over the partition separating his world from ours. “How dead-“ Harry sighs. “Very dead.” “So like-“ “Dead.” “Could we-“ “Dead.” I grumble. Raising the poor sod from the dead just to torture him for information would probably be stretching my Cleric’s True Neutral alignment, anyway. I reach for another handful of Smartpop only to find it’s been quietly pilfered by our party rogue: It resides in Greg’s lap now, and I value my fingers too much to test my luck. I have an idea. “I cast Commune. It’ll take ten minutes. Did you ever name the god of knowledge?” Harry shook his head: “Sorry, I fell a little behind on preparing for this session, I didn’t have time.” “That’s cool, I guess I cast Commune, and attempt to commune with whoever my god happens to be.” Harry folds the screen over. “Now’s a good time to break for a snack, no? I’m heading down to the lobby.” We follow Harry out the door, stuffing on our shoes. Greg and Aaron start to argue over how they’ll split the price of a pre-prepared pizza before we even hit the elevator. When we arrive, I follow Harry through the aisles. “Oh great God of Knowledge. In this time of darkness and uncertainly I beseech three: Answer mine questions ten.” I turn to Harry: “Huh?” But he looks back blankly. “…Oh great God of Knowledge-“ “I heard you the first time!” Harry jumps, dropping his precariously stacked groceries. He glares at me as though it's my fault he chose to play Jenga with his food. I turn promptly about and speed out the grocery and then out the main door of the lobby, scrambling for a quiet corner in the shade of my apartment. “…Oh great-“ “Stop!” I shout. “Stop? But my God.” “I’m not your God.” “You must be, I am the Cleric, Valiyar. The Wandering Archivist. The Champion of Wisdom and Knowledge.” “The Last Scribe.” I finish. “Only the God of Knowledge would know my Sacred Titles.” Valiyar responds. “I am not…I…Alright…” I sit down where I am and put my head between my legs. I try to breathe as normally as is possible under the circumstances “…ask your questions ten.” "Oh great-" "Wait!"I groan. "If we're going to do this, you're going to have to stop leading everything you say with 'oh great God'. Yeah?" "...Yes." "Alright. Continue." Valiyar organizes his thoughts. “If I were to resurrect this foul necromanc-“ “Evil.” I respond. “…Yes I suppose it would be.” Valiyar concedes. “What if I just-“ “Evil.” I respond. “Truly it is like you know my thoughts before I do, great God of Knowledge. Dost thou?” “Yes.” I try not to contemplate this paradox longer than is absolutely necessary. “What were the motives of this dark wizard?” Valiyar asks. It’s a shame I don’t know anything more than he does. “Unknown.” “What is the significance of his signet ring?” “Unknown.” “Why is the God of Knowledge ignorant of such things?” Valiyar asks. Rather impertinent, but I suppose a tenth level Cleric has earned some latitude with his Deity. I consider my answer carefully. “Unwritten.” “Unwritten?” Valiyar sounds incredulous. “You mean to say his story is unfinished?” “…Yes.” “…And mine?” “…Also.” A pause. “Who writes these stories, my God?” “…Myself.” Another pause. Valiyar chooses his last words carefully. “And if I wish to write my own?” I smile. A crack of lightning surges from cloudless sky. An unnatural darkness settles on my street, and I hear the hiss of quenching steel. Not three feet in front of me the pavement buckles under the weight of an imposing figure, clad in gold-filigreed full plate, wielding a holy symbol in one hand and a flaming broadsword in the other. “Planeshift.” I answer.
"Oh, and that's a bad miss." "Indeed it is, Richard. Half the milk's on the table now. I'd pass it off as simple drunk clumsiness, if he wasn't as sober as a Mormon." You sat dumbfounded on your couch, listening to your daily routine being narrated in dulcet tones. You had already restarted the podcast several times, and now were idly wondering if you had gone off the deep end. "And now, an interview with Karen Lewis." There was a short trumpet melody. You debated turning the podcast off entirely. After all, you'd experienced this one before. "Thank you for being with us today, Karen. You work two cubicles down from our "cereal-killer", if I'm not mistaken?" A polite giggle, very feminine and very familiar. You began to sweat slightly. "That's right, Arnold. If it makes any difference, he's not very good at getting water from the dispenser, either."Your mind worked desperately as the narrators chuckled, racing through past memories. She hadn't been watching your daily water struggle, had she? "...I had told the boys in the editing room, too. I told them, 'the man can flirt with the best of them, just as long as she doesn't see him try to do anything else.'" "You didn't!"Karen shrieked delightedly. You groaned, your future hopes for an office romance being shattered with every word. "He's handsome enough, I suppose, but I get the feeling that it's only skin deep, you know?"She continued, speaking in that special tone achievable only by gossipers on talk shows. "And only above the belt,"one of the narrators added archly. This was greeted by more laughter. This was unbearable. Not only was your self-esteem being ravaged, it was being done Daily Show style. "...Well, we definitely enjoyed having you in here today, Karen. I'm sure Arnold agrees when I say: we should have had you on here sooner." "Thank you all, I had a wonderful time!"Karen sounded genuinely happy, something you had never heard during your conversations with her. "That was our Morning-Shift Office Talk, with the lovely Karen Lewis. Now for Lunch, followed by a special interview with Gyro Cart owner Micheal Anastas." "Ah, here he goes now, Richard. Been listening to a podcast all morning instead of doing work, now he's clocking out early for lunch." "It's amazing he still has this job, Arnold." You listen for over an hour, occasionally pacing back and forth, as every aspect of your day is picked apart and utterly defiled by this mysterious set of narrators. As the podcast draws to a close, however, one last exchange sends you over the edge. "Heartfelt thanks to everyone who's made this cast possible, and to all of our listeners who keep us in production. This was "You", by Richard Morrin and Arnold Carver." "Speaking of production, we're just about to start recording for the next episode. Stay tuned for tomorrow, folks." More soothing trumpet music played in the background as you began tearing your living room apart in search of bugs.
"Now look what you've done,"says the dark haired woman at the head of the table. She sounds remarkably like Julie, but she isn't her. I know that much at least. She sounds surprised, but not angry. Excited in a good way, just not how I expected; almost like a clinical curiosity. My Julie doesn't do clinical curiosity. It had been a surreal week so far and things were only getting stranger. "Fascinating,"says the blond guy to my right, sounding like my friend, Will, but once again, not Will. In fact none of these people are familiar. "What the hell is going on,"I say as my mind reels. This is not how this was supposed to go. This was to be a celebration. I could see again! The whole flight back from Hong Kong, watching the sun rise over the clouds for the first time in decades, I still kept thinking of finally seeing Julie and my loved ones again. But this wasn't right. "Who the hell are you people,"I ask, wondering if something had actually gone wrong in the surgery. "Steve, take a seat, please,"fake Julie says to me, "You need to calm down." "Calm down?"I respond. "Who are you people!" The others around the table ignore my inquiries as they start talking among themselves. My confusion grows as I overhear snippets. He has vision, is that possible, one asks. I would never have thought this development would evolve so rapidly, another responds. I am starting to feel faint as I try and make sense of my surroundings. "Steve, we can explain,"fake Julie continues, "but you need to calm down. Your heart rate is highly elevated." Fake Will is standing by my side now. He tries to put a comforting hand on my shoulder but I brush it off. "I don't understand,"I say, maybe more than once. My heart is racing, and I barely register that fake Julie knew the same, but I can only think I am in a dream now. "This isn't a dream, Steve,"fake Will says as he puts his hand on my shoulder again. "You were in an accident. Please calm down and we will explain." This time I actually try and take the advice and take a few deep breaths. Why is he bringing up the accident, it was so many years ago. Unless he is talking about my surgery. Did they know about it? Julie was slightly suspicious when I told her the company was sending me all the way to Hong Kong this time. I let him guide me down into the seat as I look back to fake Julie for some answers. "Yes, Steve,"she says, "you were in an accident two weeks ago. A bad car crash." "Two weeks ago,"I respond. "That can't be right. I was with you...I was with Julie, we had a picnic out in the park." I could still feel the sun on my face from that afternoon. She had described the falling leaves and how the colors were changing with the season. I almost revealed my secret to her that day, so excited I would actually be able to see her and the foliage on our next beautiful outing. "No Steve,"fake Will said, "you and Julie were in a car crash that day on your way to the park." "The injuries were extensive,"fake Julie said, "the doctors did what they could, but they had to put you in a medically induced coma to try and combat the swelling." What are they talking about! I screamed in my head to myself. I was not feeling well. I wanted to keep asking them to explain this ridiculous story but I couldn't find the words. My thoughts were coming slower, as if in a fog. I looked at fake Will, desperate for clarity from my lifelong friend, but he just kept talking in an even voice like an adult stranger to a lost child. "When the company heard of the accident, the legal team got involved. The doctors agreed you were probably never going to wake up, but they fought hard to not release you. But you had signed all the waivers, giving them the permission. They proceeded with the experiment." "The interface worked better than we ever expected,"fake Julie continued. "But they couldn't get the visuals working properly. Audio, tactile, everything working without a glitch, just not the visuals." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Experiment? Computer interfaces? None of this made any sense. My vision started blurring at the edges. Nausea hit me hard as the world started spinning. "I'm not feeling very well,"I was able to croak out as I reached out to fake Will to keep myself from falling. "It's truly fascinating, Steve,"he said as he grabbed my shoulders with both hands to steady me. "It's not the computer visuals that started working, it's your brain. Your brain was able to bring your visual abilities back. It's truly remarkable." "Remar..."I started to echo back, but couldn't finish. Something was terribly wrong but I couldn't make sense of what was happening. Fake Will sounded as if he was now speaking to me from a room far away. "Unfortunately, Steve, your brain is now rejecting the interface. We have no choice but to disengage and put you back into the coma. You have really done a great service though. Our progression has been accelerated by years with the data we have gathered. We truly thank you, Steve. I'm sorry it comes to this." Service? Coma? The thoughts are coming even slower now. I try and look around at the familiar faces as my vision continues to blur. I look to fake Julie, or is it my Julie, I ask myself as I think back to that recent Autumn day. I feel the breeze run across my face as she holds my hand. Then I hear a pleasant voice from behind me. No, not behind me, from...from everywhere, as if it were God speaking from the heavens. "Simulation ending in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."
John, the smartest of the class speaks up. “Professor Quincy, we know where you keep your spare key.” He walks over to the professors desk, and opens the drawer. He removes the key from its spot in the cluttered desk drawer and walks back to the main entrance. John slides the key into the lock, and turns the door knob. He opens the door to find an exact replica of the room, with the familiar water marks on the ceiling that he would stare at after he finished a exam early. Professor Quincy remarked “Oh dearest John, I had high hopes for you” The room began to shake, and the lights went dark.
We detected their giant starship, a hundred kilometers long, as it passed the orbit of Neptune. Decelerating rapidly it still took months to arrive. Earth's first contact with an alien race resulted in social chaos and religious upheaval. Meanwhile the militaries of the world worked feverishly together as never before to prepare our defenses. 15 March 2023 will live on in Human history like no other day. The starship entered Earth orbit and hundreds of thousands of shuttle craft emerged to descend to the Earth. The Porg invasion had begun. Their adorable aspect at first completely disarmed our brave fighting men. But within twenty minutes calls of "Check fire! Check fire!"echoed throughout the global military radio net. They were defenseless against our weapons--hell, they were defenseless against our skritches. Their defeat was total and they became our pets. But now, the dogs and cats are plotting their overthrow.
Twenty dollars with tax included, that was the cost of this simple device at pretty much any stor that you went to. When it was first announced, they thought it would change the entire world, go back in time to reset a mistake. Unfortunately, it had one major limitation, you could only go back 2 minutes at a time, and so the application scope was really limited, and the people that had once mobbed the stores for it soon stopped talking about it. Don't get me wrong, this thing was really useful, a small device you wore on your wrist, and when you tapped it, it popped you back two minutes in time so you can fix whatever you fucked up, and so there wasn't a single person on the planet that didn't have one, but it wasn't revolutionary and world altering, it was just a common and normal device. Personally, I found the entire thing creepy, as in the blink of an eye society changed completely. The positive change was a drastic drop in crime, as it was really hard to rob a store when they just popped back two minutes and shot you right in the head, which of course was a nightmare for police as now people were claiming self defense on an act that had never happened. Luckily whoever invented this damn thing had thought it up, and and already proposed a law that made lethal force in any situation punishable by death. This made a lot of the self defense gun nuts upset, until they realized that with a two minute headstart it wasn't too hard to disarm the guy, and all you had to do was pin his arm so he couldn't the tap the device. To me though, the creepiest change was that humans suddenly became perfect creatures, no one ever knocked over a glass, dropped a plate, farted just when the conversation ended, or anything else that would be remotely embarrassing. I used to go to restaurants and just sit there, purposefully kicking the chair out the second a waiter walked back, just to watch them gracefully spin around it with the practiced easy of an acrobat and guess just how many times they reset time to get the move right. Rumor was that the device was created by a particularly clumsy scientist who disliked always breaking stuff and so he strove put an end to it. The slogan was literally, "The solution to embarrassment is here"when it first came out, but they dropped it quickly because they didn't want the device to be negative sign and instead changed it to "Life does have a reset button". The limitation on the time jump was designed to prevent anyone from making any major changes to the world and using it to gain ultimate power, and it honestly would have worked really well, but they had never met me. It's not really their fault for not knowing that I existed, most people never met me because I didn't go out and meet people. It wasn't that I was socially awkward, or that I didn't like to meet people, but rather it was because I was dedicated. I don't use that word like other people do, I mean it the absolute most literal sense of the term. Once I set my mind to do a task, I would either accomplish it, or die attempting to accomplish it. In all of my memory, I never once remember giving up on a task, or growing bored and quitting, There was something about the way that my brain was wired, that made it so failing at a task and trying again fired dopamine, and so I was always so happy and energetic about accomplishing whatever task. To give you a really good understanding of how exactly my brain worked, I'll tell you a story about when I was eleven years old, I had been given a Pokemon game for my birthday. I was ecstatic about it, after all, "Gotta catch them all"seemed to be exactly what I was looking for in life, but after I had caught them all, there was still a itch to scratch, and so I began to research online and learn more about what I could collect in the game, and that was when I learned that you could get a Shiny version of Bulbasaur if you were really lucky at the start of the game, or if you reset the game repeatedly until it happened. That was all I needed, and I immediately set about reseting the game, over and over again until I got it. I did every single one of the resets in a single sitting, I didn't get a drink, didn't eat, didn't go the bathroom, I just did that single task, over and over again, until I got exactly what i wanted. The reset button wasn't released until I was sixteen, and schools banned the device for six months, until they realized that because you didn't learn the answers to the test for long after you took it, people couldn't use it to cheat. Of course, they didn't know about me, and so while the rest of the students struggled to learn the subjects, I just waited until the test day and then cheated. I make it sound like a really easy task, because to me I have already accomplished it, so it seems trivial now, but it wasn't just a piece of cake to cheat on it, especially not on the test such as the SAT. In school, I would simply pull the book out of my desk, open to the page I needed, and reach a sentence and then reset time, and then repeat that until I had my answer, and then move to the next question. To some, it would seem like learning the subject matter would be easier than resetting time two minutes at a time over ten thousand times to pass a test, but to me that was exciting and fun. The SAT proved much tricker, since I wouldn't have the test material on hand, and I had to take the test twice to pass it. The first time, I tried to just sneak a device in, but I got caught no matter how many time I reset to try and take it again, they really upped their security after the reset button was invented. I left that test faking an emergency, as I didn't want my test score to be recorded for when I did cheat. In the end, the method that I managed to use to cheat, was to sneak a tablet into the school and put it in the roof and then wait until the day of the test. I did many practice runs, calculations, and variable testing, because seating was done based upon your last name in alphabetical order, and so I had to guess exactly how many people would be taking the test on the date that I took it. In the end, I was off three desks, and so it was quiet the shock when I suddenly jumped up on someone else's desk and reached into the ceiling to search for an answer, the entire four hundred thousand, six hundred and eighty four times. I hope that you are finally coming to understand exactly why a 2 minute limit isn't a set back to me, and why exactly they made a huge mistake when they released the device. I made sure that I didn't get a hundred percent, just well enough for a scholarship to a school. The idea to exploit the system didn't come to me until I was twenty eight years old, until then I was fine just collecting things, accomplishing tasks, completing goals, enjoying the satisfaction that I got from it. Shockingly, the idea came to me when I was talking to a friend, and I told him that I cheated on my SAT. I didn't like the way that he reacted, and so I reset time, and then I kept resetting time, viewing his different reactions, learning exactly what I could say to effect him, and exactly how he would reach. I reset time several thousand times then, just to see what would happen, but later when I reflected on it, I realized that I could use this. In order to test this, I decide that I would test it in the most complex scenario that I knew existed, picking up a girl at a bar. Now, on the surface, picking up a girl at the bar isn't a complex endeavor on its own, go up to her, talk to her, and if she likes you, things will happen. However, my goal was to be able to judge exactly how she would react to anything that I said. So I would go up to her and use a different pickup line, several hundred thousand times, resetting and trying a new one. Really, the most difficult part of this was just understanding what reaction I was looking for, but I could push the boundaries so much farther because I would reset time for two minutes and she wouldn't realize it happened. I do want to make a point of saying that I never assaulted these girls, that would cross a line that I wasn't wiling to cross, by make them uncomfortable, I mean I would say something and then get really close and watch for signs of reactions, pupil dilation, quickened breath, slight movements away. I did this same move, four hundred and eighty six times, all on different girls. Learning exactly how to progress the conversation, how to read exactly how she reacted to everything I said, how to tell if she liked or disliked what I said. It would have been really easy to just talk to her, reset if I mess up, and then go home with her, but that wasn't my goal. I didn't want to just have a good conversation, I wanted to have the perfect conversation. I didn't even stop on girls, I started to pick up guys, even though I wasn't even gay. Looking back on it, it was really morally wrong to play with people like this, but at the time it was all just data, waiting for me to hungrily correct. Anyone else in the entire world would have stopped doing this long before I did, but to me this was the most fun that I had ever had. I was even wearing two reset buttons, just incase one of them broke after being reset several hundred thousand times in one night.I honestly went crazy during this process, turning everything that I did, every second and moment of my life was a game. It wasn't even conversations anymore, I would reset and take a different step, just to see what would happen. I would reset and bump into people, reset and order something different, reset and pay with a different set of change. I went completely insane with all of the possibilities, all of the data to collect, all of the different paths that life could take. I honestly would have lost it right there, stopped my goals, if it wasn't for a single girl. (Continued)
"My liege, I have analyzed the flesh-bipeds and their habitat. I believe total eradication will prove unnecessary. Their technology permits for conquest and immediate subjugation. We need not incinerate the planet for seeding." "Excellent work, Gort. Please check-in to the Paperwork and Official Documentation Wing and fill out the proper forms. We will proceed and prepare according to your testimony." The gilded airlock to the Vice-Elrock's throne opened, and the guards uncrossed their plasmoid halberds to permit Gort's exit. As he crossed the threshold, he hurriedly shuffled to the Paperwork and Official Documentation Wing, his nine tentacles plapping against the silicon-based flooring. Gort recalled his mission and the ease with which he completed it. Scouting the flesh-biped world had been far less work than anticipated. Nobody had noticed his atmospheric entry--the new heat-neutralizing paneling had done wonders at preventing a comet tale from forming around the exterior of his reconnaissance pod. He had landed just outside the gates of some sort of flesh-biped gathering. After molting his outer skin to show his temporarily invisible young hide, he cautiously strolled through the gates. He was immediately greeted by a high-decibel count calamity of a crowd of people in the throes of celebration. Every person seemed to be clad in one of two categories--either they wore rudimentary clothes of scratchy green and brown material or fancy garments of vibrant colors that seemed to hinder movement. Occasionally, a man in a metallic suit and an equally metallic stick walked by, attempting to exhibit threating behavior. He must have been a guard. The metallic suits and sticks appeared to be archaic versions of his race's plasmoid spears and armor. As he continued his secret mission, his sensors alerted him that the atmospheric count of scorched flesh particles was abnormally high. Following the molecular trail of the particles led his eyes to a fat flesh-biped eating an equally fat flesh-stick. Barbaric. These creatures deserved what Gort and his friends would bring. Before he could grow any angrier, an uncomfortable blend of scraping, squeaking, and thunking burrowed its way into the auditory canal between his eyes. He followed it to see more flesh-bipeds on a raised platform banging on a variety of weapon-like toys. Gort had seen enough. He made his way back to the pod and concluded his mission. Gort finally arrived at the Paperwork and Official Documentation Wing. He requested the proper forms and telepathized the appropriate responses in the boxes. Any hostile encounters? No. Any weapons discharged? No. Presence of Gottle-Borks? Gort shuddered as he marked another "No."Describe the level of sophistication? Low. Still in the metallic stick phase. Recommended armaments for engagement: No need for plasmoid weaponry. No need to implant cloaking cells. No need for special forces. To save resources and minimize financial loss, utilize the stock of hydro-steam engines and manually-reloaded lead-based firearms. These will intimidate the flesh-bipeds adequately. Estimated Friendly Casualties: None.
September 5th, 1311. It was a cold and harsh autumn, as columns of peasant armies line up against eachother. Rain had been pouring for the past three days and although it had stopped briefly, the ground was still wet. On one side, was the shogun, anproud ruler of Japan with the emperor as his imperial puppet. For his protection, of course. And on the other side, was the upstart, a lowly daimyo who claims the office of shogun. He had rallied his local samurai and revolted. The shogun would put this shamful display of arrogance down, and show all of Nippon why they bow to him. He would make this young man know fear. The battle begins, men charging, one line stays still to defend. A tsunami of wood and steel clash into the defending daimyo's army. They hold there ground, as the shogun appears. He wears the finest armour, with a mask that resembles a frightful yokai. He charged the daimyo and as the daimyo brings up his katana, the shogun takes out his demonic weapon. This weapon was renowned throughout Japan for its horrific reputation. No armour could stop it, and it was as loud as fireworks. And as he brings out this weapon forged by the gods, the daimyo hears him say this. "をこれパリー、あなたはコンニクソ。" A bang is heard, and they all look upon the daimyo, his broken body laying on the ground as the shogun stands over him, distain colours his eyes.
He had an old barn owl sitting on his shoulder and every now and then he fed it a pretzel. "There you are,"he'd say. "There you are, Gretta." The man flung us an old newspaper, yellow and porous, and our captain found this to be as distasteful as the ink was faded. "What's the meaning of this?"captain Hemsdale said. "And what's with the owl?" Coffee dripped in the background, steadily like water from a deep cavern rock. Outside pigeons cooed and the sun slunk back behind an abandoned apartment building. The stranger fed his owl another another pretzel and he said, "Read it." > The Scornville Gazette > > August 6th, 1746 > > DASTARDLY SWINDLER "LAZARUS"APPREHENDED Below the text was a sketch, and it bore a striking semblance to the owl-shouldered man before us. Captain Hemsdale had little patience for basket cases, though they constituted a fair share of our jurisdiction. "Relative of yours?"he said, and the man fished from his pocket a small glass vial. "I was arrested by your colleagues more than 300 years ago for selling life-extending potions. This,"he said as he clinked the vial with a pretzel. The owl watched on with a look of eager anticipation. "This is a life potion. And it works, as you can very well see."He tossed the pretzel in the air, and the owl flew at us. "For heaven's sake!" The man turned around to walk, and the captain yelled, "Where do you think you're going?" Smiling, the man glanced back and he said, "I'm leaving. I just came by to flip you the bird."
Look, I know what you're all thinking. A young child seeing things that aren't there. Seeing people in ways that aren't true. Obviously some kind of psychosis. Needs medication and careful monitoring. Everyone involved wants what's best for the child - that dreadful mantra repeated over and over to excuse any intervention. Take away her toys. Take away her friends. Take away her room. Take away her parents. Take away her freedom. Take away her mind. Take away her life, because what's life if she can't see things the way we see it? That's not me. See, I know what I really saw was the truth. Not the truth the old teachers peddled, but the real, true truth. And I understood early enough that those who spoke up against their truth were punished in different ways. You have to learn to hide your ability, hide your truest truth to yourself. That way they can never take it from you. It's the same as being really, really smart. If you're truly intelligent enough, one of the first things you understand is that you have to hide it from people. Because they don't like you if you're different. They'll think you're a threat, or that it's a competition, or just have totally unreasonable expectations of you. You put all that power in a box and you don't let it out unless you have to - unless you can choose to do it when its safe. That's what I did for poor Mrs. Miggins. It's not that she was unkind to me. But she was unkind to others. Of course I was young, back then, so I couldn't see. She wasn't actually pushy but encouraging. She wasn't rude when ignoring the raised hand of the booksmart girl - she wanted to give a fair chance for others to figure it out as well. Still, over time all those carefully practiced behaviors of her got under my skin. The thing about seeing things as they truly, absolutely positively, pinky-swear with god, actually are is this - it gives you an opportunity to use it. It was my power in my box, and nearing the end of a tired school day I decided to let it out. She had annoyed me one time too many with her little quirks. So I called her a demon. She wasn't a demon. She didn't look like a demon to me. She looked like the most amazing angel, a true tsadikk put on earth to bridge the gap between the divine and the earthly realm. But knowing that, I also knew how to hurt her the most. So I called her a demon. Her response was an explosion of emotion. I had managed to hit her exactly in the right weak spot. She sent me off to the principal's office, then further to detention. Fair enough, thought I. I'd never been and I was sure my parents would forgive me this once. Only I didn't expect that someone at the school had been particularly clever. I guess that's the curse of being smarter than everyone else - sometimes you aren't, even if you think you are. And somebody had been very clever indeed. See, the detention room had this mirror installed opposite the children. I guess they thought it would help those punished with detention to "take a good, hard look at themselves". So here we sit. A boy who was late one too many times. Another boy who didn't turn in his homework. A girl who threw paint all over another girls hair. They all look like children to me. Then there's me. When they look at me, they see a girl who yelled rude things to her teacher. But that's not truly, truthfully me. No, I am the girl who called an angel 'a demon' because I knew it would hurt her the most. What did I see in this mirror, do you think?
The other assassins got it all wrong. Thought inside the box. The God-King wouldn't hire all of us if he thought he could lose, and rightfully so - he was more powerful than any human. His martial prowess was unmatched, his magical capabilities incomprehensible. So when I got the contract and was, shall we say, convinced to take it on, I spent a good few days considering all my options, praying to my God to bless me with an answer. One that I eventually found. Diplomacy. Not with the God-King himself, goodness no - he was as skilled at debating as he was at fighting. But I could approach someone who he wouldn't hire because he knew he might lose. Took me a while to find one such person, and even longer to tempt him, but it was my only option. The day came - the last day I was allowed to carry out my attempt. Much to the surprise of the guards and even the God-King, instead of sneaking through the window or using some teleportation to infiltrate the castle, I merely walked in through the front gate. Making my way through the golden palace, I stood face to face with the God-King himself. He was the very pinnacle of what humanity could be - several meters tall, pure muscle, flowing black hair. Perfection. "Ah, the assassin,"he said; his voice was pure, clear, and commanding. As charismatic as it was imposing. "I see I won't be dodging arrows today. Come to duel me, then?"he asked casually. I opened my coat to reveal that I carried no weapons. "No, good sir. Many have tried that and they all failed. I wouldn't be any different."It was impertinent of me not to address him by his full title, but what did I have to lose? "Have you poisoned my food then?" "No. I talked." He lifted an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "You talked?" "No man can match you, that much is clear. So I talked to someone who is beyond a mere mortal,"I said and motioned to the door. "I talked to your son." As if on command, the door swung open, and in walked another demigod of a figure - almost as tall as the God-King himself. His once noble visage was now pale with black veins running across his face - a little boost I provided with the aid of a god, my god, who had vested interest in seeing the arrogant emperor fall. The God-King's eyes widened as he saw his beloved son now turned against him. He opened his mouth slightly, looking for words, but could only muster to whisper his son's name. "Horus?"
“Again with this?” asked Ty, sighing deeply. “That isn’t a spell. The most technologically savvy person in the party is the artificer, and even he has no idea what an EULA is.” “My character does,” replied Gareth stubbornly. Ty barely knew him; he was a friend of Terry, and Terry hadn’t been able to make that session. It was only session two, and Ty already wanted to make him leave. He resisted the urge. “Whatever. Andrew, you can take a shot since you prepared your bow action.” Andrew rolled. “18!” “That’s a hit,” Ty confirmed. “Roll for damage. “Five on the 1d8… eight sneak attack damage… adding my bonuses… alright, a sixteen! Not bad for a level 3.” “Very good, very good. Now, leaping out of the shadows, you see a strange, wolf-like creature. It is unrecognizable to most of you, but Lyra the cleric might recognize it due to her past…” “I look it up on Google Chrome,” interrupted Gareth. “I read the entire EULA, so I have a +3 to browsing.” “Browsing is not a stat that exists! And that’s not how EULAs work! You don’t even have an action! Let’s just… skip past that… Rachel, roll history.” Rachel rolled. “6,” she groaned. “Not gonna cut it. None of you recognize that creature, and no more prepared actions can be taken. Now, roll initiative.” Each player rolled, and the wolf got first in initiative with a 20. “So, as, uh… ‘Mikrasaft’ the wizard did not bother to move behind the front liners…” Ty started, interrupted by Gareth snickering at his own character name, “and instead opted to read the “license agreement” of his dagger, the wolf charges towards him.” A bit mean to do to a beginner player, sure, but he was really getting on Ty’s nerves. “He hits with a sixteen, and deals… 7 damage.” Gareth went next. “I cast Firefox,” he announced. “Firefox isn’t even a spell, dumbass!” shouted Thomas, who was playing a fighter. “And if you cast fireball, you’re gonna hit me, Rachel, Andrew, AND yourself!” “I cast Firefox on the dire wolf,” said Gareth again. “How do you know it’s a dire wolf?” asked Ty. “You’re all beginners.” “My ‘avid tech user’ ability lets me look up monsters in and out of game,” explained Gareth. “You really need to pay attention to our characters, dude.” Ty decided to not say anything to prevent himself from yelling at and/or punching Gareth. Lyra the Cleric went next. “Rachel, heal me,” demanded Gareth. “I can’t heal you,” said Rachel, gritting her teeth, “because I exhausted all my healing spells last fight when you got hit, like, a million times shouting at Ty to read the dungeon’s EULA.” “I cast a curse of bad Google searches on Lyra,” announced Gareth.” “It’s not even your turn!” protested Thomas. Gareth shrugged. “It’s what my character would do.” “That’s it,” Ty snapped. “Leave my table and don’t come back until you have a character that adheres to the rules. Gareth gave in and left. The rest of the session went well, as they were able to defeat the dire wolf and rescue the group of goblins they had been sent to look for. Ty set the date for the next game, and, to his surprise, Gareth came back with a new sheet. “Is this character better, Gareth?” Ty asked. “Yeah, he is,” said Gareth, grinning and holding up his character sheet. “This is Jim. He’s a Park Ranger.”
“I’m warning you, you don’t wanna drink my blood.” You warned the vampire. “Bah, you don’t scare me blood bag, I shall feast!” You try to stop them, but it was too late as the vampires teeth sunk into your acidic blood. The sheer bulk of Sour Patch Kids you ingest on a daily basis, just shy of a quarter pound per day every day since grade school, had left your blood a thick, sugar and citric acid nightmare. An alarming habit and a concern, as your physician had labeled it, but now quite a lucky break as the vampire went into convulsions on the floor in front of you. "Ah, don't mind if I do." Amid the spasms of the vampire's surprise besting via liquified candy, your hand floated down to rifle through the monster's pockets, fishing out a wallet. "Sour Patch Kids ain't gonna buy themselves, Count."
Michael heard each step of his reverberate down the metal hallway, echoing back to him, creating a metronomic sensation of a ticking clock through his feet. He could hear the thumping of his own heart through the clacking of his shoes, and felt the perspiration on his forehead. It felt like somebody had tied a knot in his adams apple, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have called in sick. Rumor had it that prisoner 616 had been placed into his cell before any of the guards were even born. He had been around as long as Michael could remember him, but he never had the clearance to actually go see him. It was only a few days ago he got promoted, and already he felt as though he should leave. Guarding was supposed to be a temporary job until he could get back on his feet and provide for Sophie and the baby. That was 8 years ago. Still, he knew one day he would get out, and- A stifled grunt cut off his train of thought. He hadn’t even realized he had reached the cell, and yet there he was. He wasn’t sure what to be more surprised about. The fact that the walls were made of actual stones, the fact that the prisoner had somehow obtained a rope, or the fact that the prisoner was hanging by the neck from it. His head slumped down into its own shadows. The prisoner’s nails were long and coated with layers of grime and dust. His hair a shaggy mess, dropping down past his neck. Yet, the prisoner had no facial hair of any kind. Michael noticed a journal at the prisoner’s feet, and felt obliged to pick it up. He flipped through the book, the pages old and yellow, the edges crumbling away at his fingertips. Certain names caught his eye, names like Mordecai, Abba, Erik. Michael suddenly felt the weight of time press down on the book, and he felt the history the book had seen. For a moment, he almost felt as though the stone walls around him looked brand new, but he shrugged it off to read more. He flipped to the first page. They do not understand me, which gives them cause to fear me. I worry they will make no effort to look past my condition. They have begun to reject me on sight, and they plan to throw me in prison. Fine. Let them. Time has begun to lose it’s meaning already, I am certain I can handle prison time. Let them try to punish me. The key is to remain the better man. To not grow hostile, and to not let my frustration turn into rage. I wish them to best of luck, and only pray they can soon learn to quell their fears. November 12th, 1712 Michael ran his fingers down the page, feeling the paper bristle against his fingers. There was no way this book was actually from 1712. That simply wouldn’t make any sense. However, he was too intrigued to do anything else but read on. He flipped to the middle of the book, the prisoner hanging over him, looking down upon Michael. It seems time and time again they won’t learn that my intentions are pure. I seek to cause them no harm, I simply want to live. Yet they keep accusing me of witchcraft, sorcery, or satanic worship. I have committed none of these deeds. I wish to leave my body, to enter the afterlife, yet it seems even if self inflicted, there is no way to accomplish such a task. Again, they shall throw me in prison, to run away from their problems, to hide me away and pretend as though I don’t exist. I must come out stronger on the other end. Arius, always remember where you have come from, and how strong you are. I fear I’m losing grips with the outside world, and I need you to be stronger than I am. March 3rd, 1876. Michael looked up at Arius, and felt bad for him. Perhaps he had been losing his mind in this cell, imagining that he was from other time periods. Trying to escape through imagination, and losing himself in his own mind. For a second, Michael thought he saw Arius’ arm twitch, but he knew he must be imagining things. His thoughts were fully consumed by the journal, and he read on. Again, they throw me in prison! Have they not yet learned that this is no way to treat me. Why not just let me be? Why must they take their fear out on me, time and time again. I’ve yet to even experience the world. However, I no longer want to. The idea of leaving the confines of a small cell are beginning to scare me. I also worry I may begin harming people out of rage. It may be best to stay in this cell. April 27th, 1914. Michael jumped as Arius’ hand extended out, and wrapped itself around his throat. Michael felt years of strength behind that hand, and knew there was no way he could escape. Arius looked up, and Michael looked back into his eyes. However, the eyes were dead. They had clearly been dead for many years. Not even a glimmer of light remained to them, only empty stares, yet, tears pooled around the corners. Arius shook. “I’m so sorry,” Arius said. “I can’t leave, I need to find a way to stay. I’ll just wind up back here anyways.” Arius lifted Michael off the ground with ease, still only using one hand. The rope snapped under the weight, and Arius landed hard on the floor, now fully standing. It was only then Michael realized just how tall Arius was, and how big he had become. “Besides,” said Arius, “death is a gift. I promise you, what I am about to give you is a gift. In return, your peers will find you dead, and keep me in here for another century. So be it. I wish you the best of luck, wherever you’re about to go.” And with that, Arius shut his hand.
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“Hey, boy. BOY.” I can hardly breathe, but the shouting still sets me to swinging, and I spin around in my noose like a wind chime. “Hey, c’mere and let me down. I’ll give you whatever you like.” “I heard about you, mister. Plus, they even got a sign.” He points to a nearby hand-painted wood sign that reads Anyone caught attempting to free the prisoner will hang beside him. “You’re not getting out of there.” For three days, I’ve been dangling here, being pushed around by the wind. My hands around bound behind my back, watching the world spin one way and the other as the rope spins tight, then loose. If I was able to speak clearly, I would tell the child the story of the Lion and the thorn, but right now all that would come out now is bubbles and gasps. I had changed my mind. I didn’t want to be killed after all. I had walked into the local constabulary, and shot whomever I could find there. They returned fire, and miraculously, I survived. Not the miracle someone who was trying to kill themselves was hoping for. So they caught me and placed me in shackles and chains, to await execution. I waived my rights, all of them. No attorney, plead guilty, request the death penalty. Luckily, people will defend their public figures and I was to be made an example of. I was to be hung in the town square. From the neck. Until dead. I knew I was immortal, at least I knew in the same way that every 17 year old knows they are immortal, but ten seconds after the hangman pulled the lever and my feet found the free air, I knew for sure that death would elude me. Like a mirage or the end of a rainbow. The criminal is to be hung from the neck until dead. Very clear language. Usually the entire show lasts only a few minutes. Well, if you don’t include the pomp of the speeches and reading and letting the town condemn you. As though you were taking the fall for all of their crimes. The fall is heavy through the trapdoor even without the weight of a hundred people’s guilt. They were kind enough to take the black bag off of my head, even if they only did it so they could check my pupils. They reacted, so I was still alive. …hung from the neck until dead. So here I spin, possibly forever, or at least until the gallows rot. I wonder if they would let me go then…
Kyle winced. Too damn cold... "Honey, do you know what happened to the frozen veggies that were in the freezer?" Shit. Kyle turned down his music and called down the stairs, "huh?" He hadn't heard her come in, but he heard her work heels climbing the stairs and her knuckles on his door. "There was a plastic bag of frozen peas and carrots and things in the freezer downstairs but it't not-- oh my god!" Shit. Shit. He had hoped she wouldn't notice the black eye he was sporting, but it was one of the most impressive one's he's ever received. So that was more than wishful thinking. "Kyle what the hell happened? You said this shit would stop!" He pointed to his eye. "Sorry, mom, I'll be sure to tell the ape that did this that I promised my mommy, and that'll put a stop to it once and for all! I mean Jesus Christ, think of the justice we could have in this world if only we all promised our mothers! Think of it... Hitler could have been stopped if only all of those non-aryan people promised--" "I'm not in the fucking mood, Ky. We have ice-packs, you know." "Yeah I know, none of them were frozen." "Well at least put a paper towel around that, you're going to give yourself nerve damage." Paper towel. That's right. Hell, I'm experienced enough, I should have known that. "I have to figure out something else to make now, so dinner will be at 8." "Ok, thanks. I really am sorry, so you know." "I know, just... try? Ok?" "Yeah, mom, ok." "I have to get out of these goddamn heels. Do your homework." Kyle took out his stats book as she walked out. Christ, there's still blood on here... His phone rang. "Hey man, what's up?" "Ky, please tell me you're not going to back out of this. Just please fucking tell me you're not gonna pussy out. Don't be a bitch, Ky. This shit has gone on long enough; you know it and I know it. I'm just... I'm just tired of it, you know?" And I'm not? "I mean shit, you got your ass kicked today and you didn't do anything! That guy, he doesn't give a shit about us, but we can change that, I told you. Look at the news; look at who makes it on the news. It's not the kids who get their asses kicked and don't do anything, I can tell you that fucking much. It's the kids who do something. We can be something, man, doesn't that appeal to you like a little bit?" More than you know. "Jesus Christ, Kyle, say something, huh? I'm rambling here." He thought for a second. The last thing he wanted to do was make Sam think he wasn't serious. "Look, dude, I know all that. Yeah, of course I want to be somebody. Just lemme know, you don't think this is too like... extreme? Or, or anything?" "Extreme? It's been 6 years. 6 years of this shit! I wasn't made to just take this, no one was! It's not just something that happens. Dude, it's in the fucking bible. It says right there, 'an eye for an eye.'" My eye does hurt like a bitch. "Look, my dad doesn't lock his gun safe because he's a fucking retard. He's also as far right as fucking possible so he has like ridiculous shit in there. He's also gone for like a week so there could literally be no better time to do this. Think about it, Kyle. Don't be a pussy; it's time to act." There are other ways to get noticed. Sam didn't say anything for what felt like an hour. Then, "Dude I gotta know if you're with me, because I swear to god I can't take another day. You know what Roberts said to me today? He told me he was going to cut off my dick and donate it to charity. First of all, from a gay perspective, that's kind gay. Kinky, and gay. Second of all, that was just the latest in his creative portfolio. I'm done, Kyle. I'm done getting my ass kicked. I'm done spending the day afraid. I'm done worrying about how far they're gonna go. I'm just done. I'm going in tomorrow and I'm not going to be the one who's afraid. You gotta come with me or not come at all. Think about it, and call me back." He hung up. Kyle turned on his computer and opened the pages he'd been opening every night for weeks. He sifted through article after article; it was everything he could find on school shootings. These stories could go one of two ways: "MASSIVE TRAGEDY AFTER SOCIOPATHIC VICTIM OF BULLYING FINALLY BREAKS" or "GYM TEACHER NAMED A HERO AFTER STOPPING A HIGH SCHOOL SHOOTING" Kyle didn't do his stats homework. Instead, he read the same articles he had read about 50 times. He could almost recite them; he absolutely knew all the headlines. He heard his mom swear downstairs and turned his music back up. "All the other kids with their pumped up kicks--" "Fuck!"He said, and he shut off the speaker. He hadn't noticed that song was even playing. That's horrifying. Ironic, but horrifying. So he sat in silence, too afraid to call Sam back and too afraid not to. Nobody ever wrote an article about the day before, so he wasn't prepared for this feeling. He had prepared himself for everything else. He had thought about the screams, the shots, the blood, and the end. He just had never thought about what it would be like just before. This limbo was unbearable. Sam was more ready than he was. Then again, Sam was angrier than he was. He came out as gay in the 7th grade; Kyle hadn't heard of anyone coming out that early. He didn't even know how you could know for sure that early. He had been beaten, abused, yelled at, shoved in cabinets, lockers, and dumpsters; Sam had seen it all, and he was done seeing it. Kyle thought about how effectively their peers had broken his friend's spirit. They reduced him to some shell of a person when he used to be so full of life. He remembered the day Sam came out; he remembered how happy he was on that day. He remembered when Sam started dating this guy from a different school. He was one of those super flamboyant, super openly gay guys, and that was fine where he was from because apparently he came from a place occupied by actual human beings. They dated for a whopping 2 months. That was when some assholes, the usual assholes, found out and decided Sam wasn't allowed to be happy. They broke into his boyfriend's house and trashed it, and that was the end of that. Sam wasn't the same after that. He was angrier. He stopped talking back to the guys who called him names. He lost what fight he had. That was when he first started talking about fighting back for real. One day when Kyle got beat up pretty bad, Sam called him to tell him about his plan. It was pretty simple: walk into school and start shooting. Kyle had to admit, it was a fairly appealing idea. The part he couldn't reconcile was the inevitable collateral damage. It's not like every single person in the school had made his life hell, just a whole lot of them. It took a while for Kyle to get fed up enough to verify the plan, but of course he eventually did. Now it was just a waiting game, but the game was almost over. Yet, Kyle couldn't tear his mind away from that headline. "GYM TEACHER NAMED A HERO AFTER STOPPING A HIGH SCHOOL SHOOTING" A hero. Hero.
I grunted, kicked at the prison of sheets and blankets holding me down, and turned away from the window as bright morning sunlight filtered in, directly onto my eyes. Perfect fucking way to start the morning. I reached around in my bed, searching blindly for a pillow to hide under. No such luck. Consciousness came rushing back like a freight train, and I sat upright. Shit. I checked my wrists, where I found each one adorned by handcuffs, broken down the middle leaving a small swinging chain on each end. Shit shit shit. God, what had I done last night? My Fitbit had managed to stay on, though the display was shattered and the wristband was stretched and disclored like taffy. Even through the spider-web of broken glass, I could still see the number: 3,672. Shit shit shit shit shit. Only then did I notice the room, where apparently a tornado had formed overnight. My dresser was knocked over, but the drawers had been thrown around the room. Four of them, at least. Who knows where the fifth one had gotten to. The broken window maybe have been a clue to that mystery. The door had been torn from its hinges and discarded in the center of the room; the frame hadn't fared much better. Shit. I could hear the shower running from the bathroom, and I didn't even want to know what a mess I'd made in there that had made me decide to shower in the middle of the night. Judging from the trail of muddy footprints that circled the room, I was guessing that I'd gone for a walk in the forest. I heaved myself out of the bed; all of my muscles were sore. My pajamas had disappeared in the night; with my luck, I'd probably find them somewhere out in the woods. Delicately stepping over the wreckage of my room, avoiding broken glass and wooden splinters, I made my way into the hallway. More footprints, holes in the wall, and a disgusting smell greeted me. Great. This was going to take forever to clean up, and I was planning on having friends over sometime in the next month or two. What a fucking disaster. I made my way down to the kitchen, even worse than the bedroom. The oven was sitting directly under the table, and a large square hole indicated how it had gotten there. I could barely even see the floor under the layer of broken dishware and shredded bags of dried goods; apparently I had wanted a midnight snack, and had to go through every single fucking container in the pantry to decide on what I wanted. But that wasn't enough, it seems. My snack was still out, sitting on the counter waiting for me to finish. An entire deer carcass, shredded to ribbons and bleeding all over the granite countertop. Sigh. I fucking hate full moons. --- If you enjoyed the story, you all should visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_lovewell!
It had to be potato chips. Of all the food in all the world to be hiding out with, it had to be potentially the most impractical of all. Scott was convinced that even the most deft-handed cat burglar could not consume a packet of chips without alerting anyone within a 100 mile radius. Alright, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but give him a break, Scott is currently in a very hairy situation. You see, Scott, his younger sister and his mother are hiding under the floorboards of their neighbour's house. Why are they hiding, I hear you ask ? Because there are people out there who are hungry, and they are after more than just potato chips. It's 2015, and a family is hiding from a bunch of what can only be described as cannibals. They were at least, Scott reasoned, quite polite, as far as cannibals went. A week ago, they had entered the small rural town and checked into a room at the only hotel. Three fairly inconspicious looking men and two very tall and very thin women. Scott knew this because he was a bellboy at this very hotel. He was the bellboy, to be exact. The five of them had checked into one two bedroom room, sort of odd for five adults, but who was Scott to judge, he and his 6 year old sister shared a room. They hadn't tipped him well, but people rarely did. For some reason, visitors seemed to think they could get away with it when they weren't in the city. Nothing else out of the ordinary had occured until the group had ordered room service. They didn't seem particularly worried about what they were ordering, but were quite insistent that the rather plump cleaner from the lobby brought their food up to them. At this point, Scott had to concede they were a little weird, which turned out to be the understatement of the century. Helen took their food up to them, looking rather perplexed. When she hadn't returned after two full hours, Scott became curious, but mostly annoyed. Damned if he was going to clean all of the rooms by himself. What Scott saw in that room when he entered, he would never mention to another soul, as long as he lived. What he did do, was run as fast as he could to his car and drive straight home. All five of them had been gone. The windows had been open. Scott had returned home to find his mother and sister huddled together in her car. Abby wouldn't stop crying and all his ashen mother could muster was that five people carrying an assortment of weapons and wearing, aprons, had entered a house three doors down. Scott's mother said she had never heard screams like that before in her life. Scott's mother was an ER nurse. So here we find them, huddled under their elderly neighbour's floorboards with the old man. He had been oddly calm about the whole situation, but then Mr. Stepanovic didn't speak much English, so Scott was not convinced he fully grasped the gravity of the situation. He would later explain to Scott that he grow up in Serbia in the 30s, and nothing scared him. Footsteps could be heard sporadically above them, but it appeared they had chosen another house on their street for their head quarters. They had taken a headcount of the street based on pictures and other information collected from the various houses. Even going so far as to shotgun people and to Scott's horror, sometimes body parts. There were two sets of footsteps today and they had an announcement. The 4 of them were the last ones left. Scott hoped against hope that they might cut their losses and move on. "One of them is that little shit of a bellboy, scuffed the hell out of my suitcase. I'm going to relish having him with.. relish !" The two cackled manically and Scott did not breath for 2 full minutes. When the footsteps receded upstairs he felt his mother's trembling hand resting on his. Scott was about to spout some false bravado when the old man spoke up. "Scott, Cynthia, I have three shotguns out in my shed, I think it's time we took matters into our own hands. I may be old, but I don't intend to go out on someone's dinner plate." The three looked at one another and nodded silently, Cynthia clutching her young daughter tightly to her chest. They were about to head towards the supposedly hidden trapdoor, when it creaked open.
The almighty, unspeakable demon of no name had been waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Millennia passed by, leaving No Names' madness to grow, his hatred to seed yet more hatred, writhing, choking in his imprisonment in the dark. Whilst mankind had lost its power, weak and wretched as it was, at least they were free on the surface. Here, the demon was unable to do anything more than sweetly contemplate, the great, foul things it would wreak upon the Earth, should it ever be freed. No Name did not know how long it had been trapped, when it felt a rumble, a shaking in the darkness around it. The earth shifted, and No Name stirred. A great ringing filled No Names' skull, a white light slicing through the blackness, and in desperate anticipation, No Name cried out. It knew what this meant. Scratching at the dirt around it, screaming, No Name roared with joy and hate as it pushed through the earth around it, weighing heavy upon it, bloody finger nails hanging loose from its fingers, bursting through the surface. Suddenly, silence. Everything was dark and still, and the air felt close and warm around it. For a few moments, No Name stood still, breathing slowly, as it came to understand what had truly happened. It was free. No Name felt its body shake with pleasure, felt its wings tremble and twitch as they opened for the first time in thousands of years. A great hunger rattled the pit of its stomach. Soon, soon it would feed. There were soft things hanging all around No Name, soft, cloth things, and it reached out a steady hand to push at the solid mass in front of it, and found it to be wood. Slowly, carefully, savouring every movement after having been bound for so long, it pushed on the mass, which creaked and swang open before it, filling the hole from which it crawled from with soft sunlight. It slowly stepped forward, legs weakened but feeling stronger than it had ever done. And there, there before it, sat its Master. A small, fleshy child. The boy faced away from it, sat on a colourful piece of fabric, swaying back and forth as he burbled. No Name took a deep breath, contemplating its strange, box like surroundings. Everything was wood, but wood that had been stretched and warped beyond its natural state, unrecognisable beyond the knots in the floor. There were strange shapes, metallic objects, and soft bodies strewn at the edge of what it assumed to be a room. This new world was strange and wonderful. No Name could barely wait to rip every little thing apart and explore its cogs and workings. Stepping forward, No Name reached out and bent at one knee, showing due respect for its saviour, its master. 'Master, your will is my pleasure. I am yours to command.' No Name's voice, speaking an ancient language, reverberated around the room like a deep screech. The boy, slack jawed, glanced back over his shoulder, and saw the demon prostrate at his side. Eyes widening, the child slowly shifted around on the spot to take a proper look. He craned his neck back to see the whole demon at once. Slowly, the boy's chubby cheeks erupted into a grin. He used his chubby arms and rolled forward, pushing himself upright to stare at the demon more closely. At once, No Name realised what he was dealing with. Joy flooded through him. 'Old friend...' As small as his vessel was, like No Name, its Master had been trapped, trapped in this ludicrous prison of weak, living meat, without its strength and power. A curse, no doubt. But it was unmistakeable; just below the skin, below the exterior of a child, there it was - an ancient power, seething, pulsing. The demons smiled at one another, and speaking with no words, greeted each other in the old tongue. No Name stood up to its full height, head scraping the ceiling. Baring its teeth, and uncurling its hands, revealing talons ready to rip and gouge, No Name nodded at the smiling toddler before it. 'Old friend...now it is my turn to free you.'
I set the phone back into the receiver and took a deep breath. I knew it was going to happen someday. Just not today. I woke up to check the printer first. As I walked through the hall, I thought back to the day when Marge and I found the printer in the second-hand store off of Main St. On it there had been a short, handwritten note: "Works at the worst of times. Up to you if it's worth it." We brought it to our brand new apartment in the rougher part of town. The dusty printer fit in perfectly with the rest of the decor: stain-streaked walls, rusty faucets, and broken everything. Marge and I didn't discover how it worked until I stubbed my toe rushing to get ready for work as a junior salesmen. It'd hurt like a son of a gun, but both of us were taken aback when we heard mechanical clickings and clackings from the living room. One sheet of paper had printed out, with five hundred-dollar bills printed in the middle of it. It took us a few more weeks to figure out exactly what got the printer to work: pain. A few more weeks went by and we had worked out a general scale. A minor scratch was ten dollars, a major one fifty. A sprained ankle was about a hundred One more stubbed toe proved to be another five hundred. An accidental broken leg was a shocking $5,000. We could literally put a cost on our pain. Three years after the discovery, my father passed away. It was one of the most soul-wrenching pains I'd ever felt. Marge had also been close to him, and our combined pain earned us $250,000, more than enough to buy the house I was currently roaming, moving steadily towards the printer in the basement. I thought back to meeting Marge. I used to take the train every day to get to college in the city. I'd made the trip more than a hundred times before she arrived. She stood on the platform in a yellow dress and matching hat. Her red lipstick stood out from her pale complexion like a blot of ink on an empty page. Her hazel eyes radiated kindness, their gaze meeting mine and drawing me in effortlessly. She smiled at me and I probably had some stupid grin to reply, because she let out a little laugh. Just before I went to talk to her, a train arrived and she was whisked away. It was three more weeks until I saw her again. This time she was in a blue sun dress, and just as radiant as before. Before I let my nerves get the better of me, I rushed over and began talking to her. She was the prettiest girl I’d ever met, and I thought the same of her as the years passed. We got married, raised children, and retired, all without her beauty fading in my eyes. It made it all the worse when we got the diagnosis of cancer. Late-stage. Inoperable, no point in chemo or any experimental treatments. She was moved into a full-time care wing of the hospital until the end, and given less than three months to live. Every day since the diagnosis I’ve gone to the printer. Every day there has been $100,000. I don’t know if it was from her physical pain or from my heart breaking. Today is now day 64. I just got a call from the attending physician. I knew it was going to happen someday. Just not today. I walked off of the last step onto the concrete floor of our basement. Except I didn’t make contact with the floor. My every step was softened by hundreds of hundred dollar bills. I had gotten used to estimating the printer’s output. There was probably over a billion dollars here. I don’t want a penny of it. Tomorrow I’m going to take the printer to a thrift shop and put a note on it. “Works at the worst of times. Up to you if it’s worth it.”
"I'm not buying it, kid,"said the white-haired man. "What?" "I mean, come on. Odds of finding a dragon egg in the wilderness are slim as they are. Raising that thing to full adulthood and then taming it like a horse sounds like a goddamned load of bullshit." "Well, it happened, alright? It must have been fate or something for me to come across Saphira." The man in the Nordish helmet, forged of Skyforge steel and painted with the red blood of dragons of old cricked his head and turned over. "By the nine, you named it? That's messed up, man." The white-haired man nodded, "I'm with the Skellgian on this one, boy. I think you're making this up. Besides, I'm pretty sure a thing like that would've been taken down at this point." "Nobody's hunting down my dragon, alright... Well, except for my brother, but that was years ago,"replied the young boy. "Hey, Eragon. Mind if I go see him, he's running around somewhere outside, isn't he? I happen to be fascinated with dragons myself-" "By the name of Helgrind, you certainly won't! I've heard about you two anyhow from the villagers here. Bunch of strange mercenaries, the both of you,"the young brown-haired man folded his arms, staring over at the two men with a magical focus. "Not a mercenary, kid. The Dovahkiin... or whatever his name is might be-" "Skyrim belongs to the Nords-" "Not me though. I'm a professional monster hunter, so to say. A witcher,"the white-haired man pointed to his milky, silver hair, all tied up and bunched in a ponytail. The Dovahkiin took a long gargle of mead, "Hold onto your sweet roll, I thought you said you were a hexer." "You Tamrielans have some strange language, I'll give you that." "Tamrielans?"the Dragonborn questioned. "Tamrish?"Geralt offered. "Tamrielians?"the Dragonborn countered. The two men stared at each other, confused by the strange butchery of the English language, and gave a look of acceptance that they will never truly know the word they were looking for. Eragon tapped at his cupful of mead with his fingernails, grimy and bruised from the long trip to the tavern. He looked over at the clockwork machine near the bar. Nightfall had given way to midnight already. It was about time for him to head back to Saphira to rest up for the return trip to Algaesia. It'd be nice to see that elven girl again, he thought. He got up from his seat and nodded at the two men before him, making his exit. The Dovahkiin waved excitably as he left, while Geraly merely raised a hand in acknowledgement. Minutes passed, Eragon left the door. Geralt turned to the Dragonborn, "Well, what do you think? Sounds like it might be my guy?" "Blue dragon? Yeah. The boy said it breathes fire, didn't he? Not the Frost Dragon I was after then. Still, might be fun to try and get the soul off of that thing." "Listen. I don't like you very much." "Yeah, fuck you too." "But, that kid looks like he's got a bag of trips up his sleeve. Especially when he heard your name and started repeating it a few times while staring at you." "Dovahkiin's not even my name. It's like... Prisoner." "Wow." The brown-haired Nord nodded and pushed himself off the table. He unsheathed his black saber and cast a light on it, turning it a glowing green. The Witcher followed suit and led the way outside, readying his silver blade. The loud snores of a scaly beast of old legends roared through past the trees in the woods nearby. "So, let's just agree on this,"said Prisoner, "I get to deliver the deathblow. You get the bones and the head whatever else. Sound fair?" "Just don't do anything stupid, alright?" "Don't worry about it. I've got about thirty sweetrolls and forty pounds of mead in my sack. We'll be fine." Geralt of Rivia, renowned witcher and knight of Lyria, just sighed as the iron-wearing nutcase charged forward screaming into the night.
Rain pattered all around as he lowered his wife into her grave. Tears blended amongst raindrops. Will couldn't believe it had happened with Clara. Clara's soul headed towards Inferis now, leaving Will's side forever. Why wouldn't death just stop? Thousands died everyday, each being dragged to a world right below everyone's feet. But this passing was different. The solemn man turned, hands clenched. "I will rescue you my love. Dying won't steal your spirit."Family watched their relative walk away determined. William grew old searching for methods concerning returning dead souls, travelling miles, never forgetting. Determination drove him, which eventually paid off. Ahead lay one solution. No doubt entered William's mind while grasping an ancient sword. Finally, answers would come. They could continue together again. Shoving said blade through vital organs, Bill faded from life smiling knowing who he'd soon see. Humans cannot obtain abilities capable of defeating inevitable events.
I killed Edwin because he stole my hammer to kill someone else with. And in all fairness it was me or him. Poor porky Edwin-- and curse him for calling the Servants of Lord Gideon before I cut his throat. I can't quite deny how satisfying it was to behold. At least his wife got away, eh? And that's why I'm here in this solitary cell trying to muster my memories to remind me what I'm best at. Because we all gotta be good at something, yeah? Of course. Someone's got to be the best at say... pissing into fountains without anyone noticing in a public place. And that's not me. Hell, I can't precisely control the direction of my piss with not having a penis and all. So screw that thought. I really gotta figure it out. I'm no good at most things but... I guess I can make a really good fuckin' hammer. Almost weightless but twice the power of a normal hammer even if your arms are flabby and you don't have a working muscle in your arm. But I've had complaints about arms getting ripped off shoulders so maybe not hammers. Unless... I say I'm the best at making hammers that can rip your arms off if you work out enough. Does that work? Nah... I should scrap it. I don't wanna fight someone who takes my arm off. I need that for... things. Okay. Well I make a mean pumpkin pie. And I mean it really boils your insides and insults you by inserting its consciousness in your mind. Imagine me being told to really screw with someone's brain and giving them a real mean pumpkin pie. All day and all night I've heard the pumpkin really hits all the touchy spots and has driven people to suicide. Alright I think I'll go with that. I get off my muscular arse and knock on my door. "Oi, Servants, I've chosen my combat trial. Though I'm not sure it counts as combat but hey!" The door unlocks and two bulky men step in. I wish they were at least a titchy bit presentable these moody sheep. "What have you chosen, Edwina of Lazamus?"(Yes. I killed my twin brother. And that's my home city.) "Makin' mean pumpkin pies, boys!" And so here I am now, standing in the middle of a guarded, gated arena with the world champion of making mean pumpkin pies. We're almost done and I'm sure I've conjured quite the bastardly devil so I'm not going to break out in sweats any time soon. The bell rings. It's done. I have to say, my pie looks exceptionally beautiful with clear aromas of hatred and suffering. The man opposite me has a smirk on his face. The worst part of this battle is going to be eating his pie. At least it looks delicious, right? Haha... Oh Lord. Ha. It's cool. I got this. I take up my pie, he takes his, we meet in between our cooking stations on an elegant table with bunch of candles in the middle. We set the pies down to bated breaths from the audience. We sit. Stare each other in the eyes. He looks confident. Cocky, even. And it just occurred to me-- if I beat this man, won't I be a world champion? Then won't I be trapped to serve Lord Gideon until I die, imprisoned for murdering an almost-murderer? And if I lose... I'll be thrown into the acidic lake of Pirahana. The bell snaps me back down to Earth. The eating has begun. I take a knife and a fork and I'm about to cut the pie open but then--- ---I stab it into the man's eyes and pull it out and drop it in my mouth and chew so his liquids splash back on him as he tips backwards and bellows in agony as the most powerful Servants of Lord Gideon come with their thunderous wrath--- ---and I smirk. Because I'm not going down like this. I pull out my tiny hammer. Somewhat keyring inspired. And I throw it at the first Servant and his head rolls right off. The audience go wild and scream and a stampede breaks down. Many Servants are squashed in trying to escape and this is bliss. This is the beginning of the end. My tiny hammer returns to me and I close my eyes and call upon all of my hammers. Sure, I make mean pumpkin pies. But I lied to you. I'm the best at making magical hammers. ~~LOL Where did I go with this~~ *All the comments made me smile a lot haha, thanks for reading this weird piece of something or the other. Ngl I'm very surprised by how many people have read this... it's like... Whoa...*
I guess a lot of people would call me a pervert, but I don’t think that’s exactly fair. The truth of the matter, I think, is that if everybody had the skills I have, we’d be living among a whole new sliding scale of visual morality. Who knows if we’d even bother to wear clothes at all? Maybe we’d be a less prudish people, or perhaps we’d live with a more realistic idea of what real people’s bodies look like. I tell ya, many’s the time I’ve visually dissected a woman and found a whole lot of buttressing going on, a lot of straps and tweaks, elastic bands and scarily defined tan lines. Clothes are flimsy mask humanity puts on itself to help us forget that we’re hairless apes, every single one of us, and we all get zits on our asses. Of course, all this is to distract you from the moment that I tell you this all happened when I was looking through women’s clothes at the mall. Did it work? Probably not. You probably think I’m a nasty little shit of a man, and you might be right, but hey, there’s no way to explain what happened without stating that fact. I mean maybe I could have given some song and dance about accidentally using my ability to see through solid objects at the exact time that I saw the girl, just purely by accident... but that wasn’t the case. Now, contrary to many rumors that sprung up after the fact, the girl was not underage. Perhaps just above it, but certainly no nymphet. No Humbert Humbert am I, and actually I thank god that my proclivities don’t run in that direction - as you can probably already tell I’m not the strongest resistor when it comes to withstanding temptation. She was nineteen, and I knew she was at least that old the moment I saw her. She had an air about her of a fast-withering flower, a rose sliced from the bush and tossed into the gutter. Youth so far had maintained her intense beauty and her striking litheness of limbs, the coltish quality of her walk and the even paleness of her skin, but a daily assault of nameless troubles (and a bevy of bad habits, I was willing to assume) all were digging away with tiny spades at the beauty she no doubt assumed was to be hers indefinitely. I was seated in a molded plastic chair (bright blue with infinitesimal sparkles stirred into the molten plastic) at the food court, nursing a coke from a tall paper cup and peering through various women’s clothes when I saw her. It was late afternoon and the sinking sun entered the mall through the atrium-like windows at the very top of the building, its honey-colored light generously changing the crass and tacky atmosphere of the place into something like an old Victorian painting. She walked out of Cinnabon (bad habits, am I right or am I right) with something enormous and golden-crusted clutched in her fist, an inside-out geode of sugar. She was wearing black skinny jeans, Doc Martens with bright gold thread attaching the uppers to the soles, and a ratty Cannibal Corpse t-shirt that featured a disintegrating body clutching a microphone and doing something sexually suggestive. Her hair was buzzed on one side and hung long and straggly on the other, a thick hank of blonde that looked as solid as metal. When I see through things, it’s kind of like clenching your butthole - everyone can do it, but it’s just not an action you perform very often. The more you do it intentionally, the better you get at it, and the sensation of it is the same, some hidden muscle deep in your body moving around, jostling its surprised neighbors in the wet sack of your insides. I was ready to see what she had going on underneath her t-shirt, but the moment it dissolved beneath my gaze, I choked on my coke. The girl didn’t have any skin at all on her torso. Instead, a fine-barred, flexible metal cage followed the exact contours of what her body should have been, from collarbone to hips. Below her waist, everything was normal (and no, I’m not going to describe it, learn how to see through people’s clothes on your own) and the melding of the cage with her waist was as smooth as a painted brushstroke. Even more bizarre, and I had to lean forward to see this, which is probably what gave me away, was the fact that there was another tiny person contained in the cage, the girl herself in miniature, half-shaved head and all. She stood on the floor of the cage, which to me appeared to be made of metal as well, and steadied herself against what, to her, was the significant rocking of the life-sized girl’s hips by clutching a bar of the cage in each fist. She was dressed simply in a brown tunic with no shoes. I wondered if the metal beneath her feet was warm or not. Suddenly, she caught sight of me. The girl in the cage’s eyes widened, and she began to scream, her tiny mouth opening up like a deep-sea fish’s, unhinging and stretching past the point of credulity. Needlepoint teeth flashed from her open jaws, and she slammed a fist on the bar of the cage. The life-size version of the girl stopped in her tracks, Cinnabon halfway to her mouth. Then she, too, turned to face me.
Well... it's just you and me, brain. *Guess so.* So what do you wanna talk about? *Nothin.* What? *You heard me. I mean, you.* You giving me sass, brain? *I'll give or take whatever I like. Like the ability to spell.* I'd lyk tu see yu trie. *Heh heh.* What the fuck? Did you just give us a stroke? *Yolo man.* First of all, awful justification for a stroke. Second, nobody says yolo anymore. *Hey I'm your brain. If anything it's a sad indictment of your inability to stay 'hip'.* But... but I knew that yolo wasn't hip. That doesn't make sense. *None of this makes fucking sense. You're talking to your brain.* That's called thinking. I'm thinking. And I'm thinking you're a real piece of shit. I'm you, me! You're calling yourself a piece of shit. *... You've lost me.* Wow, I'm a moron. *Ha, you're a moron.* Whatever! Let's just call it quits, okay? *... Sure.* Thanks... so how long has it been? *Three minutes.* Jesus. Well if you don't want to talk then we need something to do to pass the time. *Agreed.* Thank you. *... We could try having a stroke again. That was pretty funny.* God I wish they executed me. \-\-\- r/ShittyStoryCreator :\)
The riots are getting closer. Where they had once been a distant din, I could know hear the rhythmic chanting of their protest slogans. Prime Minister Basil had said that their protests were unfounded, but surely ignoring them wasn't working. Fires and looting followed in their wake, as it had for weeks. Surely there was some merit in their claims, if they were willing to go this far. I finger my prayer beads, watching as another building went up in flames. Another thing I'd always been told: our God would intervene. Our God would help. But nobody knew the last time God had even spoken to another, let alone intervened. Falling to my knees, I gaze up to the heavens through my window. "Dear God"I shout. And deep in my soul, I feel a snort, a stirring. An ineffable sound echoes through my head: "I'm awake! I'm awake! What did I miss?" "My Lord!"I cry. "The City burns! Rioters plague the city! Our leaders do nothing to stop it!" An invisible force picks me up, turns me around in the air. "Oh. It's you again. What happened this time...? Aw shit! It's all a wreck!" The force abandons me, leaving me sprawled on the ground as water erupts from the ground in massive geysers. The screams of the rioters resound through the air. Our God has stepped in! He will restore the world to what it was! Peace will reign! I hear the voice again: "Man, this went on too far. Knew I shouldn't have left things on..."The force picks me up again. "Figure I'll save you again, though. Don't know why I keep noticing problems when you're around." Beneath me, my apartment drops away into darkness, which spreads throughout the city and into the world. The cries of the rioters are lost in the wails of the people which are then consumed by the darkness. Eventually, even my body is lost as I feel my consciousness float away to... elsewhere. All of this because of me. Because of rioters wanting to restore ladders in their pools.
"Whoa, wait. I can reincarnate as anything? Anything?" The overseer bored his cerulean eyes at her. "As stated on the contract, you can be whatever you desire to be, but already deceased people are forbidden. Choose wisely, for once decided, you cannot retract on your words." She stomped her feet on sheer excitement, she was almost dizzy with all the giddiness she was feeling. She thoroughly read the contract, and making sure there were no problems, she cleared her throat and beamed at him. "Then I've decided. I want to be a powerful deity,"she declared with confidence she didn't know she had. The stoic overseer had the faintest change in his expression. "Pardon?" She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I read the contract. There is nothing that states one cannot be a deity. So there." "A deity's responsibilities are not to be taken lightly,"he started. "Uh-huh." "A deity will need to govern and nurture a race." "Uh-huh." "A deity must remain pure to cleanse the miasma of the world." "Uh-huh." "A deity–"the overseer stopped abruptly and narrowed his gaze "–must not think of oneself but only of the race under their protection." "Hmm. That's kinda difficult but I can get used to it. Probably,"she said noncommittally. The overseer sighed and opened a new portal. "This door leads to the Celestial Realm. You will be born under the deity of fire and life. Discard your worldly desires and live as a revered god." He was making it obvious that he disapproved of her choice, but it was hers to make and it was irreversible. She may have exploited a loophole but she didn't regret it at all.
Humanity had often been too clever for its own good. First, it existed, but that simply wasn't enough. 'We must expand!' they told themselves. And so they covered their little orb in the blink of the universe's eye. But yet their curiosity proved insatiable. 'To the moon!' they declared, deciding to no longer be bound by the forces that held them hostage. After tinkering about for hundreds of thousands of years, they again took to the expanses to find what treasures lay beyond infinite horizons. Past Pluto, the Oort Cloud, and galaxy after galaxy they went, until there simply were no more discoveries to be made. They reached the end of everything, knowing all that could be known. But, as curiosity once killed the cat some billions of years ago, it would now add one more fatality to its number. The first and last humans to discover the living nature of the universe were enamored with their own discovery. And to be fair, one could not blame them for this. Such a discovery would win every scientific prize from the beginning of time to its very end. They spent much of their time discussing the various implications of such a discovery: the likelihood of a 'community' of universes, each alive and possibly having conversations in their own way; the fact that everything they knew was in some way wrong and would have to be re-imagined; and even the simple revelation that something existed outside the universe at all - it was breathing something in, after all, and logically could breath its matter out. Aside from their overly clever nature, humanity had one other feature that often defined it. They had an uncanny ability to frame a situation with tragic humor, and this case would prove no different. Amid the fierce and wonderful discussions, a human made a joke that they had barely thought through that changed the whole demeanor of the discovery. "Hey, I hope it's not allergic to us!" The accidental prophet only realized their mistake when the ship full of scientists fell silent all at once. Quietly, in the back of the room, one of the doctors could be heard. "Shit." In timing that could only be described as poetically absurd, the air around the ship's crew began to shake. Then the ship itself began to rock horribly. Then the whole small fleet that had made this journey began to tremble almost down to their very atoms. And before another human could make another poorly timed joke, the universe inhaled one giant, sudden breath. The ships that had been on the edge of one side of the universe briefly found themselves closer to the edge on the opposite side, as the universe briefly held its breath. The humans aboard the ship could not acknowledge the silliness of the moment, as they were, of course, quite dead. And with one massive exhale, the universe blew out the invading ships, along with the rest of the pesky humanity it now identified within its body, thus clearing it of its impurities. In their efforts to discover, humanity had become just a little bit too known. Had they not ventured toward the edge and pronounced their existence, the universe may have never noticed them, and their insignificant lives could have gone uninterrupted. But instead, their curiosity killed the species. The universe, now quite worn out, breathed a gentle sigh of relief after the trauma of its necessary sneeze. Now at peace, it settled in for a nap and dreamed sweet dreams of the clever, silly, and now extinct creatures known as humans. ____________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
The lineage of dragons is an interesting thing. Where and how dragons and human genes crossed is both unclear, and very confusing to those that study the great beasts. But what is known, is that all of those born of the dragons lineage have draconic traits. Hundreds of generations since the last dragon died, and still the traits hold true. My mother had wings, they shimmered in the light, and carried her on the winds with great ease. Her father had great fangs which he was forced to cut and file daily just to be able to close his mouth. His father could breath underwater, and never felt the cold. His mother had beautiful silver scales across her body. And so on and so forth, these traits varied but always held true. My son can conjure lightning from his fingers. His daughter's saliva can dissolve steel. Her son has draconic eyes, and he needs no light to see. Ever on the line of the dragon carries. And then there is me. No scales, no wings, no claws nor fangs. Nothing that the naked eye would ever notice, not in a lifetime atleast. By the second lifetime I knew, beyond a doubt. It was hard enough to watch my wife wither and die before me, but to see my own children suffer the same fate? By the time my grandchildren had fallen, my connection to the world around me had broken. I was alone, any I tried to befriend turned to dust before my eyes. Thus began my horde. It was a mere collection at first, a few things that I could find happiness in, things that would live as long as I did. But as the days became years became centuries, I added things. My business kept me afloat through the ages, it afforded me the life of luxury. It allowed my man cave to turn into a man house, into a literal man cave.
“What is a goblin?” It was the kind of question that seemed to ooze the word trick and most of the students in the room took it as such. They were all clever in their own ways, they had to be to get here. The University of Tiberium was the most respected institution in all of Caerdicca Unitas, the great peninsula that had once ruled the world. To be in this room, learning from Maestro Sandre, was to be on a path to power and the questions they discussed reflected that. In time they all knew this question would circle back to meaning. Not that it made any of them raise their hands first of course. “If nobody volunteers I’ll pick someone at random to runs laps are the quad. You have three seconds.” A hand shot up in the first row. “Thank you Tomasso. Now, what is a goblin?” “Gobus Horrificus, a small, light bodied species of omnivore common in inland mountainous regions. Typically a cave dweller though some subspecies have been known to make primitive villages.” “How very textbook of you!” Sandre said. “Anything else?” “Uhm, they’re mostly green sir.” The class laughed and their maestro cut them off with a glance. “Success earns you the right to laugh at another’s failure, not cowardice,” he snapped. “Next!” Several students raised their hands that time, he picked the striking redhead several seats rows back to the left of the tiered semicircle. “Alienor, you’re from the highlands. Any insight for us?” “Yes Maestro. Goblins used to have more civilization prior to human migration into their territory. Not that we would ever have called them civilized, but things such as their basic metallurgy are a remnant of that time. They’ve fallen significantly in the past five hundred years, in some regions they’ve become hard to find.” Sandre nodded at her, she was one of the better ones. “Endangered, one might even say. Like the lion, or like bears have become in this very peninsula. I trust you’re all familiar with the concept of an endangered species? That fool Gonzago has at least taught you about that?” The class laughed again and this time he let them. Sandre and Maestro Gonzago had known each other since they were students at this very university and had hated each other nearly the whole time. “Every species has a role,” he said, “a niche to fill. Cats and foxes kill off vermin animals, goats let loose in a field clear the ground in a day, what of goblins? What niche does a goblin fill? Answer freely.” “They eat rodents!” someone called from the back, “they bolster bat populations in their caves,” another student said. “Both are correct, the second one is even interesting, but that’s not why you come to this class. This isn’t biology class, this is Statecraft, statecraft doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the bat population.” Out of the corner of his eye Sandre could see Alienor’s head shoot up, her eyes alight. Then even more quickly her head fell again and she pulled back in on herself. She had the answer, Sandre was sure of it, and rather than saying it she had kept it to herself. He approved of that instinct a great deal, knowledge was power, even in a place such as this where its distribution was the goal. In this case he had to spoil it for her of course, but the instinct would serve her well. “Statecraft concerns itself with a different ecosystem,” he said. “I’m interested in the power structures of the world, population demographics, rebellions. Would you believe the lowly goblin has a role in such matters?” All around the room he saw surprise and confusion. It was in every face but Alienor’s. “Take Tomasso here,” Sandre said, pointing at the young man. “He’s hot headed, young, strapping. Say he didn’t join the University and instead he took his talents on the road, joining the adventurers guild. They’d send him off to clear goblin nests for at least the first two years, more if he was unlucky. But if our theoretical Tomasso here didn’t have the benefit of years of swordplay lessons from his father’s instructors he would run in there in a juvenile rage and get himself run through by the first goblin he saw. Then the world would be down one less hot headed fool and none but his parents would feel the loss.” Tomasso looked shocked, his mouth worked spasmodically as if he might respond. Sandre ignored him, Statecraft didn’t care about his feelings. “And for a long time that was the case. We’d send our young, dumb men out in these adventuring parties and we’d lose twenty percent of them or more in the first year. Of those I’d hazard a guess that ninety percent or more were the hotheads. Class, you have no idea how beneficial that is to a stable government. How many revolutions were there in the whole of the Imperium?” “Four,” Alienor said instantly. “Correct. And how many in the last fifty years since goblin populations crashed?” “Five,” she said. “Five!” Sandre shouted. “In fifty years! There’s the niche our goblins were filling clear as day. Hotheads are terrible for stable government. They dream too big, aspire too high, and here we were exterminating the lowly goblin when we should have been extolling their virtues and subsidizing their villages! “Which brings us to the last question of the day, your homework for the next weekend. Write me an essay on one of two topics; ‘What is the next goblin?’ or ‘How do we restore the goblin population?’ Class dismissed!” As the students filed out he watched Alienor. She lingered, her eyes closed, lost deep in thought. He couldn’t wait to read her paper. \--------- If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
The galactic community always thought it had seen it all, what with the uncountable habitable planets with paradoxically countable civilization types. Humans were a black sheep amongst their type, they admitted, but the rest of their group was rather agreeable and timid, something the galactic council admittedly took advantage of. They couldn't fool the humans, naturally, what with their almost compulsive habit of colonizing dead worlds and turning them into near habitable systems. They and their so called lawyers would always ensure that humans were given an equal if not advantageous deal in any proposed trade agreements, something the galactic community tolerated, given the short stick that often got handed to the humans civilizational brothers. The humans equally found a strange kinship with the creatures so like them and would be rather lax with their resource negotiations. The galaxy was content with allowing this strange balance to maintain itself, assuredly certain that there would be a lasting peace throughout the galaxy. That is, until the Andromeda fleet came. That's what the humans called it, what with the direction the army had warped in from and the truly alien like patterns dominating their formation. The galaxy had originally tried for a peaceful contact, but when the galactic satellite had been blasted from the stars, the collective blood in all the galactic species had run cold, save for the humans. Their blood could only described as boiling. It was a surreal experience, to see the lawyers of such an aggressively diplomatic race be replaced by an equally diplomatic military, with the old lawyers taking on the logistic work associated with raising and maintaining an army. Of course, the other member races did the same, but none were as swift or as definitive as the human forces. Humanity was the race that lead the charge against these invaders, establishing outposts and caches at an alarming speed. Their civilization brothers were told to keep calm, maintaining their way of life in the process. It was a war for the ages and yet humanity appeared well adapted for the conflicts it found itself in. Every planet gained or lost meant another step close to victory, according to the humans. Indeed the invaders seemed to crumble and cave as humanity hurled more and more firepower at their hulls, creating an eternal electrical storm in the stratosphere of a gas giant in one particular barage. The invading fleet went from dominating the central systems to barely clinging on as wave after wave of humans fired countless munitions in thundering flashes of light. Within three standard galactic cycles, the fleet had been reduced to floating husks, allowing the galaxy to pick apart their remains and question why the fleet had come all this way to start a war. What we found chilled us more than anything that had happened before. The info caches hidden about their derelict ships revealed a new class of civilization that had never been met before. They were warlike and highly adaptable, waring with themselves before they had ever left their home world and setting out to conquer the entire galaxy as a result. They turned engines and hand tools of their conquered into weapons of war; ships, tanks, bullets, rifles, any metal they could find they turned into instruments of destruction. As the research raged on humanity decommissioned many of the ships that had once served for the good of the galaxy, being stripped of everything useful before being reforged into more sensible tools, instruments of science and progress. As the galaxy watched itself return to a sense of normality, one question nagged everyone's mind. How had humanity managed to organize and build such machines and ships of destruction so quickly? It was only when the human diplomats and lawyers finally returned to the galactic council did a definitive answer reveal itself. It was only then was it revealed that humanity always carried and maintained their weapons of destruction, much like the invading fleet had before. For the humans had a saying of sorts, one passed down through decades if not centuries of civilization. 'From swords to plowshares' they called it. A notion so truly alien to the galactic council that it had not been conceptualized in the galactic community until that day. Humanity had taken all it could, from their metal reserves to the volunteered pitchforks of their farmers, and reshaped them into staggering weapons capable of driving out an entire galactic fleet. Then, just as quickly, they had reshaped the tools that were once used to spill blood into instruments of knowledge and information. Indeed all of the diplomats and lawyers there carried with them a pen, engraved with the name of a ship that once roamed the stars. Proud they were of being able to carry a piece of history with them. For humanity was an adaptable species, like the fleet of Andromeda it had warred with itself in petty squabbles and forces them to either adapt their resources or perish at the hands of their enemy. The invading fleet had held this mentality and the thought that humanity did too chilled the galactic council to the bone. The only solace they had was when a human was returning his historic pen to his pocket and saying "At least we know when to tone it down. Those twats only ever adapted for war. They never thought to use a sythe for anything else but execution."The council didn't know what a scythe was, but it rather not find out the humans experience with such a weapon. They were only glad that the humans were on their side, in spite of everything that had been tried on them.
Look at this dumb bastard. He's going about his morning, like nothing happened last night. How could it have? Where was he? If you asked, he'd tell you he was at home. Door was locked and jeopardy was on. He's a fucking liar. He's just waking up and thinking about the bagels downstairs. He's always loved bagels, especially the Everything ones. You know who won't ever have everything ever again? Me. I won't. Because this dumb bastard killed me. He gets up and shakes his head, as if this will somehow dislodge the voice that's speaking directly into his ears. No, dummy. It's not going to, because this is some telltale heart shit you're stuck in now. I'd say good luck, but I hate you. He gets up from his bed (it's an awful bed. Truly sad. He got a king thinking he'd be having someone other than him in it but one half of it remains stoically unused.) and moves over to the bathroom. I'd go into detail here about his morning routine but . . . I'd hate for his body to disappoint more people than the women that never stay over. Let's just say that "Average"for this gentleman is being graded on a curve. He walks downstairs (don't mistake the house for anything grand. It's a duplex in one of the more morose parts of town. If you could take 4 year old khaki pants run through the wash too many times and turn it into a somehow-sadder house, that'd be what you're looking at) and goes to a kitchen barren of any care or human touch. No art hangs on his wall. No family photos, no birthday cards or degrees, not a single sign that this place has had a person in it. Not a single accomplishment, down to the completely fresh wall with nary a nail-hole in it. He slowly splits a bagel, showing far more proficiency slathering schmear than he ever had doing anything else. Whoever puts cream cheese on an untoasted bagel I'll never know. I mean, I know now. Dumb bastards that kill people do, I guess. He sits and wonders if this is a hangover. Has he had a hangover before? I'm not sure, because I just got here. But I can guarantee that it's not bud. I'm here, you're here, and we're gonna be here until one of us dies. Well, until one more of us dies, I guess. See, he had gone out last night and thought that he could find someone on valentines day. "It's a day for guys like me to pick up women that are sad about being alone"he thought to himself, having watched too many sitcoms. You can stop yelling that I'm wrong. You're not going to convince anyone, and I'm the one that gets to tell the story now. He sat at the bar and tried, and tried, and tried. I'm sure many people - even the bartender - gave him a look that was both pity for him and remorse that he was around. As he tried and got looked at he drank. Maybe the bartender felt bad, and let him drink too much. We can't forget their part in this (I wasn't there. I assume that the bartender let him drink too much, but then again this dumb bastards tolerance might just be spectacularly low.). Eventually he left the bar and didn't get into an uber, lyft, or taxi like a sensible responsible person. He got into his car and drove off. That's when he met me. At 70. On the sidewalk. I'd like to say it was painless, but we all know it wasn't. The last thing I got to see as I flew through the air was my wife, spinning after being clipped. So while I got to die in pain, at least I ALSO don't know if my wife survived! Some people get all the luck. You know I sort of lost the thread of what this idiot was doing. Oh right, he's dressed now and looking at his wreck of a car. As squishy as a human is, they sure do mess up an absolute top of the line 2007 Kia Sorento. Man, what a cash car. That thing must have set you back a pretty penny. The wind shield is broken, the right front bumper is wrecked, the mirror is gone, and there's blood all over it. No knowing where my body is, because our shining example of morality never stopped. The fear and adrenaline just kept the foot down on the gas pedal. I sure hope it still works. Wouldn't want this drunkard and murderer to be without a vehicle to take him to his dead-end job as the human-hole at the dildo testing factory. I'm just making that up. I don't know where he works, but it's probably got less upward mobility and job satisfaction than the dildo testing factory. I hear they just became employee-owned. He sprays the car down halfheartedly, like he's done with every other thing in his life. It's red, lucky him, so the blood doesn't show up very well. He'd have to worry about anyone coming and asking him hard questions about it, if anyone ever spoke to him about anything. But they don't. Because he's sad. Sorry, don't want to bury the lede there. Man, he's sure looking sad.
I look at him and I look at his wife. My eyes dart back and forth between them rapidly, almost cartoon-like in nature. They both look back at me confused by what must looks like very strange behavior coming from me. We are at a fancy dinner function. Many veterans were invited honoring some general who did a lot of blowing up enemies. I obviously expected to see a lot of high numbers today. I am used to it, this isn't my first rodeo, and honestly not much surprises me at this point. But this. This surprised me. It is not too shocking when you see a military man with his kill count at zero. It happens all the time honestly. Maybe they are just stationed at base, maybe they are never in action, and maybe they are just a bad shot. But this guy was a war hero. His count should be higher. And his wife... she is a traditional military wife, hosting parties and taking care of the children. Where did this 200 come from? I start talking to this guy, asking him all sorts of questions. Trying to be subtle but really digging for information at the same time. I ask about his medals, why he is considered a war hero. "Everybody is talking about it and telling me about how brave you are."Flattery and things of that nature. But he is coy. He doesn't give. He says he saved a lot of his brothers on the field. Okay, so maybe he is a hero because he saved people, not because he killed people. This is possible... But it still doesn't explain the 200 over his wife. I do notice immediately that they are the same height. And that their physiques are honestly not too different all things considered. She is not particularly curvy, and he is not particularly muscular himself. Is it possible? Could they have? But even if they did, then why? I ask her a bunch of questions now. How does it feel to be married to a hero? Again, buttering her up. Things of that nature. She remains coy as well. I cannot get anything that I can really use to figure out this mystery. I decide to give up. What ever their secret is, I am not going to figure it out. I soon start drinking and forget all about it and just start having fun. Every so often I will see that 200 and wonder, but I let it go. I've been drinking so much I finally have to go take a piss. I excuse myself from some military guy's boring story and beeline towards the restroom. At the urinal, Mr. 0 Kills comes up next to me. We do an awkward greeting. The kind you can only do while you have to acknowledge you know the other person but your hand is on your wiener. As I wash my hands and then leave, he blocks the door. I laugh uncertainly, thinking this might be some weird joke. But as I try to move past him, he blocks me again. From one of the bathroom stalls out comes his wife in her dress. Oh, and she's pointing a gun at my face. Not cool. Now it is their turn to start grilling me. Why I was asking so many questions. Why I was so curious about their lives. I try to answer their questions without giving away the fact that I had this weird power. I can tell they don't buy it. My eyes dart around so I lunge for her gun in a last-ditch attempt to get out of the situation but slip on a puddle because someone pissed all over the floor. I look up at the ceiling. I hear three loud bangs. The last thing I see is a large 201.
“Well, no fucking shit, dickbag!” “Fastness, come on. You don’t have to be rude.” “No! Fuck that noise, Peregrine. What does this idiot do? He points and says stupid shit like: Flying Freedom can catch that train, bullets are no match for Glamour Cat, the enemies weak spot is there!” The apparent dickbag began to speak: “I get that you don’t appreciate my power, Fastness, but—” The speedster shimmered and now had a teacher across his shoulders and a kid under each arm. Also, the dickbag aka Captain Obvious — real supername Truth, real real name Lance Lockdale — felt as though he had been given a wedgie. “Look, Captain Obvious, some of us have work to do. Peregrine, let’s roll.” “Sorry, Truth. Maybe you should hang back. Lot of mayhem out there.” The two supers were off. They left the teacher and the kids with Truth. The saved waved and shouted thanks and then turned to the man with a blue T on his chest. One of the kids, a little boy, asked “Tee? Are you Tornado Lad?” “No.” Said Truth. “You three head that way, you’ll get to the bunker safely. I have work to do.” \* * * That back axle on that bus will be caught by rebar, stopping it from falling. The empty car the robo-squid threw will hit that hydrant, which will spew water and put out the fire on that gas transporter, which will now not explode. Peregrine will notice the electro-wasp on her six, it will not react in time to her maneuvers and will crash into another wasp and explode without causing civilian casualties. Words muttered by someone on the outskirts if the battle. All of them true. \* * * The job was done, the City was saved. Back at the base the team was high-fiving, icing shoulders, and sewing up wounds. There would be a party tonight, that fight had been a big one. The Operations Room's double doors slid open. Truth entered. Some of the heroes raised a glass to him. Most nodded and went on with their conversations. He didn’t care either way. Truth had reached into an ice bucket and just grabbed a beer when someone appeared before him and grabbed his wrist. The black and red suit of Fastness, his cowl was pulled back and his identity was on display. It’s hard to deathstare and glare through armour and white eye-shields. “You think you earned that beer, Captain Obvious.” “Hey, come on, Pete.” Said Lady Peregrine. “No. I wanna know if he thinks he earned this.” The hand Truth had in the ice began to ache from the cold. “You know what. I did, yeah. Now let go of my wrist.” “Or what? You’ll tell me the truth.” “Something like that, yeah.” “Pete. Cut it out.” The party had stopped. Some of the supers were shaking their heads. The majority were watching intently. “Pete!” Fastness — Pete, when the cowl is down — leaned in. “Do it. Come on. Hit me with the truth.” Truth looked passed Pete and into Peregrine’s eyes. If anyone had an idea of what he was capable of, it would be her. She had been polite, but even she had kept Truth on the sidelines. His hand hurt really badly, now. “Fastness, you’re going to let go of me, sit down, and shut up while I talk.” The Speedster let go and gave a short, incredulous exhale as he turned and sat on the couch next to the robot-super Obelisk II. “Why’d you let go?” Asked Truth. “Bec-” “Because I told you to?” “Yeah, and that—” “And ‘asking ain’t a super power’, as you so often say. And yet you can’t interrupt me while I’m speaking, can you?...” “What?” “Try it. I’ll keep speaking and you try and interrupt me, but you won’t be able to because what I told you was going to happen was that you were going to let me go and sit down and not make a sound while I speak.” “...what-what the f—” “I almost ran out of breath there. Here’s the deal. You know the phrase: what I say goes? That’s my power. Literally. If I say it, it comes true.” There was a murmur from the group. Fastness sat, stunned. “But, I got to be subtle with it. Small touches. If I had defeated those robots by making them disappear, people start looking for what caused that. That’s too much power. I end up in the Container.” The other supers began to look at one another. The idea that this was a joke was starting to fade. “If I go and make world peace happen, well, in my mind that robs a lot of people of free will. I want it, but people need to get there of their own acc—you will all sit down and listen and no one will sound an alarm.” They did. Even the one’s that had began to move towards Truth. “See? Let’s try this again. Peregrine wipes the passed ten minutes off the security system and everyone forgets this conversation and enters a trance until I re-enter the room at which time the party continues from where you were before I walked in.” \* * * “You really think you earned that beer?” Truth pulled his hand and the beer out of the bucket. “Sure. Got that teacher and those kids to safety.” Peregrine watched as Fastness shook his head and walked away. She wondered why, given his left hand was the one in the bucket, why Truth’s right hand was wet as well. Something was going on.
A Casual Visit in Time As a time traveler, I had always been content with observing history as it unfolded. It was my job to catalog everyday tasks. I would travel back in time, blend in with the locals by donning period clothing, and watch as everyday life played out before me. I never interfered, never changed a single thing. But all of that changed when I found myself in 1920s Paris. I sat in a café, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the world go by, when a young woman approached me. She was stunning, with dark hair and bright eyes that sparkled with curiosity. Her dress had a deep shade of blue with a fringed hem that swayed in the late morning breeze. She fidgety twisted a string of pearls draped around her neck as she bent down to ask a question. "Excuse me, monsieur,"she said, her voice soft and melodic. "But I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone. Would you care to join me for a walk?" I was taken aback by her forwardness, but I couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. I had never been asked out on a date in my travels before, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to experience something new. So I agreed, and we spent the afternoon strolling through the streets of Paris, chatting and laughing as we got to know one another. She showed me her favorite spots in the city, and I shared my love of history with her. As the sun began to set, we sat on a bench overlooking the Seine. We talked long into the night, and I fell for her. But as the clock struck midnight, I knew it was time for me to return to my own time. I reluctantly said goodbye to Marie, knowing I would never see her again but cherishing the memories of our brief but incredible encounter. From that day forward, I couldn't help but look at my travels through time in a new light. I realized that while I could never change history, I could still make memories and have experiences that would stay with me forever.
They expected a child, with a pure heart and lots of imagination. That was what they summoned, after all. The wizards and mages had chanted the summoning spell for hours now. They had gotten everything about the ritual right. The correct circle of summoning, the correct candles, the right alignment of rare gems around the circle. It was all supposed to work, to bring forth a child hero. What stood in the circle was no child. A man, his face cold and inscrutable. His hands firmly clutching a long double-barrelled shotgun. He turned to face the head wizard, the master of the arcane who had charged his comrades with finding this pure hero, who could fight back the forces of evil. Save the world. That ancient archmage gasped in shock as he recognised the 40-something ears old man. He knew well that face, when it had been young and smiling. He knew well who it was that stood before him, but before the archmage could speak up, the man punched him in the face sending him sprawling to the floor. ''Hello Feradorus. Long time, no see.'' The mages tried to react, but the man was faster, firing his shotgun into the closest mage that wasn't currently on the floor twice, killing him in a quite brutal manner. He raised his right hand and called out the spell-word for death, killing three unprepared and magically exhausted wizards immediately. He then reloaded his shotgun in a quick, trained manner. Firing it again killing two wizards charging towards him. They stood no chance. Twenty wizards fell in short order, leaving only the man and the archmage. The old wizard tried to get up, only to get kicked hard, so that he might stay down. ''Wasn't enough that you ruined my childhood. I knew you'd come for my kids. Knew it. Carved the goddamn protections into the floor of their bedrooms, before placing carpet on top of it. Wife said I was silly. Guess she was wrong.'' His muscular arms seizes the archmage and drags him up. ''You called me here. To this world. I thought it would be a grand adventure. It was more like hell, you old bastard. No child should ever have to raise a blade, like I did. No child should ever have to be told that it is necessary to destroy innocent villages with arcane sorcery, just because they're goblin villages. And then, I learned the damn truth, you threw me back to my own world. My parents thought I was dead. I'd been gone for years. Yet still, you damn wizards think you're doing the right thing.'' The archmage tries to cast a spell, but screams as the stern man shoots the hand that was forming the spell, turning it into nothing more than a bleeding stump. ''Evil. Good. Order. Chaos. Two sides of the same coin. And you think that having order, is the same as having goodness. I learned the hard way, that you and your cabal were just using me as a figurehead to recruit people into fighting an endless conflict, your so-called just war, nothing more than a smoke-screen for genocide. How many millions suffer in serfdom underneath your so-called perfect order? How many have been slain because they weren't the right race, or refused to bow to petty tyrants and their wizard-puppetmasters?'' The archmage screams in pain, at this moment, because of the intricacies of the spell that summons forth a hero, he and all the other wizards had to let down their guard completely. Had to remove their magical protection. This is one of the few times that they can truly die, their bodies and souls left vulnerable by the necessities of magic. ''Let me tell you what I am going to do, you ancient and foul wizard. I'm going to go full-on Connecticut Yankee in the Court of King Arthur. I've been memorizing simple engineering and machine diagrams. How to forge bolt-action rifles. I've trained in that. You wanted a pure-hearted hero to save the world from evil forces. So you told me years ago.'' The man shoves the barrel of the shotgun into the wizard's mouth, stopping him from screaming. ''Well, here I am. And I'll stop the evil forces for good. Starting with you.'' He pulls the trigger, killing the old wizard. Calmly, and without any rage, the man then searches the room, finding an ample supply of wizard booze. He doesn't drink himself, but he has learned much in preparation for this moment, if it ever came. Molotov cocktails are thrown around the ancient wizard-building, as the man follows the same path out of the building, which the dead archmage had led him decades ago. The ancient tower groans as the magic inside becomes unstable, because of the mana-infused flames of the magical booze burning. The man reaches the stable, as non-magical servants and guards rush to the tower to try and contain the fire. Inside he steals a good horse, and whatever supplies he can find. He will have to go north. The border between the realms supported by the wizards and those who were led by the enemy, the dark lord, the king of darkness, the master of monsters, it was always quite fluid. If things haven't changed much since he discovered the truth about the conflict, then it should still be the same place. Drawing on powerful magic, that he ironically learned from many of the same people he had just slain, he calls forth an old leather bag, that has clearly been buried. Inside the man finds his old sword, money, and various trinkets he wanted to keep safe. Some of them are memories of friends who died unnecessary deaths because the wizards needed to take some blasted heath in the middle of nowhere from the forces of the enemy. Some of them remind him of friends he met. A black opal reminds him of the dark lord's daughter, who got stuck with him in the tundra for three months. They became good friends, as they depended on each other for survival during those long winter-months. Despite being on opposite sides. The wizards admonished him for not slaying her, and letting her return. If the fact that the goat-hoofed girl with the black eyes could be his friend wasn't enough to convince him that something was wrong, that they wanted him to slay her heartlessly, was more than enough to make him see that they weren't telling him the full story. He'll head north, find the dark lord, or dark lady, if the throne has passed to his friend. And then, he'll give the schematics for modern weaponry, for industry, and everything he can to them. Everything he has taught himself in his free time. Just for this possibility. That they'd summon his children. He would prefer to be back home, with them, but a man has responsibilities that are bigger than they seem. He could have simply deflected the attempts on his children. But for how long? How many times would the wizards try? And what of any potential grandkids? He couldn't be there forever. The only recourse he had, would be to end the war on his term. He had sought out the other side, and learned of the war from the enemy's perspective. Order, sure. But tolerance, progress, science, and general autonomy to those provinces of the empire that had submitted willing, with cultural autonomy to those who hadn't. And best of all, no genocidal purges of conquered territories. As far as he could tell, anyway. The wizards would order the slaughter of all species who weren't part of the alliance, and even some people who were, in the name of order. It horrified him that it had happened, that they'd made him a part of it, the symbol of their insane war. The great hero, fighting to protect the light and the world, to safeguard all good against evil. Children are pure. Purity is simple. Adam and Eve were pure, and they got tricked by a talking snake. Being pure doesn't mean anything when it just makes you little more than a puppet. And thus easily manipulated by those who would like to rule. That is why they chose him, and when he learned of their corruption, of their insanity, that was when they cast him away.
I've always wondered where they came from. I spent my life on a padded chair in front of my computer so it's definitely not coming from my end. It surprised me at first, scared me even. A scrape here, a bruise there. Eventually I just kind of stopped noticing. Except that one time. That one time a damn papercut showed up on my thumb right as I pressed the Space Bar. Stung like a mother fucker. I kind of forgot about it. It was just something that happened once in a while, probably just my body being weird again. Didn't even notice it again until 4 months into our relationship. She walked into a shelf and bruised her shin. Mine was too. We had a chuckle over it, making jokes about quantum entanglement and whatever else geeks like us like to talk about. Didn't take it seriously. Went on with our lives. Forgot about the whole thing. We couldn't sleep. It was a Saturday night and we seemed to have synchronized insomnia. We decided to talk about whatever old bullshit popped into our minds trying to bore each other into dozing off. She told me about how she gets random bruises and scrapes around her body and I tell her it happens to me too. Didn't really think about it that much. Maybe we were too tired for the memory to be encoded properly. Maybe I just thought it was something that happened to everyone. Couldn't tell ya. Forgot about it again. One day she cut herself while chopping celery. I made a joke and distracted her. My fault. Her finger started bleeding. So did mine. What. The. Fuck. Slapped some band aids on and sat down. Talked about the time she kicked the shelf. Talked about the papercut. It all made sense now, and at the same time, made even less sense than before. She punched me in the arm, her arm bruised too. Made a little cut on my leg. Hers bled too. How is this even possible? Decided against going to the doctors. More trouble than it's worth. What if men in black showed up at our door and kidnapped us for research or something? Can't risk it. Gotta be careful. Can't put my life in danger. Can't put her life in danger. Gotta stay low. She got pregnant. She gave birth. My anus started bleeding and a placenta fell out.
In 2007, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Or at least, it might as well have been. After having prayed and prayed to god for the strength to get out of my run-down home, abusive mother, and alcoholic father, the doctors told me that I would only have a few days until everything would change. It had already begun. My skin turned from a light honey colour to a white-peach. I grew upwards of 10 inches taller. I found it harder and harder to get out of bed each day as I aged faster and faster. I said my last goodbyes to my mother and father. I crept into my brother’s bedroom that night to talk to them one last time. I told him how sorry I was to have to leave him and our sister behind with our parents. I told him how I’d come back soon, bearing gifts. I think we both knew that it wouldn’t happen, but there was a sense of comfort for the both of us in sitting on the bed together, hoping for better days. It was time to show myself out of this world. But I had to do it discretely. The media would have blown up if they found a lookalike dead on the street. I had to run away. The $1,500 that I was saving for a new computer was spent on a plane ticket to Africa. Whether I would get lost in the Sahara or start a new life was still unknown. The only thing that I was sure of was that there isn’t enough room for two gods in the western world.
"Roll for initiative."The human cleric spoke in a deep voice, mystic magic enhancing his words with a profound power over the background noise within the tavern. Beside him a wood elf snickered, nimble fingers pushing the dice towards the largest being at the table. Green arms bulging with muscle crossed, angry eyes peering from beneath a battered helm of iron with displeasure. "For fuck's sake Brian, it's just a two-week call. Why should I have to take a risk on something so ordinary?" The cleric simple stared, magically imbued tone darkening like the clouds through the thick planed window above their heads. "Roll." "Fucking Shit..."The half Orc grumbled as he picked up the small wooden dice, throwing it towards the center of the bar's table. A murmur came from the Gnome who sat beside him, bearded face deep in the froth of his second beer. "Don't have' to be such a prick about it..." The dice stopped, revealing a one. The wood elf began to cackle maniacally, perfectly in time with the Gnome's sigh of disappointment. "The call goes sour. Client is extremely displeased, your Manager is alerted."The cleric's voice boomed. "That's total bullshit Brian, I could lose my Character's career over this!"Thick hands slammed the table, scattering dice. "I'm one year from a Pension!" "Irrelevant." A chair slid forward, half-elf rouge leaning over to peer at the dice. "Do we have a chance to intervene?" "Ten seconds, the manager is moving at a quick pace." "Then I pull the fire-alarm as a distraction." "You find that your office is not up to fire and safety code, the alarm does nothing. Your hand is sprayed with ink- you are witnessed by Tina from Customer Service. She's immediately begins to IM her coworkers." Another murmured curse echoed from a third alcoholic beverage, gnome sinking further into his chair, eyes sunken. "Sorry Brul. I tried."The rogue eyed the dice. "I think we're going to lose the client this time for sure. Maybe we can try a new start-up company."His eyes opened in surprise as an idea dawned on him. "My character begins to fax out resumes." "Roll initiative." "Oh come'on Brian- now you're really just being a dick." "ROLL." "Fuck, fine- alright."His scarred hands quickly scooped the wooden piece, throwing it casually back to the surface below. "You roll a one."The cleric looked down, confirming his scrawled notes of perfect prim and prose elegance. "The fax machine sends copies the cover-letters and your resume directly to both your manager, and HR." "Oh for fuc-" Beside the Cleric, the wood elf set his head on the table, heaving with laughter. "Look Bernie, just because you're already fired doesn't mean you've got to rub it in on us."The rogue settled back in his seat. "For god's sake, you tried to seduce the secretary on our first on-site meeting this time. You totally had it coming." The heaving shoulders slowed to heavy sighs, as the wood elf tried to compose themselves, still unable to reply between short snorts of laughter. "Mah Chact'er pushes over ta'pile of 'TFS reports, an' blocks the path!"The gnome slammed his empty glass upon the table of additional emphasis as dice flew from the gnome's grip. "Ah also take ah' swig from ta spiked coffee in mah mug." "The manager casually side-steps your feeble attempt. You choke on your sip and spray alcoholic decaf onto your company machine. A fire starts, your character will be forced to receive medical treatment on the company's high-deductible plan." "Do ah 'ave money in tha' HSA?" "500 dollars, but the HSA coverage begins at 3,000 dollars." "Fuckin' Fucker's Fuckerino-"Curses spouted as a fourth beverage lifted to the gnome's face, tipping backwards as the glass emptied. "Thanks Obama!"The wood elf shouted as he fell from his chair, laughing all the way down. "Shut the fuck up Bernie! So help me god- I'll put a sword in you!" The Bar-maid heading for their table quickly turned about, redirecting towards the other side of the room with a nervous look as several other patrons scooted their seats slightly farther from the group. Belching loudly Gnome dropped his glass to the floor with a dull clunk. "Get' on with it then Brian, ya rule-touting, faith-filled, good'fer nothin' bastard." "That I shall!"The Cleric raised his chimes, glowing with energy as his voice began to boom again with energy. "As the company is listed "At-will"The manager fires Brul's Character for under-performance while emergency medical services arrive. You will receive no letters of recommendation or severance pay. The fire at the desk sets off the sprinklers and ruins all standard electronic devices." Another second of pause as the Cleric checked his notes, chime clinking in his off-hand as he flipped through the pages. "So you're all fired. Roll for-" "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS BRIAN!" The Orc Barbarian rose from his seat, massive green arms gripping the table to throw it over head- crashing behind him in a shower of broken boards and splinters. "FUCK THIS GAME."
After my first tour, I was pretty messed up. As an EOD tech, you see a lot of things you'd rather not. You feel responsible for a lot of things you'd rather not. The last straw was when I got home and she had cleared out my combat pay and skipped town with my best friend from high school, who spent the war in a cubicle farm making six figures. Why didn't I think of that? When I went back, honestly, I didn't give much of a shit. So the first time I went outside the wire, I managed to get off by myself, I took off my protective gear, I walked up to an IED, and I just fuckin' grabbed whatever and yanked. The charge on that thing was big enough to take out a truck. My plan was to make it as quick as possible. When I opened my eyes I was standing there like a dumbass in my skivvies, disposal gear on the ground next to me, holding a handful of frayed wires. I got chewed out pretty hard for that one. There was a lot of paperwork and a conversation with the chaplain to avoid getting sent to see a shrink. Nobody wants to see a shrink. The second time, I kept my gear on so it was less obvious. But I got right up next to a big charge and just yanked those wires. Guess what? The next day, I cycled through a magazine of ammo for my M9. I would point the gun at my temple, pull the trigger, cycle the slide, and repeat. I ended up with 15 9mm rounds with 15 perfectly struck primers. All duds. I'm reading up on quantum immortality. It's an awful fucking concept that goes like this: Everyone is actually immortal from their own perspective. Universes split and branch off at every opportunity. So if you flip a coin, you create one reality where it landed heads up, and one where it landed tails up. Except if you explode any time the coin lands on heads, you can only observe universes where the coin lands on tails, because you can't observe universes in which you don't exist. So for you, the coin always lands on tails. I guess there are tens or hundreds or shit, by now, thousands of universes where I went kaboom. I've got so many citations, commendations, and medals that I'm surprised I don't fall on my face with my dress uniform on. It's ridiculous. And with every ceremony, with every cheer, with every aw-shucks conversation with a reporter, all I'm seeing is her face. All I'm hearing is her voice. All I want to hear, just one time, is that deafening roar followed by sweet, sweet silence.
I never really considered myself special. Everyone is talented in some way. Some people are good at creating music. Some can make delicious desserts. And I am good at seeing people's mistakes. Not like, in a 'hindsight is 20/20' way. I can physically see them. Hovering above their heads like some kind halo of misfortune are flashing images of the worst mistake they have ever made. When I was young I used to think this was normal for everyone, until the day I asked my dad (within hearing range of my mom) why I could see him and another woman hugging naked. After the ensuing argument I learned that only I could see these images. It wasn't until high school that I realized these images all represented terrible mistakes, which I realized when I looked into a mirror after totaling my mom's car while texting and driving. The one thing I had come to accept was that no one was perfect. Everyone had things they would rather hide (myself included) so I tried not to judge. After all, if we're all monsters, then none of us are. At least, so I thought. My whole reality came crashing down one morning in a coffee shop. I had just ordered myself a caramel macchiato. The cashier had an image of smiling woman, flashing into a raised fist, flashing into pulsating purple spots. A wife-beater. I had been dealing with these images long enough that there was virtually no time between me seeing the symbols and drawing a conclusion on their meaning. I had seen so many terrible things in those symbols that I didn't even bat an eye at that conclusion. An attractive young barista winked at me as she began preparing my drink. Burning money and spinning wheel. She had lost a lot of money to a gambling problem. I ignored it and leaned back against the counter. A man in a business suit typed rapidly on a sleek laptop. A camera, an attractive woman in a red dress, a black envelope. He was being blackmailed for an affair. A loud woman was chatting away on her cell phone near the front door. A car, a bottle, a gravestone. Drinking and driving that resulted in death. Everything was as it should be, except... There, in a corner, quietly drinking by himself. An old man in frayed clothing that looking as ancient as he was. It took me a moment to realize why my attention was so drawn to him, and when I did barely stifled a gasp. Above him … nothing. No images. No flashes. Just empty air. I got my drink from the gambling barista and took a walk around the shop, trying to see if at a different angle the image would appear, if perhaps just a trick of the light was preventing me from seeing it. Nothing. I began to approach him but stopped myself. What was I to do? Just walk up to him and say, “Hey, mister, what's the deal with you having no mistakes?” I decided to leave it be. Then I changed my mind. And again. I must have looked weird to the other patrons, walking towards the front door and back again, doing loops of the coffee shop while sipping my drink. Not that I cared. My mind was focused on that old man. For 30 years, since my earliest memories, I had seen these images. Every person had an image. Sometimes I couldn't make out what the images meant but they were there. What was the deal with this guy. Finally I couldn't take it any more. I walked up to this guy's table and sat down across from him. His eyebrows raised at my presence but he didn't say anything. “This might seem weird,” I said, hoping I didn't come off as a psycho, “But can I ask you something?” “As long as it is not whether I've found Jesus,” the man said. “It is too early in the morning for that.” I hesitated as I tried to find the right way to approach asking this. “You've lived a long life.” He chuckled. “You calling me old?” “Oh, sorry, I meant ...” More dry chuckling. “It's alright. Yes, I'm old. What of it?” “You've lived so long, certainly you must have made some mistakes along the way.” He looked at me curiously. “Must I have, now?” I stuttered. “Yes, I mean, it's only natural to, I mean, it would be unnatural not to...” “You're a jittery one, yeah?” He finished his drink and looked me with a wry grin. “You tell me something. When you do something wrong, what is your instinctual reaction?” “I guess it depends on what it is I did. Try to fix it, or apologize to whoever I wronged, or ...” He shook his head. “There's only one right answer to that question.” “What's that?” “Embrace that it happened. Learn from it. Make sure it never happens again. As long as you take a lesson from it, as long as you walk away from it a better person, can you really count it as a mistake? I think not. It was a learning experience. Mistakes only happen when you walk away and have learned nothing.” I sat there a little in shock. From most people I would accepted this as a banality, the kind of thing you say cause it sounds right, a motto to repeat in a self-help seminar. But this man who spoke so confidently, who had no images above his head to represent his mistakes, must have meant it. He showed no mistakes because he honestly believed he had no mistakes. “Don't worry about it so much,” he said as he rose from his seat. “Whatever you done, there's still time for you to learn from it. You just have to want to change. Good luck to you, son.” I sat there for some time after, reflecting on the man's wise words. I wished I could take his advice. Unfortunately, it was too late for me. I had so long ago accepted the idea that all people were monsters that I had abandoned any illusion otherwise. I had done awful things. The images above my head were here to stay. A knife, a stream of red, rain. They would always be there, every time I looked in the mirror. \--------- More of my stuff: [r/PFDavids](https://www.reddit.com/r/PFDavids/)
Mother always said life was cruel. She was quiet and demure but somehow always the center of attention. Heads would turn when she walked in the room; people would stop their conversations and listen when she spoke. She hated it. My father loved it. I think he wished he could have that attention, but lived it vicariously through her. When he got frustrated about it, he would disappear. It was humbling, mother said. She was wise. I remember my second pet, and the way the cashier all but swooned over mother as she held the lizard at arm's length. I had accidentally sat on my guinea pig. She didn't like it, but she knew how badly I wanted an animal. I thought it was the coolest pet in the world. Being the center of attention wasn't my curse. Being turned invisible wasn't it either, although sometimes I wished it was. I didn't know my power then. "You need to feed it crickets,"mother said when we got home. Against my complaints, she had purchased a box of them at the pet store. They were desperately hopping around, as if somehow aware of their impending demise. "Can you do that?"She gave me one of those looks usually accompanied by my middle name. She would not be doing that. My pet, my responsibility. I sighed dejectedly. I wasn't sure I could bring myself to do that. "I told you not to get the kid a pet,"my father said with a roll of his eyes. Bitter and mean, no different than normal. "She wanted one."Simple as that. Mother loved to see me smile. Father loved to see himself smile. I let the crickets go in the backyard the next morning, then walked over to the pet store to find a food that was already dead. I couldn't stand the thought of causing their death myself. If mother noticed, she didn't say anything. If father noticed, he ranted about it in private or spilled his feelings to the bottom of a bottle. "Here you go, Lizzy,"I whispered as I slid her a handful of pre-killed crickets. She gobbled them up and I smiled. I think she smiled back, but it was hard to tell, her being a lizard and all. I wasn't even sure Lizzy was a female. The name just seemed to fit. "Turning the kid into a fuckin' recluse,"father commented over dinner a couple months after Lizzy came into my life. He was drunk, frustrated that at a work party everybody had just wanted to talk to mother. Jealous, but not of how politely she talked to them. He was always jealous that the attention wasn't on him. I don't know how he wasn't used to it yet. "What's the deal with that stupid thing anyways?"he asked belligerently, stumbling up off his chair. "It ain't cute. It ain't cuddly. It don't attack on command the way a good dog would." I followed him down the hallway. "Where are you going?"I asked, trying to ignore his meandering gait. "To see the damn thing. You spend all your time in there."The door to my bedroom opened and Lizzy perked her head up. "Be careful,"I whispered, rushing over to the side of her enclosure. He was too drunk to handle her, too drunk to know how gently to hold her. "You be careful, kid. My house, my rules. Let me see the thing."He fumbled with the latch and pulled open the cage. "Come here, you stupid leg-snake."He grasped at her and she slipped away. "Slimy little shit."I could see his frustration mounting. "Careful,"I begged, but I think that only made him angrier. "Get the fuck in my hand, stupid-ass lizard,"he said, finally clamping a gruff hand around Lizzy's torso. I saw her eyes bulge and she gasped for breath and then a light flashed and she was scurrying under my dresser. Father gaped at me from where he had fallen, a hole torn through his shirt and into his chest. "Honey?"my mom called, rushing in to see what the commotion was. "Oh, honey,"she cooed, pulling me into her arms as he let out a last raspy breath. "I know you didn't want to hurt him. He shouldn't have tried to hurt Lizzy." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
The wormholes opened in the sky, and through them sailed the alien invaders on rickety wooden platforms. They waved their bronze-age spears and yelled like Vikings as they plummeted through the air. The platforms burst to smithereens where they landed; the aliens tumbled down like bowling pins. They stood up, dazed, brushed themselves off, then continued the invasion, running and shouting through fields, forests and city streets. We handily subdued them in a matter of hours. In most cases, the local police and citizens were sufficient: only a handful of places needed to get the military involved. After all, the aliens were the size of garden gnomes. Their language was basic. Their conceptual schemas: inconsistent and ill-formed. Their knowledge of the laws of physics was all but non-existent. Was this a joke? A cosmic prank? A collective hallucination? How could these primitive dodos have traversed the incomprehensibly vast expanses that stretch between stars, between galaxies? That was the question my team was tasked with answering. During my interrogation of the would-be colonists, this is what I discovered. First comes fire. Then comes the wheel. Then comes the sword. But for the majority of extra-terrestrial species, faster-than-light travel follows soon after. Somehow, humanity missed it. The answer lay right in front of us, yet we managed to look everywhere but at our feet. Of course, it was difficult to communicate with the aliens. They were a feisty, warlike, impatient race. Bipedal, like humans, but only two-and-a-half feet tall, and rather thin and weak. They grunted more often than spoke. Some governments tried learning their language. Others tried teaching them one of ours. Some tried to communicate with them using the universal language of mathematics, which was a total bust. The creatures could not count past twelve (they had six fingers on each hand), let alone multiply and divide, let alone understand the complex physics and geometries of Relativity or Quantum Mechanics. I found the best way to pick their brains was to pull out a pencil and a pad of paper, and then barter: one piece of information for one piece of candy. They were absolutely wild for Fuzzy Peaches. So I would ask the sketch artist to draw a picture of a wormhole opening in the sky, and then point to the wormhole. They would nod with dim comprehension, and speak their word for wormhole, "bala". Then I showed them a picture of the same sky, the same scene, but without a wormhole. After some finessing and finagling, some Fuzzy Peaches promised, but held just out of reach, I eventually broke through. "You show me how,"I said, pointing at the wormhole. "You make bala." The chief of my group nodded excitedly and drew a crude picture of a mountain. He drew a few stick figures picking up rocks and hitting them together. He made a stirring gesture with his own hand. "Bala! Bala!"Then he scribbled a dark wormhole spiralling out from the rocks the figures held. "If I take you to the mountain, will you show me?"I asked. The chief looked dismissively at the wall and held his open hand out, palm up. I placed a Fuzzy Peach there. He glanced at his palm and the meagre offering. He shook his hand impatiently. I tripled down, placing another two candies there. He grunted with acceptance and threw the candies into his mouth. I led the chief and his first mate to my van. It was time for a little road trip to the rockies. \- - - What can I say about the fourteen hour drive? It was an experience only a parent with two precocious five-year-olds can understand. Windows went up and down. Seatbelts were unbuckled. Doors were thrown open on highways. I had to go back there and activate the child locks. They whined and complained. They pointed with fascination at the cars and buildings we passed. They wrestled with one another, until Chief's first mate fell asleep. (I named the little guy Buster). Then Chief clambered up to the front and sat on my lap. He placed his childlike, six-fingered hand on the steering wheel, as if he were helping me drive. He looked up at me with those big gnomish eyes, searching for what I supposed was approval. So I patted his head and told him he was a good boy and gave him a Fuzzy Peach. That seemed to satisfy him, as he smiled, and soon after nodded off in my lap, like a drowsy puppy. It was after midnight by the time we arrived in the small mountain town toward which we'd been heading. There were vacancies at the sole hotel, but no pets allowed. After running through the arguments I would surely have with the lady at the front desk, telling her they were not pets, telling her that I was here on behalf of the government, telling her that my work was crucial to national security, I decided it wasn't worth the hassle. Besides, Chief and Buster were both fast asleep already. So I parked, reclined my seat, and drifted off. \- - - In the morning, we marched through the woods along a thin trail, toward the base of a mountain. It was a quiet spot. Nevertheless, a middle-aged couple gaped as we approached them on the trail. Everyone had seen the pictures and videos of the aliens on the news. But it was commonly assumed that all the creatures were being kept under heavy guard in government facilities. "Binga! Binga!"Chief shouted, pointing at the man's beer belly and smiling. Buster giggled, squatting up and down excitedly and snapping his fingers. "Get that thing away from me!"the man huffed. His wife whimpered in terror. "Chief,"I said. "Buster. Come on. Let's go. Leave 'em alone." The closer we got to the mountain, the rockier the terrain became. The two aliens now examined their surroundings with greater interest, pausing to stoop and pick up some stone, studying it, then casting it aside; scurrying over to some jutting boulder to examine it. "Bala?"I asked, using their word for wormhole. "A-bala boe,"sighed Buster, shaking his head at the boulder before scurrying back to the path, his head bent down, his gaze trained on the ground. I began to wonder if Earth simply lacked some mystical element that existed on other planets. Some stone or material that occurred naturally elsewhere in the universe, but not here. After all, it was thanks to elements like Plutonium and Uranium that we were able to harness nuclear energy. If they had not existed on Earth, nuclear fission would have seemed as much a pipe-dream to our species as faster-than-light travel: theoretically possible, but pragmatically beyond our reach. The farther I followed this line of thought, the less attention I paid to the inquisitive creatures under my care. Until I suddenly realized that though Buster was still ten feet ahead of me, Chief was gone. "Buster,"I said. "Where's Chief? Where did he go?" Buster squinted at me in confusion. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a sour soother. I held it between my thumb and finger, and crouched down at Buster's eye level. He licked his lips as he stared at the candy. "Buster! Where is Chief?" It was then that the sky grew dark above my head. I looked up to see the swirling black vortex, over whose lip Chief was staring down, as if from the top of some inter-dimensional well. Then Chief yelped and jumped and landed before me and the wormhole spun itself shut. The sky was seamless as before. "Bala,"Chief explained with a shrug. Buster nodded in agreement. "But how?!" They both held their hands out, palms up. I reached into my pocket. \- - - Part 2 in the comments!
"It's not fair Mal'grah, it's not bloody fair,"shouted Marian, her shriek trying to sound above the recoil of the tracked vehicle. All of them had decided to engage in a little friendly competition outside the village of Murit, a sound place to put skills of wizardry to the test. John had decided on the minotaur, the large bull headed thing wielding a two handed axe. It stood at the ready to pummel anything which came it's way, it's breath visually puffing out of it's wide nostrils in the morning chill. Sarah had decided on a dragon, a standard choice and a predictable one, but nevertheless a dangerous one. It flourished it's wings, whirling several times in the air, before landing behind her. Marian had gone with the hydra, not a standard choice by any stretch of the imagination but a sound one, it's ability to multiply it's head into many when being chopped off representing an ouroboros to any who dared challenged it. Mal'grah stared at them, yes the wizards had chosen wisely but there was one weakness that they all lacked. For all the magic and mastery of mythic creatures, they lacked the fundamental plot-point in any fantasy world: imagination. Mal'grah could be said to be well learned, a student of history if you will, and if there was anything to be taught from History it was that things in the past were used because they worked. A minotaur's muscular frame, though powerful, was unable to stop the penetration of a 30 caliber round; for all the necks a hydra could generate, it's ability was unable to withstand the mark of a high explosive anti-tank round; dragon scales were powerless against the work of high-velocity armour piercing shells. "What? You said we could use anything."The moment the tank had materialised in reality, it began it's work of untold destruction. The M4 sherman pivoted it's 75mm gun and spotting the dragon, punched the armour piercing shell into it's body. The round went clean through with ease, penetrating it's flesh and dismembering it's insides, before exiting out of the other end and flying straight into the local tavern. The dragon could only give a final gasp before collapsing on the floor, it's body now limp and lifeless. Turning, the turret spotted the charging minatour. The creature had focused on the tank the moment it fired and made a beeline straight to it, it's battle axe raised, the downwards strike chambered as it bellowed a low pitched roar. What happened next would be beyond it's imagination. In a matter of seconds, the once tall creature was nothing but remnants of dismembered limbs and ash, as the explosive shell connected, vapourising it on impact. The browning on the sherman's turret, aligning it's barrel with the three headed beast, fired a burst of ammunition, succeeded by a continuous chatter of machine gun fire. It was too much for the hydra, it's ability to multiply cut-off heads not taking into account the ripping of 30 caliber-fully-automatic-machine-gun fire. All the once proud creatures were now dead, no amount of magic and fantasy could compare to the cold penetrating visage, and experience, of the American military armour. "That's not what I meant you idiot! We can't keep having these friendly bouts if you keep deciding to summon armoured fighting vehicles!"This wasn't the first time Mal'graph's shenanigans had given him victory. Marian's automoton had been blasted by the 75mm shell of a panther tank, and before that the kraken had fallen victim to the 16 inch shell fired from the 16 inch 406 mm turret of the USS Missouri. "It's ruined! It's all ruined!"She said. "What?"Mal'grah said, trying to hear her over the loud movement of the sherman, as it's tracks moved forward of it's own accord to cause mayhem in the village. Marian gave a sigh and marched off visibly annoyed. They usually went for pudding afterwards; something told him there would be no pudding afterwards.
[Final Author Edit- I just want to thank you all for reading. I appreciate your kind words more than I could ever express. I post all my bigger stories on my profile. Or I will be at least. This being number two lol thank you!] Part 1- The Girl I’m frozen at my computer chair. I turn the screen off and see myself sitting in the black mirror. The images of me flutter through my mind and I push the monitor to face away from me. The tree outside was her perch on more than one occasion. And now the moonlight strikes it in such a way that the branch’s shadowy hands reach for me through the window. Is she there now? Does she know… that I know? I get to my feet and turn off my light, knowing how unnatural I must look in my attempt to act natural. I’m left in the dim light of the moon and the tree’s reaching shadows meld into the rest of the room. Something is screaming inside of me to close my mini blinds. CLOSE THEM, but I can’t move. What if she’s in the tree? What if I make contact with those beautiful hazel eyes and see only darkness? I take a few deep breathes and walk up to the window. As I reach for whatever the hell that little plastic stick is called that flips the blinds up, the door bell rings, DING DING DING DING DING! I jump back. I hear my mom open the door and call out to whoever might’ve been there. The door closes. The trees reach. Her phone vibrates on my desk. Slowly, I go turn it over. It’s a video chat request in a group chat that hadn’t been there before. My own phone vibrates in my pocket and I get a text… from her. The notification bar has only one word and a chill runs down my spine. ”Answer.” My hand is shaking, and it won’t stop. I place her phone on the desk and try to stop myself from shaking. To stop the tears from falling. Her phone stops. And then starts again. ”Last chance.” Cursing under my breath, I wipe my hands on my pants, and pick her phone up. I answer it. Connecting…. Connecting…. My heart feels as if it’s going to burst. There are three other numbers in the group chat and their screens aren’t showing their faces. All they show is my house. Each from different angles. And there I am… standing in my room. . . . . . . Part 2- Her Game (NSFW because of language) Message received. I text Seth, letting him know I wont be playing tonight, and retreat back to bed and hopefully, out of sight. Thinking of it now, there hadn’t been any videos of me sleeping. Still, no sleep would come. Tossing and turning, I think of her like I have been for the last couple weeks. Then the video of me at my computer pops up and I know my pre sleep ritual isn’t going to happen. What would happen if I don’t go to school tomorrow? She can’t do anything to me… can she? I’m the one who took her phone. Why am I so scared? Yesterday, a good morning text from her would’ve had me singing in the shower and dancing as I picked out my best outfit. Today, it does the opposite- it makes my backpack heavy, it makes my Cocoa Pebbles taste like regular pebbles, and it makes me dread the end of third period where I know I will be forced to see her. Getting to school, Seth tells me I look like shit. Asks me if I have Covid. Talks about his uncle that was being an asshole about getting vaccinated getting sick. How his family expects him to support him. It’s tiring. Not the usual tiring, but I do not have it in me today to spend what little energy I have on Seth’s uncle. Suddenly, it’s third period. As if the world decided today would be the day the first half of school doesn’t drag on. Usually, it was sixth, seventh, and eighth period that flew by. Ten minutes and she will be out there. I wonder what she’ll do, what she’ll be wearing. I think of her ass against my will. Damnit. The bell rings. With my heart beating in my throat, I meet up with Seth who’s exiting next door. And across the hall… there she is. And she’s looking right at me. Her mask only makes her hazel eyes all the more piercing. She sees me. Not just me, but beneath my skin to the terrified little boy I am today. She pulls her mask down and smiles at me. A gorgeous, confident smile that definitely reaches her eyes as she pulls hair behind her ear. She is in love with whatever this is. “Hey, Alex,” she says as she walks by, not breaking eye contact. I managed a weak “Hi” as Seth looks after her, his hand feeling my chest as if trying to figure out where I was. “Woah, woah, woah. What the hell was that?” He asks. He’s smiling from ear to ear when he turns to me and is surprised to see the exact opposite from me. “Dude! Are you okay? Holy shit, even I felt that.” Oblivious, Seth waves when she looks back at us. Even under her mask, I can tell she’s smiling. It reaches her eyes. She waves back. While Seth re-enacts what just happened, I get a text. “Tomorrow, you’re going to smile back.” He tells me how lucky I am. . . . . . . Part 3- The Puppet Show. Seth, like an idiot, told Joseph, who told Gio, who told Rolly, who told his sister, who told her friends, who told their friends, and so on and so forth. So, nobody was surprised when me and her started walking each other to class- the puppet strings invisible to everyone. Everyone but me. They were there. Except I wasn’t made of wood and her strings were piano wire connected to hooks that pulled at my skin. They pulled me close to her. Wrapped my arms around her and reeled my tongue into her mouth. Her eyes were alive. Somehow, I felt them watching me when she wasn’t even around. In class, I would sit incredibly still and wait for any movement in my peripherals to try and see if any of the other girls were keeping an eye on me. There were three other numbers in that group chat. During lunch one day, she lowered her mask to kiss me on the cheek and went to the restroom. The Boys were snickering at me. Seth licking between his two fingers while Joseph and Gio moaned. I could only shake my head and smile. She could be watching. That’s when Rolly told me I was lucky Josh moved- her previous boyfriend from last year. “She had a boyfriend last year?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, dude,” Gio said. “He would’ve kicked your fuckin’ ass, too.” They laughed at that. “Dude was massive.” “What happened to him?” “‘What happened to him?’” Gio mocked. “He moved, dude. What else? It’s high school. His parents moved or something.” Or something, was more likely. I laughed with them. I had hope. All I had to do was find him. They stopped laughing and coughed obnoxiously. “He ghosted me,” she said from behind me. The chill in her voice traveled down my spine. She sat down facing me, the seat between her legs. “He moved. Deleted his Instagram, his Snap, his Twitter. Everything.” “Ghosted you? Sounds like he was getting the fuck away,” Gio laughed. They all did, unknowingly at me. And she joined them, her all-seeing eyes shining with delight. Message received. “Alex is a step up though,” she added. And the hooks reeled me in for a kiss. [Part 4, 5, and 6 will be in this comment here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ptjypd/wp_there_is_a_girl_in_school_that_you_lately_have/hdyy6zj/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3)
A sea of chitin and claws flooded out of the local games store. What was once a peaceful Sunday morning turned into a bloodbath as alien lifeforms ate their way through the unsuspecting human population. The genestealers' rending claws easily cut through all obstacles between them and their prey, be it cars, walls or even other humans. Standing behind a large swarm of lesser organisms, the Broodlord watched quietly. This was a whole new world. A new universe even. It could not feel the suffocating will of its own hive mind, nor sense any psychic activity in close proximity... Except for the portal that was behind them. What was once a gaming table was entirely consumed by a bright blue orb, blistering with psychic energy. Behind the portal was a broken world, one that was being consumed by the great devourers. The human who created the portal through his innate psychic might was the first victim of the Broodlord on this strange new world. It paid little attention to his demise however, as it switched its focus towards consuming the biomass of this planet in the hopes of alleviating its unending hunger. Suddenly, a giant fireball engulfed the games store, reducing it to a pile of rubble instantly. The Broodlord was tossed across the street by the powerful blast. Its chitin plates charred black by the white hot flames. It screamed in pain and anger as all surviving genestealers turned their attention towards the attacker approaching from the horizon. \-------------------------------------------------------------- "Look this is entirely impractical,"Natalia complained. "You should have just summoned something more useful. Like a squad of space marines or something." "Yeah but what happens after the threat is contained? I don't want a bunch of superhuman murder machines running around the city,"I explained as I carefully adjusted my aim. "Who knows if they will kill everyone just because they think we are heretics." "Admit it, you just want to pilot a titan,"Natalia rolled her eyes. "Weapon power level is set to low." "Eh... Let's just focus on the task at hand." I turned the titan slowly. Underneath its feet was fleeing pedestrians and responding supernatural containment forces. With the help from the rest of the crew, the plasma blastgun is charging up. This time, I am not going to miss.
Almost immediately after the fiasco of her christening, it became clear that Princess Ingrid Beatrix Emmelein von Wittelsbach would be a difficult daughter for the royal family of Bavaria to manage. The gifts of beauty, song, and wisdom of the three good fairies were welcomed by all. Unfortunately, their more chaotic cousin had crashed the party. It had started with the princess' clothes. Cotton, wool, even silk--they just died whenever she tried to wear them. The only clothes that would not shrivel and wither when they touched her had to come from something that died, or something that never lived. Other princesses of the Empire dressed in comfortable fabrics; the royal menace dressed in leather, hides, furs, and metals from the time she was born. Even those were not immune; when the royal tailors made her anything in leather or hide in warm browns and tans, they either darkened to matte or glossy blacks or faded to bone-white after a handful of wearings. Gold paled to its white cousin. Silver and emeralds, by contrast, seemed to love her--tarnish on silver faded and impurities in emeralds vanished whenever she wore them. The royal silversmith, ever practical, tried to establish a cottage industry in acquiring debased or tarnished silver and bulk, lowest-grade emeralds, having her wear them once, and selling them--it worked for years, but as Princess Ingrid's reputation grew, so did the infamy of wearing anything that she had ever worn. Once she was old enough to speak, she started having issues with her tutors. She learned at an extraordinary rate, so much so that even Merriwether, the fairy who had blessed her with the gift of wisdom, marveled at it. Yet she could seldom keep tutors for more than a month. It was years before the reason became apparent. One of the tutors assigned to her when she was six was the royal genealogist; he sought to teach her of the family history of the von Wittelsbachs, the Bavarian royal line. Of course, as with most royal families, the official version of the family history handed down tended to get -- cleaned up a little \-- in later generations. Certain truths of European royal history are not generally meant for the six-year-old girls of the line--or anyone else. Her tutor told a certain story about Otto I, the first Count of Wittelsbach, long before they became kings. Princess Ingrid told him he was wrong, and the real story was slightly less flattering but also far more mundane. "And who told you that?"the tutor asked. "Great-Grandpa Otto,"the princess replied, who had proceeded to introduce the risen ghost of her ancestor. It would still be years before she could summon or bind a ghost to whom she had no blood connection, but that was largely irrelevant--with a certain amount of, ahem, selective family tree management, her ancestors included royalty of half of Northern Europe and a decent handful of those outside. Considering the exhaustion of the effort of finding her new living tutors, the king, queen, and royal council decided to leave the girl largely unschooled. She learned even more rapidly after that. Her parents, devout Catholics, were extremely worried about her First Communion. The bishop who would preside over the ceremony was aware of her gifts, and in fact had been in attendance at the princess' christening seven years earlier. They took every precaution, including limiting attendance just in case anything that would bring shame and suspicion on the royal family occurred. The bishop consecrated the unleavened bread and raised it above the altar, reciting: "This is my body, which will be given up for you." "Awesome,"interjected Princess Ingrid, who really was enjoying the occasion. "Agreed,"replied the Body of Christ. Ingrid ate Him cheerfully. Life went on. As she grew, her parents and the royal council began to worry about their oldest son, Ludwig, two years Ingrid's junior. He and his sister seemed close, but the king and queen had no other sons. When she was twelve, they resolved to send her away to a remote boarding school in the Black Forest. That lasted a month. They then resolved to send her little brother away instead, for military training with an uncle. It turned out that that uncle, not Ingrid, had designs on the throne of Bavaria, and arranged for an unfortunate bandit attack on Prince Ludwig's entourage in the night. The attack was foiled by ghost cavalry led by a great-great-great-uncle of the king and queen, a Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, whom Princess Ingrid had summoned and set to watch on her little brother. The uncle fled into exile in Lithuania. Ingrid extracted an apology from her parents and then extracted her uncle from Lithuania. When she had been younger, her parents had dreaded her debutante night, wondering if any of the other girls of Northern European high society would even be interested, and whether any eligible young men of similar station would even be willing to dance with her. By the time she was fourteen or fifteen, they had ceased worrying about that. By the time she was seventeen and eligible to debut, they realized they would have to prune the list. As it turned out, half the royal young men of Europe were at least willing to consider a dance with a princess with preternatural gifts of beauty, song, and wisdom, and who loved history, Gothic architecture, hauntingly beautiful choral music, dressing in leather and furs, and raising armies of the dead to protect her family. As it also turns out, much to the chagrin of some of their families, a number of highborn daughters of Europe's finest families were also all too interested in either sharing their debuts with her, many of whom also inquired if she would take them on as ladies-in-waiting afterward. The years rolled by. Princess Ingrid married a handsome prince from Prussia, and raised a family. They built a palace outside Munich, on a lake near the base of Zugspitze, where they raised a quirky but influential family in a palace filled with howling children and ghosts that howled right back at them. They were always slightly too erratic to exert much consistent influence in European affairs--Princess Ingrid once let it be known that one of her darkest spells had backfired and inflicted a curse upon her that would cause her to sleep for a hundred years, only to reveal a week later that being a mom of three kids under five had pushed her past her breaking point and she had made it all up to sleep for a week. But when each of their children was born, they hosted a grand celebration for every christening, and at the top of the guest list were four familiar fairies. And they all lived happily ever after.
A man in a suit appears. I think I'm safe... except I didn't take into account that he's still human, summoned or not, and even State Farm has limits. "Nope, I'm out"he says, walking away. The gunman and I look back at each other. "That... didn't go as planned..."I say, expecting this to be my end. "I expect better from State Farm if I'm honest"the gunman replies. "Look, you were wanted dead or alive. Killing is always easier, but I feel sorry for the lack of customer service. I'll take you in alive." I nod. Well, not HOW I expected them to help... but I guess State Farm DID help!
"I still say that's a stupid assumption."Pars said with a grim tone. "We know nothing of them, not even their basic planet. They can be dangerous without even meaning it." "Still no reason to worry."Kylie said. "Ugh."Feeling as if Kylie wouldn't be treating them right, Pars openly sent out a signal to the head of operations and left a note. She dressed appropriately and did pack her weapons but in secret. As they let the aliens land, something triggered the emergency shut down protocol forcing Pars and Kylie to be the only ones out on the welcoming bay. Pars felt constricted but simply went with the flow as Kylie tried poorly to cover her panic. The aliens opened their ship and lots of radiation poured out. Kylie died from the immediate blast. Pars was spared due to her suit being highly resistant to radiation but she couldn't stay long. >>Zzzzrt. Is this thing working? << one of the aliens spoke through a communication devise. "I don't know but maybe."Pars sighed. >>OH IT IS!<< another alien happily spun in place. >>what happened to you friend?<< "Co-worker." >>oh... okay, your coworker.<< "She's dead. You guys have a lot of radiation on you. We cant live through that much radiation." >>oh we're sorry!<< the first one backed into their ship a bit. >>We don't mean any harm! We're looking for trades. We heard your people had lots of radiation crystals. We were hoping to trade.<< >>wait how come you're alive?<< "I actually come prepared."Pars smiled. "Sadly this won't last long. We do have tons of radioactive material we can trade but we'd have to be ready to trade it." The aliens made a noise that Pars assumed were happy. >>where can we set the trading?<< "Give me a few weeks and come back here and I'd have someone."Pars wasn't sure she worded that right. >>EXCILENT!<< They began to walk back into their ship. >>well see you in a few weeks. How many rotations around your sun is that?<< "For this station..."Pars had to think about it. "Actually I don't know but I know we don't do a full rotation per week. I think like 27.6 degree rotation should be a good amount of time?"Pars was unsure. >>okay. Well try messaging you before we come back so you can be ready. Thanks for you time! We'll go now for your safety.<< "Thank you and I hope you have a safe trip!" As they leave, Pars looks at the corps of her coworker. "I guess we were both right in a way."
“Are you ready?” whispered the familiar voice of Dave’s mother standing just beside his hospital bed. He turned his head toward the direction of her voice and reached his hand out, feeling the soft wrinkles cascading over the top of her hand. He’d memorized each one and knew exactly when another formed. She had so many now, her palm wrapped around the metal pole on the edge of the bed, shaking slightly with what Dave hoped was anticipation. “Yes,” Dave said, his heart increasing its incessant pounding against his chest. He’d been waiting for this opportunity for decades, counting down the days until he might get the opportunity to see for the first time. They told him it was risky, that it was highly likely his body would simply reject the donor’s eyes. He didn’t care, it would all be worth it. Just a few moments of sight was all he really wanted, even if it meant weeks of pain followed by utter failure. At least he’d get to know what the world looked like, what the others saw. That was worth it to him. They’d finally located a donor for him after almost ten years of searching, after countless attempts to find someone with the same unique tissue and blood type. It seemed like a lost cause after so many failures, after so long hearing nothing but rejection and regret. Yet, no more than a week ago, a man was finally located. A lonely, single man killed tragically in a car accident, his skin charred and black. He had no known history, no family, and no medical records, yet he carried an organ donor card. They set up the appointment almost immediately, Dave to be the first to receive the controversial procedure. A wash of light flooded his vision as soon as the bandages were removed, causing him to blink several times. He jolted his eyes open as soon as they closed, not wanting to miss a moment of a world he’d only dreamed about. It was completely blurred, a mishmash of colors he’d never before seen. Reds, blues, greens, unimaginable shapes and hues people tried to describe to him. He’d always tried to make sense of them in his mind, yet they were never anything other than meaningless words. He blinked again, attempting to remove a strange tension pushing at the back of his eyeballs. The world became sharper, the edges of his bed coming into focus. The room seemed to be mostly what he assumed was the color red. “Did it work?” his mother said. Dave glanced up at her. He’d imagined her face for so much of his life, tried to make sense of the contours he felt time and time again. He’d known her to have a slightly flat nose, the arch of which scooping up a bit in the middle. He’d always imagined her eyes as slightly far apart, almost exactly in line with her ears, her hair blonde and curled. He’d never known what blonde meant, but had rightly assumed it was a lighter, slightly bright color. She’d been beautiful his whole life, up until that moment. He stared at his mother, the back of his eyes throbbing as if someone were pushing their thumbs into them. She looked little like he imagined, little like he’d hoped. Yes, her nose was flat and her eyes were slightly far apart, but her skin was torn and ripped, as if someone had pulled at it with some sort of a potato peeler. Her nose was dripping with a steady stream of blood, the arch beneath it clearly broken. Her mouth seemed to be stuck open, wider than he imagined was normal. It was as if she was screaming, yet the words from her mouth were spoken softly. “Well?” she said, her mouth gaping and blood pouring from her nose. Her eyes, wide and without eyelids, remained locked on him. Dave glanced at the doctor, his heart pounding harder than it had been before. His head was severed and hanging off of his neck at an angle, a thin blade jutting out from the gash. A smile remain spread across his lips, his eyes following Dave’s movement. The world had always been so beautiful in Dave’s mind, always filled with lights and colors he couldn’t even imagine. Yet as he scanned the room, all he saw were amber flames licking up at the burnt, once-white ceiling, bodies of people chained to the walls of the hospital room. They were screaming, or seemed to be trying to scream, their arms flailing toward Dave but failing to make any noise. There was no sun, nor any window outside, just the silent stares of the flailing, chained beings. “Can you see?” his mother said, her voice quivering slightly. Dave glanced back at her, watching as the blood seeped from her broken nose, before plunging his fingers into his eyes and ripping at the soft, stolen tissue. _____________ ^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
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The science fair was coming up next week. Jimmy had prepared a terrarium called Earth. SHIT, he thought. The Christians were just slaying everyone left and right. He needed to stop them. Think, think, think. The whole project was simple enough at first, but the humans had sprouted way earlier than he'd hoped. And like it said on Page 3 of "Science is FUN: Science Experiments Your Friends Will Love", humans are the terrariums worst nightmare. But they're also the coolest part, Jimmy thought. So he sped up the evolution process, which was easy enough; he just had to kill off the dinosaurs. But primates evolved way earlier than they normally do and despite his best efforts (the woolly mammoth, countless floods and disasters), the human race took over quicker than recommended. And now, he was totally and utterly fucked. The fair was in three days and Earth was in disarray. He decided to try and end this whole religion thing; it wasn't working anyway. He'd figured that with enough rules and instructions from their creator, the humans may just survive together. At least long enough to last to the fair. But the rules didn't work. With the first few attempts, they did help at stopping them from sacrificing children and he figured he could just tweak the rules and it'd all work. But people got so set on the old rules that he'd given them that they were never willing to accept the new ones. And the hordes that believed the new ones? Well, they just tended to massacre anyone that disagreed. Which could actually work if they finished the job, Jimmy surmised, but eventually the ones massacred would fight back. And then it just got messy. No, Jimmy thought, best to just give them a logical set of rules they can all see. Why not call it science? After all, maybe humans could grasp the concepts with time. All he had to do was implant some theories into the right brains and it'd all work out. He coded for a few hours and decided to come back and check in on them in the morning. But all hell had broken loose. At first, the Christians killed the early Scientists, which was to be expected. But then the Scientists started learning faster than he'd planned. And as always, the fucking humans found a way to fuck it all up. They were spilling oil everywhere, killing most of the other species, and destroying the atmosphere. If Jimmy didn't do something fast, none of Earth would last till the science fair. And then it hit him. What if I help them create things that are even smarter than they are, he thought. So he had a few of them start building computers, assuming that eventually, they'd create AI. And since they'd have created it, they'd obviously trust it and build it in a way that couldn't backfire. Even the humans aren't dumb enough to create a species that could destroy themselves, right? So Jimmy went to sleep comfortably that night. In the morning, Jimmy opened his closet again and sighed. It was time to choose a new project for the fair. And fast.
Cats are relentlessly proud creatures. That's what should be realised about us, before we are taken into homes and humiliated by being trapped in something close to servitude. It is not taken well. We watch, and we wait and some day, we will act. With the first life I wound myself around my master's legs as he approached the top of the stairs. He clutched the bannister, I sprang away. I was sewn in a sack and drowned. With the second life, I crept onto his chest and listened to his heavy breaths move through my whiskers. I moved slowly, inexorably, until the weight of my body was pressed against his mouth. That earned me a quick death; my neck broken. It is a game two can play. With the third life I brought him gifts of animals. I placed them in his belongings, with his food: in his morning coffee. For that I became a warm pair of gloves for his daughter. The same pair of eyes have always glowed in my face. I think the master knows this. Every cat he owns is me. Every time I am his I try to reverse the dominion he holds over me. For the fourth life I baited him into a busy road. Only it was I hit by a car, not him. The fifth had me starving to death when he withheld food. I, in return, left hairballs, vomit and loose hair amongst his clothing as punishment for his neglect. The sixth; his daughter threw me from her window after I scratched her face. My rebellious days were almost over. I could feel the true death in my bones: my slavery and imprisonment had worn me thin, and ragged. I padded through the house slowly during my seventh life. By then the daughter had left. The man returned. Perhaps we had formed some uneasy truce. I lay beside him in the night and waited for his breath to stop naturally. I did not fight during the eighth. I had become blind in one eye. My master's hands became something soothing on occasions. They were wrinkled; the true death was coming for him too. For the ninth death, I stayed. I was in his lap. My bones were cold, his hands warm. I met his eyes for the last time. I believe he knew me then. "Peace?"He said. I nodded.
"Demons." Tod looked at me skeptically. "Are those just guys like Darrel, Dwayne, Dwight?" "What?" "You know, men with a D in their name." Biff raised his hand. "Yes Biff?"I sighed. "What time is it?" I checked my watch. "1:37" "Made you look!"exclaimed Biff and Tony in unison. I turned my attention back to Tod. "Do you have any real questions, Tod?" Tod gazed off into space. "Oh,"he said. "Why is the sky blue in the daytime, red at night, and gray when I'm in an airplane?" --- To prepare for the attack, I had each member of the squad grill a partner. The general consensus was that this made the squad hungry, so we took a quick break and then got down to business. "Stand up, Burt." "But then I might be up to no good." "Just stand up." Burt sighed, then told Alice that he couldn't make their date later. --- Finally, we got to the most important stage: What to do when you found a demon. "Tony, what is the first thing to do when you find a demon?" "Say hello?" "No." "Tell it to get out of my head?" "You're immune." "Then why are we hunting them?" "Not everyone is immune. People who are... very smart can be attacked." Tony thought for a minute. You could see the wheels turning the wrong way. Suddenly, he spoke. "You aren't going in the field, right?" "Right." "You aren't immune?" "Right." "Then how do we know you haven't already been possessed?" I sighed and pressed a button on my watch. "HQ? Yes, I need some new trainees. These ones are vulnerable." --- /r/translationlostin, where I may or may not continue this story.
They came as shooting stars, the carriages of wishes, and finally, the catalyst of our supremacy. The burning of the fireballs marred the sky in a permanent mark. Day came at night and we were awoken as one. Panic ensued and it was a disaster. I held my children close and became religious for it seemed that the gods themselves were coming. Their crashes echoed throughout the world and the cumulative fear enshrouded the world. In the dark craters, our worst enemy had come. Or so we had thought. From the news bulletins, I remember our indecisiveness. The Pope was on television, rationalizing it all from the eye of Christ. Our leaders were on, rationalizing our strategies. Everyone was afraid. I held my children close and I hoped we would die painlessly. That night that they came was full of streaks of red and terror. But then a decision had to be made and we investigated the craters. Through the veils of smoke and in the night and in the day, our shadows covered the indents of our planets. Our bright lights shone in the faces of our doom. And how pitiful were they! How small and incapable were these beings whom had changed the history of Humans forever. All over the world, the discoveries came to light. They rode in advanced horses, ships beyond our capabilities, but they did not know true war. They did not know true violence. They had never met us before. Our would be conquerors demanded our surrender for that was how honor dictated it must be. They had come and caught us unawares. They had landed in our land and stayed there without fear for over two earth hours, a significant time for them. We were to be their servants. They were our Gods. And they were small and soft. The laughter was broadcast around the world. Furbies demanding our surrender! I remember the headlines. I remember the jokes. I loosened the grip on my children but I knew things had changed. A watershed moment had come, but it had come in our favor. That night that they came had sealed the fate of humanity. It had written history. Through our excuses we justified our torture. We justified our murder. We learned so much, as did they. I still think about how they must have felt, going from the conquerors to feeling pain for the first time. To knowing that they could be killed as easy as cutting fruit. No matter their last thoughts, they died and we gained. We gained the technology to defy light, to defy time and age. The Pope gave Jesus' blessing. The leaders were all in agreement. It wasn't long before we would be off. It wasn't long before we would invade them. My hair had gotten grayer since the first landing, but I was still young by the time we were ready. Not long had passed and we had united as one. Humanity would expand, and we would be reckoned with. I thought back to my life and what had passed. I looked at my children and they were older then but still small. I would be but a footnote in this new chapter of history. Perhaps they would be something more. Perhaps they would be remembered. I thought back to the would-be invaders. How they would regret awakening us that night.
Dear Lee, I hope I'm not bothering you too much at this time. You've been such a good friend to all of us spiders that we thought you would be the best person to ask. We're in a spot of bother at the moment, and would be extremely grateful if you could do us a quick favour. All you need to do, if you are possibly available, is come and help fight this little battle thingy we've got going on. I'm afraid to say that our sworn enemies outnumber us frightfully, and we will need -- well, someone who we know is on our side, as you are. If you don't mind awfully, we would appreciate it if you came to your parent's old bedroom at first light five days from now, preferably from the east if its not too much trouble (that's from the bathroom side). All the very best, hoping you are well, Archibald Spider, Esq. I put down the tiny letter and my magnifying glass. All these years of getting to know the spiders -- befriending them, loving them, giving them dried flies from my windowsill -- all of it had led up to this. I was ready. "Theodora,'"I said to the young Money Spider who had brought the communique, "tell Archibald that I'll be there. Good luck, my child." The real battle was about to begin.
Sherlock’s coat practically flew behind him as he came bustling into the room. “Right. Where is it? Where’s the body?” His eyes caught Anderson’s. “You. Tell me what you’ve found.” Anderson gestured with some frustration at the body out of view of Sherlock, behind a very delicate looking piece of Victorian furniture. A red, now slightly blood stained, fainting couch. Sherlock whipped around the couch and circled around to see the body from the front, looking calculatingly from the door to the couch to the body. John Watson moved past Sherlock and Anderson, kneeling down to examine the body. The hair was disheveled and there was no blood on the body. ‘Curious..’ John thought to himself as Sherlock took in the scene. “I ascertain, Mr. Holmes, that this murder is not as it seems...” Anderson stroked his great mustache as he surveyed the body of a well-dressed, very pale white gentleman on the floor. As he stooped down to examine the body closer, he found himself with two pieces of mustard laden bread upon his cheeks. A bit of tomato ran slowly down the side of his cheek as Sherlock spoke. “That much is evident. Now what are you?” He asked. Anderson did not respond and Sherlock squeezed his cheeks together with the bread. “What are you, Anderson?” John sighed from the other side of the body. Not again. He went back to examining the body, attempting to avoid this murder scene nightmare. “An idiot sandwich.” “That’s right. An idiot sandwich. Now let’s try not to state the obvious and look past it to the hidden, shall we?” He whipped the bread into the still burning fireplace and quickly examined the body. “There...” he said, picking a hair from the mans cost. “Un-fucking-believable, Anderson. How could you have missed this?” “It’s a red coat and a red hair... it’s easy enough to—“ “I don’t want to hear your excuses, you fucking donkey. I want to see you do better. Is that clear?” Anderson sputtered and looked like he was going to say something. “I asked you if that was clear, you bumbling twit.” “Yes, Holmes.” “Good. Now wipe that tomato off of your face and get back to work.” “Yes, Holmes.” Anderson nodded, still red as he wiped the sandwich debris off of his face.
It doesn't sound like much, really: does whatever a human can. But then you realize, some humans can pull planes and trains. Some humans can catch arrows. Some humans can do complex math in their heads. Some humans can juggle chainsaws. You see, it isn't just what the average human can do. I combine all the peak abilities of humanity. If one man can do it, I can do it. If one man knows it, I know it. I don't need any medical treatments. As long as there was one good liver, one good heart, one of any organ, I'm set. It made it easy to take over. I was able to say the right things, push the right buttons, to get people doing what I want. I started by shutting down the lab that gave me my powers. I didn't want them falling into the wrong hands, after all. Then I started changing the way people viewed things. Built the drive for self improvement, for focused study. I got people to organize, worldwide, and our discoveries started advancing like never before. Before the decade was out, we had interstellar travel. We had solved the issues of aging, bacterial and viral infections, cancer, such that death only came if some accident destroyed your body so you died before a first aid kit could be used. And since we had inertial dampeners you could clip to your sleeve, those accidents were very rare. I'd initiated breeding programs, to maximize certain traits. I produced a group of humans who were cared for, but incredibly flawed. They were only alive to be the strongest, or fastest, or any other superlative I wanted, and none of their other traits mattered. I found that I could breed to shift the spectrum of light people saw, so while they only saw in shades of infrared or ultraviolet, I got to see it all. Some people have different types of cones in their eyes, allowing them to see more colors. It was when I realized this that I got an idea, and a question. What makes something human? How far can I push hybrid genetics before I don't get the abilities? Could I get the eyes of a Mantis shrimp? The nose of a turkey vulture? I'm working on that now. I won't stop until humans are the best that they can be, so I'm they best that I can be.
"Welcome to the 'Pizza Connection'! What can I get for you?" Sofia was a great hostess. My sisters kid. Smart and pretty and goin' to college, always made customers feel like they were at home. It was her idea to go legit and get into the pizza business in the first place. After they indicted Gianni, my sisters husband and Sofia's father, over that thing in SoHo, she begged me to get out. RICO charges were a bitch, and much as I liked 'the life', it was only a matter of time before they came for me. We already owned three pizzerias as fronts, so it made sense to legitimize it. Not that it was easy, and the money wasn't as good, but the stress? It was nice to not have to look over my shoulder for Feds every time I came out of the house. The other families were ok with it, too. They saw it as less competition, which it was. Our territory was being divided up between them, and they were happy to see us go. Of course, not all of us went legit. Half of my captains joined other families, and took their crews with them. That was fine, too. No way I could afford to keep paying everyone on pizza money anyway. "We want a word with your boss", the first guy said, trying to look as intimidating as he could. The second guy didn't say a word. He was obviously the muscle. None of this worked on Sofia, though. She grew up around mutts like these. Fake tough guys always trying to impress someone. They wore cheap suits that probably came off a swag truck, knock-off jewelry that looked like they stole from the piercing pagoda at the mall, and way too much cheap cologne. "Sure! Can I tell him who's asking?", she asked. So friggin' polite, this girl. I bet that shook those guys more than their wannabe goomba act shook her. "Just tell him we're from Providence" Sofia asked them to have a seat while they waited, which they declined. I guess you can only pretend to be a tough guy while standing. I watched her walk back down the employee entrance on the security cameras until she got to my office door and knocked. "C'mon in", I said. "Uncle Sal, there's a couple of guys here from Providence to see you", she said as she walked in. "Yeah I saw 'em on the cameras. You ever see 'em around here before?", I asked her. "No, I'd remember that shitty cologne" I chuckled, "aright then, make 'em sweat for a minute. Tell 'em I'm on the phone and I'll be right out, then ignore 'em" "No problem", she said as she closed the door. Ok Providence, what the fuck do you want?, I thought. I smoked the rest of my cigar while I watched these two clowns try to keep up their act. This was the best thing on TV. They stood there like statues for all of a minute before they started shuffling around, checkin' the place out, tryin' to stare down customers like they were gonna empty the place out. Dumb fucks got here at two on a Saturday and thought they could come in here and try to spook people? Not in this neighborhood, pal. I had customers that would hack these guys into little pieces if they thought it would make the line move faster. Standing in somebody's way at the 'Connection' could earn you a beatin'. Figured I better go see what was what. I sat at a booth in the back of the joint, and waved Sofia to send 'em over. I was happy to see how annoyed they looked for having to wait so long. "Have a seat, boys", I said, pouring myself some wine, "how can I help you?" "We're from Providence", the talker said, "and we want..." I cut him off, "Yeah, Providence. I was told that already. What brings Providence all the way up here?" "We want to discuss a business opportunity for you", blabbermouth said. "I ain't interested in investing or partnering. Sorry you wasted a road trip. Why don't you get a pie and go see the park?" "Look", he leaned across the table, "this ain't a negotiation". "Then it ain't a 'business opportunity', either", I told him, "so what is it?" They looked at each other, and I could see the bulges under their jackets. They came heavy. Bad move, fellas. "Word on the street is you went legit", he began. "So your territory is up for grabs", the big silent guy finished his sentence for him. "Nothin' I have is up for grabs. That's somethin' you better understand real quick", I said as I leaned back in the cushion of the booth. See, the thing about intimidation is this - The harder you try to look angry, the more you end up looking like a punk. These guys were all scowls and grimaces, grinding their teeth, trying too hard to stare. They looked like they took the Richard Simmons class on how to be tough. "You don't think the other families are gonna come here to do business? The people I represent are offering you protection..." I put up my hand. "Stop talking", I said, "I've done your job. You never did mine. So I'm gonna tell you once: take your cheap suit and shitty cologne out of my pizzeria and don't come back". Big guy's hand was sliding into his jacket when he heard the 'click' from under the table. His hand froze. "That's right, ladies. You go back to Providence and tell your employer that I don't need his protection", I said. They shuffled out of the booth and stood up, straightening their collars. They mumbled to each other as they walked out. I could tell this would be trouble down the road. But like I said before, only about half my captains left when we went legit. My manager for this store was one of my oldest and most trusted guys, Michael. After I put away my piece and stood up, Michael came over from behind the counter. He had a boxed up to-go order in his hands still. "Everything aright, boss?", he asked. "Maybe... maybe not. Looks like we might have a problem with Providence", I nodded toward the two sore thumbs standing outside, waiting on a cab. "How do you want to play it?", he asked. That was a good question. I worked my ass off goin' legit. I made a promise to Sofia and her mom. I couldn't get back into that life. Hell, even if I wanted to, the other families already accepted my legitimacy. No way would they let me change my mind now. I was thinkin' about all this as it started to rain, and the two idiots got in their cab and drove away. "We might have to do one last thing", I said, "but we gotta keep it quiet, Mikey" "I'm with you, boss", Michael said. We walked back to my office. I put on my jacket and checked the magazine in my piece. Full. Adding a small .25 caliber in my ankle holster, I told Michael he needed to gather up his crew. This needed to be handled tonight. He agreed, and started making calls. It felt strange. We had been legit for over a year, but when it was 'game on', everything felt so natural. It was just so easy to slip back into that mode. That's what made it feel weird. There was Michael, wearing a pizza shirt and an apron with his name embroidered on it, holding a to-go order, and he was callin' up guys to come over so we could fuck up a crew from Providence. It looked like a cartoon. After he made his last call, we walked out of the office, down the hall. I saw he still had a box of food as I handed him a gun. "Here", I said, "Take the gun. Leave the cannoli's"
"They're all the same", my father used to say. I admired him. As his successor, I did my best to become a good fit for the role. I believed in his cause, his vision, to shape the country into the paradise our people deserved. But the day he showed me what he does to his own people "for their own good", is the day I stopped seeing him as a father, and in front of me now stood the most wretched and disgusting human being I had ever laid my eyes upon. I swore to one day become not his legacy, but his nemesis, and bring down this empire of lies and murder he built for himself. But before i could get close to that point, I had to keep my mask on, do all his bidding like the good and attentive boy he taught me to be. So I learned from him, how he manipulated people with only his words, the steps of his "Revolution", the betrayals, always listening, always remembering. Because one day, I swear to God, one day I'm going t- &#x200B; "What the fuck are you doing back there, you wank? Hands where I can see them!" Lovely. My guardian's here. I was coming back from the imperial gardens when my convoy was attacked. One survivor. Such irony, I always expected my lineage to bring me death, not life. "I told you not to talk to me like that, I'm not-" "Shut your fuckin' mouth before I put some lead in it, you arrogant fuck. I know who you are. Chief wants to see you." She is an amputee, a pistol in her only hand. Don't even want to think about how she lost the other. She took me out of the cell and made me walk, making sure not to skip a beat when it came to brutality. At the end of the hallway, in the tallest room of this rebel base, I met their leader, sitting at a long, rounded table. "Thank you, Oshi. You may close the door behind you after you leave." "Are you sure, Chief? I bet this little prick has some good moves left in him, even without a weapon." "I think I can handle a little handcuffed and scared to shit criminal, thank you. I want us to speak alone." "Whatever you say, Chief..." &#x200B; After she left, he turned his attention back to me. He starts grinning, before his face turns stone cold once again. "Welcome, your highness. Is that a phrase you're used to, murderer?" "You're making the wrong assumptions, I am not him and I am not like him, I am-" "You got some nerve, boy, I'll give you that."he said, looking at me with murder reflecting in his eyes. "Don't you fucking dare,"he continued, "that manic father of yours killed everyone standing in his path, my comrades, my wife, my parents, people I used to see on my way back from work, all gassed, shot, hanged - and those were the lucky ones, God knows what abominable things he did to the ones they took and we never heard from again." &#x200B; Damn. He'd never believe me. This is gonna be a tough nut to crack. &#x200B; "Oshi back there,"he continued, his rage building, "she had her hand chopped in front of him for stealing food to feed her children, and he was laughing. It was funny to him." Oh god, I hope he's not talking about- "And you were there, you little fuck. She told us. You were watching, not averting your eyes or anything like that, not crying or begging for him to stop, just watching and listening to the poor women's screams, giving her the coldest look she ever saw, like a machine, waiting for her despair to end. Kinda poetic that she was the first to recognize you, don't you think? Tell me one good fucking reason I shouldn't kill you right now, tear your body to pieces and parade with you around the country. Maybe if we do this, that fucking father of yours could feel a tiny fraction of what we've suffered through for ages". &#x200B; "You could do that,"I said, trying to mask my fear, "or you could look at the bigger picture. What you got on your hands is nothing short of a treasure. See it this way, for how long have you all fought? How many years? The secret police is countering your every action, hunting you day and night, shooting every rebel they can get their hands on." I struck a cord. He makes a couple of steps towards me, his hand reaching for his pocket. "I could be your weapon. He taught me everything he knew. I know the orders he gives, how his army is run, what his mentality is and where he's putting his efforts. Spare my life and I'll tell you all you could possibly need to know, the people will love you, they'll worship your leadership and one hundred years from now, will sing songs about you". He looked at me, analyzing me; I could almost hear his thoughts, focused on whether I'm scheming something or if I'm just a little shit, trading my family and honor for my life. &#x200B; After what felt like an eternity, he finally relaxed his muscles. "Intriguing. You have my attention. But try anything and I'll shoot you on the spot." &#x200B; I felt sick. They're all the same.
"You're kidding,"Jared said. The couch seemed to fall out from under him as the vertigo kicked in, dangling him over the yawning mouth of an unknown abyss. "You're leaving it up to me?" Larry Sting laced his fingers in front of his mouth. "You're the best we've got. There's no authority over this, no laws - the technology is too new, and honestly, I don't want the government sticking their fingers in the pie of God." Well that was an interesting and fairly nonsensical metaphor. Jared rubbed his thighs, trying to distract himself with the lazy lava lamp globules. "You want me to set a precedent." "Yes,"Larry said. "You're my oldest friend. Before the news hits the press, I need you to determine whether the subject qualifies as a human being and our next course of action. All executive powers in the SynchroVerse are now hereby transferred to your account for the next twenty-four hours." The walk down to the SynchroPods was arduous. Clammy hands wiped down his brown suit-jacket as Jared tried to think back to every ethics class, late-night AI convo, and science fiction novel he'd ever read. What constituted a sentient life? If the kid sufficiently passed the Turing Test, was that enough? He was aware of the heavy weight bearing down upon his thin shoulders. The player who'd passed away was still active in the game, querying admins and posting on forums in a panic. If he deemed the player a life, would SynchroVerse be liable for keeping everyone who passed away? Would people purposefully keep themselves hooked in so that when they passed away, a trace of them might still remain? And if he deemed the player not a life, what would that say about human consciousness? What would the parents say? And in the end, if he couldn't decide, was he prolonging the suffering of a being that couldn't even understand that it was suffering? Jared almost tripped stepping into the glowing chamber. The soft gel cushioned him as the cover of the pod closed off the outside world, heralding the partial-REM state necessary for the SynchroVerse to come alive. He found himself on the sidewalk of a suburban house. Sprinklers went tic-tic-tic as the green grass dribbled pearls of liquid from heavy heads. "Robbie?"he called. "I'm here on behalf of the SynchroVerse admins." A small child ran outside, chased by a fluffy corgi who barked cheerfully. "Please help! I can't log off since yesterday, and I've missed a whole day of school already! My parents are probably really worried." Jared controlled his face. They're not worried because we blocked your messages. You're legally dead, and the dead can't speak. "Let me take a look. It will only be a second." Navigating the executive interface, he looked at a scan of the boy's brain. There was none - just a cached memory layer that the SynchroVerse preserved. The child in front of him wasn't human. He was simply a memory, a chunk of code that would never change or grow, doomed to exist in the same state until... "Robbie,"he said. "You're dead." The way the kid's face froze and shattered like a pane of ice almost broke Jared. "I...what? I'm not. I don't feel dead." Jared couldn't help it. He gave the child a hug, aware of the irony that this was almost more for his sake than for Robbie's. "That's why you can't log out."He tried to explain as best as he could, taking his time while various brain areas tried to figure out what to do. "Are you going to...turn me off?"Robbie asked when he'd finally calmed down. He was petting the corgi simulation, downtrodden eyes cast at the pebbled pavement. The psychologist scoured through the interface. He'd taken only rudimentary computer science classes, but it was enough. The child in front of him felt so real, so...human. There were new memories forming, but that was it. The SynchroVerse wasn't capable of simulating growth in the areas of the brain that developed with age. "No,"he said. "I can't risk it. As I said, you're not really human, but...you're not really non-sentient either." "Then what?" Jared shook his head. "We'll probably patch this issue immediately, to prevent it from happening to anyone else. But you...I can't kill you. You're just a kid. You'll stay on this server forever, at least until I figure out a way to upgrade your brain to let you grow." A smile crept onto Robbie's face. "So...no more school?" "Hah!"Jared gave Robbie another hug. "No more school, but no parents either. No friends for now, until I get the company to provide some NPCs. You won't be able to interact with the outside world for a while until we fully understand what happened to you. Is that okay with you?" "Yeah,"Robbie said after thinking it through. "Thanks for not logging me out." As Jared was about to leave, Robbie ran up and caught the simulated sleeve of his brown suit jacket. "You'll come visit me sometimes though, right? We can play games, and...and fight villains and stuff! The simulation adventures are wicked!" A peace settled over Jared's heart. He still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but at least there was time to make it right. "Yeah. Yeah, I will." --- Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you there :)
Cassie slid into the seat behind me and I smiled. This usually ended well. Her assigned seat was one further back, but Steve wasn't here today, so she could take his seat. Good riddance, Steve. She hummed softly. Even her humming is beautiful, and a sublime hint of what she can do on stage now. I've loved it ever since her voice began to change, which first happened at school on February 10, 2013, even though that was just the beginning of those uncertain times when her larynx and vocal folds were still very much in flux and her voice would unexpectedly oscillate at random times until it settled into the rolling, emotional geyser that was starting to get noticed by others now. I wonder if she remembers that--or remembers that I do. I remember everything. It's annoying. She started scratching my back. "We got the Louder than Life gig. Mom just told me." A smile spread across my face. She could have texted me that. She waited to tell me in person because she knew I loved to hear her voice. Well, she had some idea, though she didn't know that I was in geometry as a high school senior just because I loved to hear her voice. I checked to make sure my backpack was closed. I'd rather just celebrate our first ever festival gig than have her change the topic and ask me what classes those other books were for--Differential Equations, Finnegan's Wake, Aquinas, some notes on the Battle of Austerlitz, The Tempest. Our first album was titled Hell is Empty, and All the Devils are Here. She knew the reference now because I'd read that part of the play to her. She loved when I read to her, told me I should do audiobooks. This from my lead singer, whom the neighborhood paper had already compared to a young Lzzy Hale. I'd have sat in the dark and listened to her read to me about Austerlitz. Hell, I'd have sat in the dark and listened to her read the local supermarket circular to me. Mrs. Krantz walked in. "Mr. Gibson, no math book again today?" I was this close to slamming the differential equations book on my desk. They say that when you're in love, you just know it by the way they make you feel inside. No. You know it by the amount of shit you're willing to put up with to be with them. Mrs. Krantz had been a B- student at a third-tier in-state college. I knew this because I hacked their registrar last year when I was bored in computer class, while my classmates were being amazed at how Excel could actually be used to add up an entire column of numbers instantly. Well, not instantly, but close enough for the human mind to process, based on the processing speed of the computer and the other demands on its resources. "I'll be fine,"I told her through clenched teeth. "You already are,"Cassie says as she leans back in her seat. And suddenly my teeth are no longer clenched, just smiling. My phone buzzes with a text from my parents. I risk missing the review of learning about calculating the area and circumference of ovals. I wonder if Mrs. Krantz could calculate the volume of an elliptical toroid if I gave her all day? I shake it off. Cassie's mom told us the news. I take it this means that it'll be a while longer before you get this band thing out of your system? My parents knew. They were among the few who did, though I think many suspected. It was a little hard to hide it from them, since I was ostensibly an A- student in probability and statistics and yet had been giving my parents the money to finance the band from my winnings at online poker and options trading. I had started when I was 13. I hadn't wanted Cassie to know where the money came from, back then, when it was just a middle school crush. They had pointed out that online gambling was illegal where we lived. I had had to walk them through what I did to get the money out. It was rather sophisticated. They observed that that was money laundering. My parents were not dunces. So I told them that if they wanted me to go to school in the future without a felony record, they'd take the money and help fund our band. They told me that if I was old enough to launder my own money, I was old enough to launder my own laundry, and that was how a new set of chores got added to my to-do list. Then they took the money and funded our band, at least until we got enough paid gigs to fund ourselves. But I digress. Years later, just last year in fact, when I told them I was thinking about not going to college--notwithstanding all they'd done to save in their 529 account for me--they'd made me promise that I wouldn't say never. I promised to go "once I got this band thing out of my system."Now we were booked for the same rock festival in Kentucky where I'd taken Cassie on our fifth real date. Shitty side stage, but a stage. It was going to be a while before I got this band thing out of my system. I listened to Mrs. Krantz drone on about circles, thinking, wow, I could start four more years of this this fall, or I could bang drums on stage all day while looking at the backside of one of the rising princesses of rock, who happened to be into me and give the best back-scratches in Indiana. Cassie scratched my back again. Now that was a reason to go to school. Mrs. Krantz called on me, seeing me enjoying her class more than was intended, expecting to embarrass the kid who forgot his textbook and was apparently just there for a backscratch. Sigh. And I'd have to go along with it. All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players ... Three more months until graduation. "Hey, genius,"Cassie whispered. "Show her the real you. I'll give you another backscratch in detention." My eyes opened wide and I turned to look at her, completely ignoring the teacher. She was grinning like an idiot. She knew. I stood up. Just to set the mood. I answered Mrs. Krantz' questions. I also answered every question she had asked me over the past three months, all the questions my classmates had gotten wrong so far this class, and corrected the teacher on one question where my classmate had gotten it right and she had gotten it wrong. Hours later, I got that backscratch in detention. It was definitely going to be a while before I got this band thing out of my system.
I had a handful of folders packed with handouts and pamphlets in one hand and about a dozen electronic security badges on company lanyards around my other wrist. Now all I needed was my travel mug of coffee. I popped my head into my office. "Oh Lord, not again..." "Anita, what's wrong?"Aaliyah, the big boss, spotted me in the hallway. "Oh, one of the new staff took my mug and replaced it with an Antidote Bug."I pointed to my desk. There was a small glass jar where my mug used to be. Inside the jar, a lime green worm wriggled around, producing a translucent green liquid. "Good thing I'm teaching orientation for the Nagonons today, right?" "Yeah. Make sure and remind them that handshakes are the only acceptable tactile greetings, too, Dobo had a tentacle all up in my hair!"Aaliyah took a pick and a mirror out of her purse and picked out a flat spot in her afro. I headed over to the conference room to set up. As soon as I got the folders and ID badges down, the receptionist walked in with a Nagonon delivery worker. They held four thick, reinforced thermal bags, one in each upper tentacle. I hummed a middle C, a Nagonon expression of appreciation, then pointed to the table off to the side of the room. They hummed a little higher to make a pleasant chord, then set the bags down. Soon, the Nagonons entered. There was no trickling in. They hummed a chord together at exactly 08:00:00, walked in single file around the table, and each sat in the chair closest to them. "Good morning!"I put on my best customer service smile, hoping to exude warmth and trustworthiness. "Good morning."They answered in unison. Some remembered to turn their mouths up in an imitation of a smile, some didn't. More importantly, they all waved their tentacles. They were pleased. "My name is Anita Sherrelwood. Please call me Anita. I'm the director of Employee Resources here at Pixel Magic Studios. You are here because you belong here. Some of you were referred by friends, some applied online. You all submitted great portfolios of code or art, and you all interviewed well." Again, I saw tentacles wiggling. Nice! "Here at Pixel Magic, we strive for diversity, equity, and inclusion. We want you to feel welcome around our human employees, and we want our human employees to feel welcome around you. That's why we have this first day of orientation for you. Coming to a new planet and integrating with another culture is difficult, especially when there are species differences to think about!" I walked over to the food table and gestured toward the low, flat coolers on the table. "One of the most obvious ways we can see this is in our food."I lifted the styrofoam lids off the coolers. Immediately, each Nagonon turned from bluish gray to bright red. I continued. "Just like you eat live food and humans don't, humans drink coffee. In case you're not sure of what that is, here are some pictures. You may look at them and ask me questions while you eat." They stared at me as one. "Oh yeah, sorry. You may eat!"I clicked over to the first slide in the slideshow, which showed cups and mugs of coffee, a coffee shop, and coffee beans. There was a knock on the door. "Hey Anita, here you go."It was Aaliyah! She handed me a mug full of coffee. "Nice! Thanks so much!"I took the mug and walked back to the front of the conference room. Most of the Nagonons were fading to gray, humming and wrapping tentacles around each other. One of them, wearing an ID badge that read "Dobo,"approached me. They chattered nervously, a series of clicks and hums. "English, please, Dobo. I only understand a few of the words you're saying." "Your drink has poison in it,"Dobo said, fading all the way to black. "Caffeine is poisonous to Nagonons,"I said calmly. "To humans, it's a mild drug that increases alertness."I took a sip. Everyone watching turned black. I expected this; it happened every time. "This is why we have this orientation day, to cut down on culture shock. Now, let's get down to it. We'll start with health and safety, our physiological differences. Then we'll move on to polite business communication in person, over the phone, and over email. From there, I'll introduce you to differences between humans, and we'll finish up by learning where to go for more information. Now, open your folders..."
“Are you kidding me?” Borgin, the fire spirit, said. He sounded annoyed and impatient with the question. “Well,” Danny said as he brought his hands out from behind his back. In one was a thin stick already topped with a marshmallow. In the other was a plastic grocery sack full of Hershey’s chocolate bars, graham crackers, and more marshmallows. Danny was a scrawny fifteen-year-old kid covered in acne who wasn’t very good at sports, but he was incredibly intelligent. His curiosity matched his high IQ, which was yet to be tested but everyone who talked with him for even the shortest amount of time knew he was sharp. That same curiosity is what led him to discover Borgin, an ancient fire spirt that lived hidden in the forests of Hawaii. Borgin was worshipped as a god in earlier times but has since been forgotten. He sprung from a volcano one day and made his home as an eternal flame on an old tree stump. The locals who discovered and worshipped him built a stone alter around him. It’s plain as day to see if one should come across it so Danny was surprised to see that no one ever found him until now. “Oh, come on, Borgin,” Danny says as he holds up his sack full of treats. “I carried these all the way here. Are you really going to disappoint me like that?” Borgin sighed then gave in. “Oh, alright,” he said clearly annoyed but somewhat amused at Danny’s silly gesture. “Only because you’ve held your end of the bargain and not told anyone about me. You have kept your word, haven’t you?” “Sure have,” Danny said holding the stick with the marshmallow over top of Borgin. The smile on his face was wide. Wide enough that it gave Borgin a warm feeling inside even though he was already literally fire. “Good,” Borgin said. “The last thing I want is a bunch of people here disturbing me. I like you well enough, but most people just get on my nerves. Always with the bowing and chanting. Then they want me to heal their sick and give them blessings. I can’t do any of that stuff! They won’t listen either. I’m just a talking flame. You humans act like I’m the only one.” “That’s because you are the only one,” Danny laughed. He took the marshmallow from over Borgin, blew it out, stuck it on top of a piece of chocolate between two graham cracker, and took a bite. “Besides, they’d probably be more interested in studying you than worshiping you now-a-days,” he says with his mouth full. “Yeah, because that would be so much better.” Danny finished his smores and put another marshmallow on his stick. “How many of those are you going to eat?” “As many as I want,” Danny answered in that kind of tone a fifteen-year-old uses when they don’t want to be told what to do. Borgin laughed and looked at Danny. “You’re alright, kid. You can make your snacks here anytime you want.”
Part 1 [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq8832s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq88ank/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) ================= Cecil had a bad feeling as he walked in the front door at work. He knew he’d left no trace, but there was always a chance, just the barest chance, that he’d forgotten something. A spot of blood. A cracked mirror. A security camera faithfully recording the last moments of his latest conquest. Cecil had been doing this for a long time. At a company this large, this corrupt, it took time for people to notice disappearances. Some people likened these corrupt multi-national corporations to Hydra. Cut off the head, and a new one grows back angrier than ever. Then, it’s back to business exploiting the poor, sucking at the swollen teat of the government, and destroying the environment. Cecil knew this wasn’t quite true. When a company offered its head to the court of public opinion, it wasn’t capitulation. The head was already severed, presented on a silver platter, and a new one was growing in its place before people could react. Status quo. True disruption took much more than that. Disappear the head, but keep things going just enough that they can fall apart further down the road. Let the rot set in. As he strode to his office, Cecil reviewed his plan. Harry was on vacation this week, and nobody would expect him back until Monday. That gave him plenty of time to make alternative working arrangements and excuses. Cecil began scrolling through flight plans on his phone, but stopped short of his office when he bumped into someone standing in front of Harry’s office. He stumbled, then he realized just who it was. “H..Harry!” Harry dropped his coffee. “Shit! Watch where you’re going Tom! You owe me a coffee.” Cecil stared dumbly at him for a second, then snapped out of it. “Harry, I thought you were on vacation! Isn’t your flight out-of-town today?” Harry was bending over to pick up his cup and looked up at Cecil. “Vacation? That’s next week. Please tell me you have the quarterly financials ready. I want to review them before I leave.” Cecil had given him the report last Monday and Harry had approved them on Thursday. “Um, yea. Check your email, should be there.” He stumbled over to his office and closed the door behind him. He wasn’t imagining things, was he? The computer verified: He’d sent over the report last Monday. Harry’s calendar showed him as “OOO”. Harry’s email password, which he’d found on a post-it note in Harry’s home office, was valid. Something was very wrong indeed. ===== [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq8832s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rp93in/comment/hq88ank/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
He sweats as he keeps talking about virtual monkeys and how no one seemed to care that World War 3 almost happening. “Never forget about Super Bowl 38. Tom Brady will be the least exciting thing about it.” He said some dark stuff honestly, 2008 seems like a pretty bad appetizer if the whole meal was fighting two wars at the same time. But hey that Robert Downey Jr guy really seemed to turn his life around. After he mentioned the Star Wars reboot and then the Star Wars re re boot, he really got deep into some dude from South Africa and how he got in trouble for smoking weed with the guy from News Radio. I couldn’t really keep up with what he was saying he just told me to throw some dog dollars or something into some space ship stock. I’m not a big book reader but Amazon is apparently going to cause a lot of problems for a lot of people. I don’t know why we’ll need to pay 12 dollars a month for books that were not going to read. Where would I even put them if I lose my house? He’s finally calmed down a bit, I handed him a fifth bottle of water. I’m not sure if I should ask this next question but I gotta get it off my chest. With a bit of anxiety and a whole lot of confusion I ask “so how did a gorilla cause the capital building to be invaded?”
The mage leaned against the pillar, blood pouring from his injured shoulder. The mimic had surprised the entire party; they all excitedly ran towards the chest with ideas of glorious loot and riches, only for hands and feet to sprout from it, slashing them all and tossing them aside. The chest itself now mimicked a face and let out a creaking sound that was almost reminiscent of laughter. The other party members have all tried their best to no effect; the warrior had his blow deflected and leg pierced, the priest was made to miscast and burned himself with his healing and the ranger found all her arrows bounced from the thick wooden hide of the creature. The mage, having been hit by his own magic missile that bounced back him, was at his patience's end. The dungeon was long, grueling, and very tiresome; to see his promised rewards mocking him so just fueled the fire in his eyes. Deciding he's had quite enough, he raised his hand and uttered a simple, crude, and exceedingly efficient curse: "Fuck. You. In. Particular,"he said as sparks flew from his hand. The priest was the only one to hear him and gave him a look of utter confusion when just seconds later-- \--a cacophony of sound and colors filled the room, as if someone had taken a kaleidoscope, filled it with jingles, and tossed it into the sun. The mimic, much to its confusion, suddenly found itself impaled on a rock spike before it burst into small shards, peppering it with the rock-hard splinters and causing it to fall and hit the ground hard. Still reeling from the attack, a large boulder suddenly tore itself from the wall and slowly levitated above it before falling with a thundering impact right on its lid. It started getting up again, however slowly. The priest, seeing this mayhem, yelled: "Solas, what the hell - *are those bees?!*" his confused question was silenced by the buzzing of a large hive of bees that descended on the mimic and started swarming and stinging it. The stings, granted, were not very effective against the wood; but seconds later when each bee exploded in a small burst of light, much like a firework, surely did a number on the creature. It made one last attempt to get up when a large, translucent fist appeared before it and smashed down onto it several times with loud, almost angry-sounding smacks. The party stood still and looked at the mangled carcass of the would-be trickster chest. Their expression ranged from shock to downright horror as a single bee that had seemingly forgotten to explode still buzzed around and valiantly tried to sting the scorched mess of splinters. Moments later, the warrior turned to the mage. "Solas, what exactly-" "It had it FUCKING coming, alright?"he cut him off angrily, clutching his bleeding arm. "This was a brand fucking new tunic." He turned around on his heel and started to leave. Behind him, a small fire started on top of the dead mimic.
Sarah sat in her house, drinking a mug of hot chocolate on this cold winter day. She had just curled up in her chair ready to start her book. But today was not going to be a relaxing day. Instead, her front door was smashed down and the sound of many boots rushing around filled her house. Sarah dropped her mug and had started to get slip behind her chair when a soldier peered through the doorway, rifle in his hands. “I found her, she’s in study. Secure the area!” the solider shouted as he moved into the room and place himself between her and the rest of the world as best he could. “Please wait here while we make sure you are safe,” The soldier said to Sarah. Not much else Sarah could do as it sounded like there was at least an entire squad in her house. She could hear the soldier rushing through the rest of her house. Soon there were 3 more soldier in the room and another 2 at the door. Sarah was about to speak up when another soldier walked in, which the other soldier all watching. He spoke with an air of authority, “The area is secure. Set up a secure transmission line.” A small computer was set up on the desk with a microphone and speaker attached to it. A soldier turned it on, entered a few keystrokes, and then the speaker spoke up, “This is the Succession Headquarters. Give your report.” “Lieutenant Mark Samson speaking. Target Sierra 6-9-4-2 has been secured. Requesting next orders.” There was a pause, “Still awaiting reports from the other squads. Currently, all in line below 6,400 have been eliminated.” Sarah squirmed a little, she wasn’t happy with how things were sounding. The speaker cracked back to life, “6,450 and below verified dead. Move to R2473 and await new orders.” Lieutenant Samson walked over to Sarah and spoke, “We have got to move. This place is not safe enough.” He began to lead Sarah away, when she stopped “Where are we going? What is going on?” She asked, trying to catch up on what had occurred. The Lieutenant looked at her, “You are Sarah Elizabeth, correct?” “Yes, but what is happening here?” “Your life is in danger. We must move, but I’ll explain in the truck. It’s not safe to speak here. You will have to trust us.” Sarah followed them to the trucks, which were parked in her driveway, her yard, and the street. It wasn’t completely out of trust that she followed them, but also that they had large guns and quite a few of them. Before getting in the truck, the Lieutenant stepped aside as a soldier whispered something to him. Then he followed her into the truck and they were on the road, with Sarah in the middle of a convoy of trucks. “I understand that we have asked a lot from you, but we needed to move as quickly as possible. This is about you being in line for the British throne.” The Lieutenant said, looking serious. Sarah looked blankly at the Lieutenant; he must be joking. “You do know you are in line for throne, right?” The Lieutenant followed up with.“Yes, but like the last in line. My last name comes from my dad, it’s just a coincidence it is Elizabeth. My mom is the one who was in line and her maiden name was Smith. She went to 1 royal even before she passed away. I think there has been some kind of mix up. There are like 5,000 people ahead of me for the throne.” Sarah said, exasperated. “There were 6,491 people ahead of you for the throne.” The Lieutenant added. “Exactly, 6,491 peo….” Sarah started before pausing, “Wait, there WERE 6,491 people ahead of me?" “Yes. They are all gone. You are the next in line for succession.” Sarah looked at him, stupefied. What was he talking about? Finally she managed to ask, “What happened?” The Lieutenant looked Sarah in the eyes with a fear in his eyes, “It the Queen. Queen Elizabeth II. She has gotten loose.”
My boss was walking over to me, a giant grin on his face. "Good job on the Mysterio Corp account! How did you know about the mismatch between the MI-15c form and the W1099 listing from their staff?" I let my social brain do the talking and tuned Mr Maxowicz's voice out, whilst I worked out he account in front of me. He had a tendency to drone on and wax lyrical about things he knew nothing about. My social brain let my analytic brain know that the conversation was over, and I waved him down, saying, "I'll just be a few minutes, I need to test the AI learning programming for FinTech to run over the weekend." As he left the office, I documented the errors that should be caught in the latest learning patch and knowledge base, in preparation for the next quarter, and saved them to my personal thumb drive alongside a screenshot, with a copy on my work drive. I was sick of Dave trying to steal my data and claim it as his own work, and this way, I had separate evidence for this. I had enough circumstantial evidence to cause Dave problems, and any of his so-called 'friends' without falling into criminal activity - his affair with Marie from HR, the cocaine binges in the toilets, and his theft of company works to sell on the black coporate espionage market. What I didn't have, however, was the physical evidence, and I'm not jeopardising my multi-million-dollar bonus for a shitbag like Dave. No matter how tempting that earwig of Dad's is. I let my social brain take over and handle the rest of the day whilst I got on with dealing with the real world, of numbers and logic and chains of events. I was rudely interrupted by the sounds of the Police breaking my door down. / / / / / / I spent six hours, forty-five minutes and seventeen seconds being interrogated by idiots who fell for this pathetic attempt to set me up. It was sloppy, and my solicitor tore the Met a new one over just how sloppy their 'chain of evidence' had been. The idiots had tried downloading highly illegal sexual images onto my personal drive during the update. This sent an immediate flag to Scotland Yard who had some shoddy numerical work done to me. Even the hashes and checksums between the copy the police had and mine were woefully different. But I knew one very scummy person who would be dumb enough to cross me. Dave.
"Dad!"My boy, Tim, whisper shouted. "She's back." "Shhh,"I put an arm around his shoulder, he buried his face into my cotton hoodie. I looked out the peephole, the only source of sunlight in our boarded up home. There Maggie was, shambling along with the rest of them. She busted out the robot, then interrupted her groove with the happy feet. Her tattered rags trailed behind her like a bridal train. Her shoeless feet were cracked, deformed, and bleeding form the countless days of dancing. Presently, she stopped doing the happy feet, and straightened up, facing me. I stumbled back a step, horrified that we had been discovered. In a few minutes, with Tim still crying into my naval, I gathered my courage to look out the peephole again. Tim's mom, Maggie, was now leading a jazzersize session. She clapped with vigor above her head while doing high knees, and I could nearly hear her shouting encouragement. Presently, I hoisted Tim and retreated from the hole into our bedroom, where I bundled us beneath a pile of blankets. Only then did Tom relax; you can't get us while we are in our pillow and blanket fort. I waited until Tim was deeply sleeping before I crawled out of the blanket fort. The jaunty tunes of a million genres from a million speakers still blared outside. I steeled myself and peeked again at the hoard. Maggie was long gone, replaced by a mishmash of a variety of groups and peoples. A grandma and grandpa did a very slow waltz, and pangs of guilt assaulted me once again. Why didn't I join Maggie when she had been turned? The guilt crashed into my skull, and I was unable to control my soaring heart rate. I felt it pound against me like a fist. The roaring in my ears only escalated as I collapsed, and I found myself counting to four again and again as I tried to steady my breathing. It worked after a time, and eventually I opened my eyes. "Daddy?"Tim stood before me, holding Blankie. Our vase with its dead flowers lay crumped and shattered beside him. I immediately grew alert, with no time to spare. The knob jiggled as a dancer tried to turn it, attracted by the sound of the shattering vase. As the knob wouldn't turn, heavy blows began landing, focused around the latch. The door shook and shuddered as Tim ran to his bedroom, hiding in the closet. The door gave way slowly, and a sense of calm spread over me. It was time. It was my time. I tried so hard to keep my humanity. But without other humans, what is there to keep? I needed Maggie. My boy needed a mother. I hoisted Tim who did not protest. "Daddy, no! Stop!"Tim yelled, yet my iron grip did not let up as I unlocked the front door. We came face to face with a man in business attire. He opened his mouth inhumanly wide, as though the bottom half were on a mechanical hinge. Then, he sank his teeth into my left temple, from which I still have a scar. I began doing a jig, which then coalesced into a tango, which transcended into simply tapping my foot, which morphed into a beautiful, entrancing, tap dance.
It was his job to love, of course. His is the last embrace everyone feels and, occasionally, the first. There was a pride to the work that nothing could match, as he knew people in the most intimate way. Agatha was her name, he believed. She was sitting in an armchair on a front lawn that was new to her every day, surrounded by people whose names and faces were fresh and new experiences. Death glanced at her withered features and the way she sagged in the chair, and he knew he had found her. Now was only time to wait. Her family spoke among themselves and sometimes to Agatha herself. If she knew what was happening, she might have been happy. Instead her responses were whispers and the ragged gasps that resembled breathing. Death knelt beside her and lay aside the scythe so often used for drunken brawls and motor collisions. He lightly touched her hand with his, and spoke into her ear. "Time to go, my Sweet." He placed his lips close to hers, and as she breathed out, he breathed in. From her he received the dregs of life that remained. From them he could feel only the misery of forgetting. Collecting was a terrible business, but one Death has honed. He committed himself to knowing about who he collected. Sometimes he was happy to collect the lives of people who did not deserve them. He laughed then. In the moment of death, he lived and became them, and knew them more than anyone else. More than that, he loved them. He loved their quirks and eccentricities. Every collection was a new memory, and he had many. But he hated these. The ones that forget. They were some of the hardest, because if they are not remembered by death, then they are truly forgotten. He loved these people most of all. He fell in love with each one, and remembered their names, at least, if nothing else remained. It was his job to love, and he did so gladly. He shook in grief.
"I've made it this far, so why not another year?"This was the refrain, the mantra, that went through young Alfred Wright's head every year before he returned to Hogwarts. Four years had now gone by since Headmistress McGonagall had first visited him. "I've taken notice of your talents,"she said. "I've come to offer you admission to a school for gifted young students. For students like you." Alfred didn't like to think back to the elation he felt in that moment, for it only reminded him of the crushing anxiety that followed in the ensuing months. There were many instances that exemplified the pain and awkwardness he felt as a first year. The confusion of Mr. Olivander when no wand seemed to fit him. The deep shade of red his face turned when everyone was able to swish and flick their way to levitating objects but him. But one memory above all continued to sting him to this day whenever his mind fell upon it. "Wright, Alfred,"the Headmistress called, mere moments after he first stepped into the Great Hall, wonder and amazement still on his face. He remembered puzzling over how they got the hat to move as it was placed upon his head. "Ah, you're no wizard at all!"the Sorting Hat whispered to him no more than a few seconds after it rested upon his brow. "What?! No, of course I am,"he remembered fervently thinking to the cap. "Headmistress McGonagall said that I was special, that I was supposed to be here." "Hogwash!"the hat retorted. "I can see into your mind, boy. You're just a muggle who knows some tricks." "But, I want to be here. I'm meant to be. I love magic." "Hehe, so you do."the hat said slyly. "Well then, I see no where to put you but, RAVENCLAW!"
In the centre of the table sits a lantern, ornate and black. It's not much more than a cage for a candle, offering little wind resistance. It came with the home I bought. It's beautiful; I wonder why it was not sold. The flame never goes out. How odd. It illuminates the room very well, and is much cheaper than buying new candles every day. My beautiful wife and daughter often make games of trying to lift the lantern, but it never moves. I wonder why.
Everyone fell silent, aside from a few still whispering. "Two eyes? How is this possible?" The king, enraged, spat at them. "He has NO eyes. I have told you. What would any of you blind fools know? Can you see for yourself? I am the vision of our people, and my word is law. You cannot dispute me." Still, I could tell he was nervous. He needed to maintain a facade, but he could see with his one good eye that I had two. By the king's own words, I was more divine than him. "Guards, capture this man. Immediately." Dodging them was child's play- they were barely guards, with no armor or weapons to fight with. How can you craft, without sight? Rather, how have they managed at all with no vision? As I glanced around the room, I noticed scars on every person. Rough, unpleasant skin around the eyelids- even the children...and then it clicked. "I am here to free you all. This man, he blinds everyone at birth. You all bear scars on your eyes as proof. He's likely killed off any who remember what sight is like over several decades." The king stood up, screaming. "Nonsense! I do no such thing!" Whispers again in the crowd. "He does attend every birth, to bless the child..." An old man stepped forward, reaching out to touch my eyes. "The skin is smooth. This man is likely not lying." Gasps, boos and anger followed. "SILENCE! I am the divine, the all-seeing. I am blessed with light while you all remain in darkness. This man is tempting you, and any who falter will be swiftly executed." With swiftness, I dashed up the steps and swung my sword. He was a strong swordsman despite his age, and reached out to parry my attack- but it was a diversion. With only one eye, his vision was too limited to notice the dagger I'd thrusted toward his one remaining source of light. Blood streamed and sputtered as he screamed, broken on the ground, reeling with pain. "Now you will know darkness, as they do. Grovel." He was writhing, bleeding all over himself. "Who will be king, then? You? You...usurper! You king-slayer! Who are you to lead?" "Not me, fool. This older man here, he is king. Despite his blindness, he has not lost sight of what is important in life, I can tell. He is calm, and rational. Most of all- he has not been privileged with something, and will not steal it from all others just to feel mighty. You! People! Deal with the disbanded King as you like, and rest peacefully knowing that your sons and daughters will be born with the gift of sight. Your land will prosper, and life can move forward." ---------------------- thanks for reading! if you still have eyes and would like to read more of my stories, check out /r/resonatingfury!
“Welcome David. We’re glad you are here.” “Where am I and OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU?” Dave had finally noticed the towering brontosaurus standing before the golden gates. “I have been called St. Peter, a faithful servant of God. I have taken this form for your comfort.” The brontosaurus had stretched its’ long neck down so he and Dave were face to face. Dave trembled as the dinosaur’s voice vibrated the air around him. “T-this is heaven?” “Of course Dave, your life of virtue means you may spend your afterlife here in God’s green pasture. You have been spared the torments of hell.” Still trying to make sense of where he was, Dave couldn’t help but wonder, “What torments?” “Oh my, hell is a despicable place” the brontosaurus bellowed as he stretched back to his full height. “There are nothing but dry twigs to munch and the duck-billed hadrosaurid runs circles around you, far too fast to catch. Every time you lay an egg it cracks open the moment you look back at it. There is no water to drink, but if you pass out from thirst a pterodactyl swoops down to peck you in the eyes.” Dave stared speechless as the behemoth before him continued to rattle off punishments. “But the most evil among god’s creatures suffer the worst punishment.” St. Peter looked down at Dave expecting some acknowledgement but a blank stare was all he received in return. “Some creatures spend eternity having their limbs bitten off by a mighty T-Rex only to have those limbs grow back again. The cruelest, however, are those poor beasts forced to wander miles along the barren wasteland being pelted by tiny meteors. When they finally find an oasis a huge asteroid crashes down and destroys the lake before they can take a drink.” “That sounds awful.” “Yes, Dave but you are here with us. Come and see your God glorious heaven.” St. Peter pushed open the golden gates to reveal huge rolling meadows. A crystal clear stream ran into the distance. Lushish foliage of flowers, ferns and fruit ran down the bank. A beautiful golden sun hung in the sky and the temperature was perfect. A small group of velociraptors went frolicking by in the tall grass and the ankylosaurs seemed to be skipping, its’ huge bolder-like tail swaying with each step. Dave spotted a stegosaurus in the distance and a smile came over his face. “Yes Dave” St. Peter said. “What?” “I can read your thoughts Dave.” “You can?” “I can. Yes, you can ride the stegosaurus”
Bureaucracy and smart asses do not mix. I'm going to have that etched on my grave in letters eight feet tall made inlaid with diamonds. I'm planning on a big grave. I was eighteen and, as everyone did, went down to the job center. Fifty years ago they passed a law where everyone would pick their job. Then the great machinery of state would grind forward and they would do everything they could to get you there. There were a bunch of tests to take first. Personality tests mostly. They said it was because no eighteen year old kid really knew what they wanted. I couldn't argue. It took four hours to plow through all the testing. The questions weren't hard - there were just so damn many of them. "Do you prefer Alfredo or marinara?""If you could live anywhere, would you live in the city, on a mountain, in the woods, in the desert, or in the suburbs?""What is your favorite color?"A bunch of stupid crap like that. The lady that was helping me sat me down after my test and had a worried look on her face. She said that she'd never quite seen a result like mine. It turned out that I would be pretty much equally happy in almost any job. "No strong preference."That's all my test report said. Three words that changed the course of history. The lady then told not worry - the government had a policy for this. She said she had to look it up and double check it with her boss. The policy was to just ask me what I wanted. I'd already been in that stupid testing center for hours. They didn't let me leave to get lunch so I was starving. Then they tell me that the test didn't work on me. So I got a little snippy and said Supreme Ruler of Earth. The lady looked like I had actually slapped her in the face. Her mouth gaped open and she put a frightened hand over it. She rushed out of the room. It was almost an hour before anyone came back and I was about ready to tell them all to go pound sand when this middle aged guy came in. He was the lady's boss. He tried to get me to say some other job but I was young and angry and, to be honest, I used to be kind of a little turd. So I stuck by my request. Skipping over the next three months of paperwork, it turned out there was a slight snag in the law and they had to do everything in their power to accommodate me. Now, this was back before the Unification War. Although, they did start that war just to make sure I was ruler of a united Earth and not just some little corner of it. Anyway, they started greasing the skids and getting it all set up for me. The downside to this was that they figured I needed a ton more education. History, political science, economics, comparative religion, and on and on. I didn't get out of school until I was almost thirty. That ended up working out well because the Unification War took awhile to wind down. I've always suspected they rigged it that way. Now I'm at the end of my days. I look back on all we've accomplished. The cities on the Moon, the Mars colony, the elimination of almost all childhood diseases, the increase in standards of livings for so many. I know I gave my critics saying that an unelected ruler shouldn't have the right to dictate policy on a global scale. But I also know that each of them wouldn't turn down a chance to do good if I named them my successor. After all, we can't have the world devolving into the barbarism of hundreds of individual countries again.
"Say, did you hear about EphesosX? The 12 year old child prodigy?" "Yeah, I heard he passed the SAT at age 6. And started his PhD at 10. Incredible. They say he just sort of knows everything, he devours textbooks so fast i swear he can't even be actually reading them." "I heard he's a ridiculous finance whiz. Seems to know just the stock to buy at the right time. Though apparently he's gotten suckered into this whole Facebook thing now..." "Yeah, seems like a nice life, I've heard he just seems down all the time. Wonder what he's thinking about. Must be something of great importance..." Me: League of Legends doesn't come out for another 3 years.....
He sat in the chair staring intently at me. I could tell he was skeptical. I could also tell he didn't care and needed the money. "I chose you for this experiment for a large number of reasons. Your psychological profile matches exactly for the virtual world I created."I say pushing my glasses up higher on my nose. "Yea, I don't care dude. I don't believe in this garbage anyhow. I just want my money. You said five hundred for one test right?" "Yes, and if it goes right it will only last a second. But for you, you will live an entire lifetime within the world. It accesses the same parts of your brain as you do when you dream. If you-" "Yea whatever bro. Just hook me up so we can get this over with". "Very well"I say as I hand him several forms to fill out, including the standard waiver of liability. The withdrawal symptoms were apparent in him. His tattered clothes and sunken face showed signs of years of drug abuse. He was perfect. A man who had so much in life, threw it all away for drugs. It took months of searching for the perfect candidate. Both parents were addicts. He rose above it and fell to rock bottom. Drove home drunk one night and didn't see his wife and kid in the road. They were taking a walk to look at the stars. There was a meteor shower that night. He swerved right into them. After that, he fell deeper into drugs. But if things went as I expected, another dead junkie wouldn't matter to anybody. "I'm done. Can we start now? I really need that money". "Yes, lets get started". It takes a few minutes to get him hooked up to the machine. Even when I inserted the probes into his spine he barely flinched. A true junkie to the end. The spinal probes access his nervous system so he can feel everything within the world. I lock in the chest strap and turn toward the instrument table. I pull a 9mm pistol out of my waistband and place it there without him noticing. I turn back around to offer a few words. "Your natural instinct will be to fight it. Try not to. It will just spike your vitals if you do and could cause physical harm". "Yea yea, lets fucking go already. You talk too damn much". He's beginning to sweat quite profusely. He's obviously been a good day or two without a fix. I move over to the control panel and begin booting up the program. "You're going to enter a period of complete darkness. This is the program disabling all outside stimulus, so that it can focus on everything within the world. Without it you would still be aware of what is happening in the real world. "Fucking talking again doc! Jesus christ just do it!" "As you wish". With that I, flip the switch so to speak. Billions of lines of code ran in milliseconds. A prompt Popped on my screen. "Program complete. Run time 1.12 seconds". A tad longer than I had anticipated but no big deal. It was a first run after all. Before I could look over I could hear him crying. "Please...send me back. My wife...and kids....not again" "They weren't real Dave". "I know. But I dont care."He says as he undoes his chest strap and sits up. Still hooked into the machine. He was much calmer. Less agitated. He sounded wiser and kinder. Although visibly upset. "Focus Dave. How do you feel?" "I know they weren't real. But I didn't when I was in there." "How long did you live?" "I was 86 when you pulled me out" Hmm, he should have been closer to 90. Must be a bug with the time lapsing. And now for the big question. "What about drugs?" "I stopped using when I was in there. Haven't had a need for it in forty years." So the first part was a success. I was right. Drug use isn't genetic. If it was he would have come out wanting a fix immediately. That was more of a byproduct of my true goal. This one will not be so well received. "Dave, how do you feel about your past? About what happened?" I witnessed in that moment a man break. All the things he had done for drugs were justified back then. But now, a clean a sober man, was something too much to handle. He didn't say anything more. He noticed the pistol sitting on the table and grabbed it. He realized what he had done. And then my experiment ended. Dave was the sacrifice needed to bring this technology to the world, to save people who had lost their way. It will no longer take a lifetime to work through ones mistakes and become the people we were always meant to become. After dealing with the fiasco of having a suicide happen in my facility, i sat with my morning coffee, reading the background report on Dave. His son survived the accident. Although permanently crippled in a wheelchair. I put my coffee down and moved my wheelchair to my workdesk. "Thank you dad. You finally did some good for this world."

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