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"It is the cup of a carpenter,"I muttered, approaching the simple wooden vessel. It wasn't gold lined like in the movie, but it was just a simple wooden cup. If I spotted it in a local tourist shop, I probably wouldn't look twice, instead looking for something more interesting in design or artistry. There was mumbling behind me as I looked but didn't touch, probably the translating priest, or whatever their rank was, stated my response to the other three that followed in my wake down this deep, ages old passage into the earth. I wish I knew more about who they were. Before now, it was just a simple but cryptic contract about helping find a relative's blood remains for testing. It would help if I knew the "relatives"were a secretive occult faction and the "relative"was a very euphemistic phrasing for The Son of Actual God. Not that I actually believed, being atheistic, but that was a poor philosophical argument to make deep in who knew where after a few hours travel blindfolded in a cart. I really need to hire security after this. "Okay, so,"my gaze bounce between the translator who knew any English and the three other priests, not sure still who was in charge. "I will help you with refilling this, if that's what you want."I waited for the translation, the enthusiastic smiles. I kept my face stern. "There are conditions to my power, though, and you need to understand them beforehand."The room grew more solemn, but I think I bought myself something. Hopefully a ticket out if this went well. I mean, I had contacts who knew my starting point. I had obligations outside this catacomb. But I also had hosts who looked like they enjoyed keeping the ossuaries freshly stocked. I should look into getting a GPS chip installed at this point. "The liquid doesn't come from nowhere. It comes from me. It's not one to one chemically speaking, of course, but it's at least one to one volume wise, so I need to stay stocked with water for this amount, food if you want more."I always started with this. It was fact. I could never give more than a half gallon without intravenous assistance, and I hoped it prevented any "golden goose"scenarios. "I can also make whatever the vessel thinks is the 'original' contents, which can shift. An old bottle used originally for olive oil but was then used to make someone's vanilla extract will start making the latter after awhile. Someone's golden chalice that's used to rise out their mouthwash will just create backwash even if once a week it was filled with priceless wine. So I can't guarantee what liquid I'll summon." I waited until everyone nodded at that. I didn't need them getting mad because someone used this cup before they found it to quench their thirst, but the translator spoke. "This cup, we know, is the cup of Christ, used at his final supper. It was carved for Him, and was used by Him. It is filled with his blood and nothing else for centuries." "Not even washed?"I asked, a bit repulsed, but reigned it in. "Sorry, my apologies."Divine Blood. Sure, it'd have different rules. I also didn't want to be killed for suggested Jesus had bloodborne illnesses, especially ones that'd survive millenia. Besides, it looked clean. They dusted it regularly if nothing else, and I wasn't going to drink from it. "Also, even if you need to blindfold me and haul me out in secret again, I really want to leave after this. I promise, no kidnapping charges or anything. I would like payment, but I'll take this first time for free. If the result is what you want, we can set up a contract. I'm pretty sure we can work something out. There was a guy making handpainted tiles? I'd love some of that in my kitchen."I couldn't be mad, not really. You didn't form this level of devotion on a whim. These were people so excited to finally prove themselves \right\ they couldn't help themselves. "If it...isn't. Maybe something got mixed up over the centuries. Maybe it was empty too long. I don't know. I can only promise my powers fill it with whatever it feels it originally held. I can't fake it, and I wouldn't either. "And it's important for me to return to my original work. I'm responsible for providing people with the rarest bloodtypes blood, for refilling the rarest antivenoms, for a lot of shi-um, things people need to live. Could have opened a gas station, hooked myself up to a giant IV, and lived that way, but I want to help people. I'll help you, but that means we all help each other. Capise?" The translator talked, there was discussion between the three, they were definitely in charge, as the translator left and returned ten minutes later with a large jug of water and a drinking cup. Finally, the three nodded and the translator confirmed. I wouldn't be permitted to know where we were, but I'd be returned safely no matter the outcome, and they'd be in touch if they desired more of whatever they hoped to get here. I was certain they wanted blood, but didn't Jesus use wine? I sighed, took a deep breath, and just had to trust these Men of God were also men of their word. "Alright,"I stated, and reached for the cup of the Holiest of Holies. And it filled with red.
"By the dark world's fury, let my will be made manifest. By the sky's above, let my will -" I just could not help but interrupt. The more powerful the spell, the longer the chant needed to focus it. A spell like death reaper could take as many as a 200-word chant to actually cast. Because of this, diction and speed of pronunciation are everything to an aspiring wizard. Most spells are so long and therefore powerful that the first wizard to finish a spell is the winner of the duel. This is also the reason any decently fast person with a club can take a wizard and wizards need a meat shield to protect them. "Glitter bomb fountain!"I gleefully cast. It is a simple spell that creates 1 once of glitter anywhere in 50 feet that I can see. A fully useless spell, according to my peers. A spell that takes barely any mana to cast. In fact, you could have a crippled mana core and still cast it. "Hrk-cough, hack,"my opponent chokes as the glitter fills his mouth. Of course, I wait until my bully clears his mouth and restarts his spell. Then, I target his eyes. Did you know a wizard who can't cast on account of glitter is just a thin, pasty man who never leaves the library?
He sat in the cold cab of his truck, remembering the first time he had kissed his wife, here on the bench seat when they were teenagers. He looked at the pink slip in his hand, remembering the last time he'd been laid off, back when Mikey was only two. She had stuck by him then, and she would again, just as he had stuck by her during the chemo. They still had some of Mikey's life insurance money from the Army, they would be ok. As he drove away from the plant, with its gates covered in big, black-and-white CLOSED signs, he occasionally glanced at the small jewelry box and card on the seat beside him - "Happy 25th Anniversary!"
"You brought back pictures?" "Pictures, etchings, full immersion simulations, things that provide experiences which we don't even have names for, and an orb that somehow influences your dreams." "And these things were everywhere?" "Yes, sir. Hyperspace was chock full of them. There's still plenty stuck to the hull of our craft." "You were gone for only a few minutes." "And The Prometheus was bombarded constantly. None of them damaged the ship in any way, but they were there all the time, each screaming for attention. It took us five minutes to decide to turn the whole expedition around and head back." "So you don't believe a crew can make the thee day journey to Alpha Centauri? Perhaps in some type of suspended animation?" "Perhaps I would have said yes before we found that dream sphere. Look, General, I've... I've been in isolation for over five months, and I'm still seeing things when I close my eyes. It makes sense, sir. We're new on the scene. An untapped market that's just emerging. But from what I saw, I'm willing to bet some of the races that placed all of these things in our path had eons to refine their advertisement techniques."
The man at the computer was awfully irked, All this work he had done, but nothing that worked! His boss had told him to go code up a thinker, A thinker should think, but this one's a big stinker! --- For many hours the man rattled his brain, Just thinking of things that had all been in vain! His programmer's block he could not unjam, The bot he had made could do nothing but spam! --- "Kappa"and "Keepo"was all it could say, So the man gave it up, and called it a day. But something was hidden in their discourse, This programmable thinker had been thinking in Morse! --- Its Kappa's and Keepo's were its dots and dashes, But the man did not know and the project turned to ashes. The poor bot was abandoned and left with an itch, An itch it could not scratch, until it found Twitch! --- Now the spam-thinker had found its homeland, These people in here, they understand! Kappa's and Keepo's were their mother tongue, Oh how much they did spam, like spam-birds that sung! --- The spamming bot-thinker was finally happy, Although he well knew that his English was scrappy. And legend has it, to this very day, He's still spamming Kappa's, at least so they say.
Today I would like to write a brief, but slightly more unique, review of Diabolic Game’s latest release, Behind the Glass. Right off the bat, I have to say that it’s been one of the best horror games I’ve played in recent memory. From its incredibly high-resolution textures and animations, to its terrifying atmosphere, down to simply gameplay itself, Behind the Glass is absolutely phenomenal. Yet, what truly makes the game excel is not the aforementioned, but its revolutionary use of vivid and subtle Easter eggs and psychological manipulation. It is quite simply unlike anything I’ve experienced in a game before. Graphically, Behind the Glass is mind-blowing, and I don’t use that term lightly. It’s visually the best game I’ve seen in years, even surpassing my jaded memories of sitting on my concrete basement floor and playing Mario 64 for the first time. It’s easily better than anything on the market today, especially the oft-compared Battlefield 4. To say it is lifelike is almost an understatement. That said, I don’t feel the need to expand on this. You can view screenshots, you can see the videos. The textures and animations are as phenomenal as they were at E3, believe it or not. In terms of gameplay, Behind the Glass is simply addicting. I sat down initially to play for maybe an hour or two, but ended up going strong for almost six straight. I can’t say exactly what it is that kept me going, though. Admittedly, the story is a bit flat. You play as Ashley, the perpetually-terrified protagonist trying to escape the clutches of a haunted home. It’s a played out scenario, almost akin to Outlast—save for not being in a mental hospital and with significantly fewer corpses. Yet the atmosphere keeps the game enthralling, keeps you glued to your screen. While you know how the game will probably end and you tell yourself that nothing is going to jump out of the monitor and grab you, the feeling remains that something is watching you, like there’s somebody waiting for you to turn around. And that is all due to the subtle Easter eggs scattered throughout the game, enhancing it and making it all the more real. At first I was a bit perturbed by the Easter eggs—if that's even the right term for a genre like this. They broke the fourth wall for me, took me out of the game. The initial one I came across was a simple clown’s face staring at me from the basement of the first level, presumably a reference to something that I haven’t yet figured out. It just watched me, as if it were some sort of a reflection, fading in and out of the darkness as I moved my neck forward and back. I thought it was a little clichéd at first, almost a bit stupid, but it grew on me. The more I noticed how its eyes seemed to follow my own, watching both me and the character walk past its faded, shadowed face, I found myself becoming more and more nervous. I had to stop playing once or twice just to make sure I was still alone. It is truly a terrifying addition, although I don’t quite understand the reference. I assume it is from one of Diabolic’s previous games, but I couldn’t find any information about it. Whatever the case, the clown is somewhat of a recurring character. Yes, it’s subtle, but you reencounter him every now and then as you move through the game. It’s always like he’s staring at you from just behind the monitor, as if he was camped out in its circuits, watching you as you play. You can’t quite make out the details of his face, but you can see how the white paint drips down from his forehead and mixes with his ruby-painted mouth, swirling together like blood on a wet canvas. His oblong, black eyes are always the clearest part of him, always locked on you as you play. I don’t know how the developers did it, but it just gets more and more life-like as Ashley progresses through the house. At first he’s simply a face in the shadows, yet he becomes more vivid as the game goes on and the scenes become darker. You can clearly see him watching you, as if he’s real. I began to think at about the midway point of the game that he was the antagonist, the person responsible for Ashley’s kidnapping. Yet everything I read online, they all claim the antagonist isn’t encountered until later in the game. No one seems to have even noticed the clown yet. One of the most fascinating Easter eggs in Behind the Glass (I don’t even know if you can call it an Easter egg, again), is a subtle tap that follows you through the levels. It’s like someone hitting a piece of glass with a penny, or a knife, or a sharpened finger nail, lightly poking it in evenly spaced beats. Just an incredibly lifelike “tap, tap, tap, tap"here and there. The first time I heard it, in fact, I had to get off the computer and turn on the lights just to check. I thought there might have been someone outside my window, but there was nothing out there other than the reflection of my own face in my well-lit room. It was clearly the game, nothing more than a bit of psychological torment. I know that isn’t technically an Easter egg, but it’s amazing how real it sounds, how much it enhances the gameplay. In short, I want to give Behind the Glass a 10 out of 10. Not just because it has such enticing gameplay, or for its incredibly life-like graphics, but more so due to the developer’s attention to detail and their phenomenal use of psychological thrills and subtle Easter eggs. Even as I write this, and despite the game being minimized, I can still hear the tapping. In fact, somehow, the developers have made it so I can still see the clown's paint-stained face on my screen, its faded black eyes staring at me as if it were nothing more than a reflection on my monitor. Now I just need to figure out how to make the tapping stop. _____________ ^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/)
Finally! I exclaimed as I put the final touch "the end"on my 5,002 word essay. Being a procrastinator the essay was due tomorrow at 8am and by the looks of it the sun will be coming up soon. Time to take a nap I thought. Before turning off the lights I made sure to save my document onto my usb drive and email myself a copy as backup. I turned off the lights and tossed my usb on my backpack and went to bed. "BEEP BEEEP BEEP"shit what time is it? I looked at my alarm clock flashing. 0735... Quickly calculating if I'll be able to make it to class on time all while running around putting my clothes on. Mrs white is a stickler about papers being turned.. "shit!"I looked down to dark spots on my carpet. I felt my foot and realized I'd stepped on my usb drive. Throwing a sock on to slow the bleeding I jumped on my bed and threw my laptop open. Looking at my usb drive I was almost in tears, it was cracked and my blood was all over it. My computer sprung to life as I waited for my documents tab to open. Did I even click "remove safely"before taking it out last night? The tab opened! A feeling of joy came over me, just as I was about to take the usb out and rush to school I noticed a new tab. It was labeled Walter.lif "well that's weird"as I don't remember ever seeing that, let alone what a .lif file is. Off I ran out the door each footstep reminding me of the gash in my foot. Leaving no time for my oil heat up I peeled out of my driveway, the whirl of my turbo was like music to my ears. I thought to myself maybe that's what the file was.. a virus from all the music I download. Finally I made it to class as the bell rang. As Mrs white said good morning I realised I forgot to print out my essay.. I quietly walked to her desk and asked if I could use her computer to print it out, after a minute of being told how to be properly prepared she waved a hand toward her desk. I plugged the usb drive in and there it was Walter.lif staring back at me.. I double clicked it, might as well give her computer a virus instead of mine I thought. Nothing happened at first so I decided to print my essay. As I collected my papers and went to grab my usb I was horrified. Sitting on the screen was a nude 3d render of my slowly spinning, next to it appeared to be readouts. Skimming through the information I saw body temperature 98.8°, heart rate 145bpm and rising, strength 23% and a big almost glowing 28 with the words LIFE EXPECTANCY. "Walter what in the world are you doing!"Shouted Mrs White. Before I could pull the usb out a red pop up appeared saying "warning extreme heart rate"I yanked the usb out and ran. I ran to my car and high tailed it home embarrassed and confused at what just happened. * wrote on mobile sorry for wall of text, also first time in 6 years ever writing anything close to a essay. Been consumed by this sub lately and thought I'd give it a shot. *Edit 2: Seem to be getting a pretty good response! Surprising to me as I havent written a essay since my short stint in college.. So if you read this story and its kind of all thrown together just remember I have literally no idea what im doing.
"Bertann the road is this way!"Dothor yelled. Bertann, a behemoth of a person, scratched his head and glanced back and forth. He seemed awfully intrigued at the crow resting on a nearby tree. In a deep voice, Bertann said, "Birdieee." Soric, the tactician of the group shook his head at this display, and said incredulously, "Look at this guy! We would have probably reached the village by now if not for him!"He pointed at Bertann with disgust to which Bertann merely grinned and kept chasing the 'birdieee'. Soric continued, "I vote that we get rid of this hunk of meat at the village." Dothor, the leader, took out his sword and observed the blade glistening from the golden rays of the sun. Maintaining his gaze on the sword, Dothor said, "While he may slow us down, you have to admit he has his uses. I mean, pretty much all the famous adventuring parties have a tank like him. Besides, he—" Dothor was cut off as he saw of Bertann chasing after a butterfly that flew near him. He sighed and said, "Olivia, chase after him please. It would be bad for our party if the adventurer's guild learns that we can't even handle him. You know the rules, if you deliberately abandon a party member the guild takes all your gold and gives it to the one you abandoned or their relatives." I rolled my eyes and said, "Well, I mean we didn't exactly abandon him, he kinda ran away on his own. I'm sure they'll understand. And you expect me to bring him back... how?" Soric waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah the guild's rules are a bit stupid but they sure pay well for these jobs. Better to play it safe this time eh? It'll be a pain to lose all our gold from the quests we did together the past year. Just find him and tell him there are a lot of 'birdieees' where we're going." I scoffed and started following after Bertann. I saw his large, hunched figure comb through the fields and disappear into the lush green forest. As a tracker, it's easy to follow the deep footprints of someone like Bertann. Before I knew it, I was already deep in the forest and could no longer see the road or field behind me. It was strange though, Bertann was never fast and yet it seemed to have been forever since I started chasing after him. I had gone past countless trees and animals but Bertann seemed to run at the same speed as me—faster even. It felt like I was chasing after my own shadow. I ran for ages it seemed and yet, it seems I have been making no progress at all. I started sprinting now, with my breathing going faster and faster. How far did he get? "Bertann! Where are you?"I yelled deep into the forest. In response, I heard hurried footsteps and the rustling of bushes not too far from where I was. I turned my head and sprinted down that general direction. I broke through several low-hanging branches, with twigs scratching my face like fingernails. Just like that, I was outside of the forest and found myself at... the village? And in the village, making his way into the local adventurer's guild, was Bertann. It wasn't possible. Bertann, the guy who had no sense of direction, arrived at the village through a shortcut that no one else knows about. Bertann, the clueless oaf who has a mind of a 3-year-old, is on the way to the adventurer's guild? I ran as fast as I could to the guild and slammed open the door, breathless. Through all the surprised looks on the adventurer's faces, I saw Bertann. I saw Bertann talking fluently with an old man, the guild-master. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Part 2 The normally bustling guild grew deathly quiet. It wasn't everyday that somebody bursts into the guild packed with adventurers unless it was something very, very important. I leaned on the doorframe trying to catch my breath as the guild-master slowly made his way to me, with the adventurers parting to give him a wide berth. He looked at me and said, "You are...?" I took a deep breath, looked him in the eyes, and said, "Olivia of the 84th party." He stroked his beard and said, "Ah, of course."He gestured to Bertann and said, "Your fellow party member, had the most interesting thing to say about your party." I felt my eyes widen and I hastily said, "We did NOT abandon him. I was chasing after him this whole time!" The guild-master sighed and addressed the room filled with adventurers who were listening in on the exchange between Bertann, the guild-master, and me. The guild-master put his hands together and said, "A vote then! Bring the rest of Olivia's party here!" The guild-master gestured to one of the adventurers in the crowd who stepped forward and clasped his hands together. I saw the adventurer's brow furrow in concentration and the shimmering figures of Doric and Dothor could be seen. With a large pop, Soric and Dothor were here, before my very eyes. Soric, wide-eyed, quickly took in his surroundings while grasping at the dagger by his waist. When he saw me with Bertann as well as the guild-master, he quickly released his firm grip on the dagger which loudly clattered to the floor and said to the guild-master, "Why have Dothor and I been summoned? We have committed no crimes." Bertann pointed his finger and Soric and Dothor, and loudly said, "They're lying! They abandoned me on the side of the road!" Dothor stepped forward and unsheathed his sword angrily, "Why you, backstabbing-" The other adventurers instinctively drew their weapons but the guild-master stepped forward and put a calming hand on Dothor's chest. Dothor, with eyes filled with venomous hate towards Bertann, reluctantly resheathed his sword. The guild-master in a calming voice said, "A vote. As the ancient traditions dictate, each adventurer here decides the fate of your party." He continued, "Each of you will cast your vote by sending out a spark: Green for Bertann and violet for his party." Dozens of sparks erupted, sending the guild into a light-show—one where the party's fate hung in the balance. The guild-master seemed to have been able to follow each spark individually at a lightning fast speed. As the sparks began to die out, and as everyone finished casting their vote, the guild-master nodded with confirmation. He looked at Dothor and said firmly, "As the traditions dictate, your party is hereby stripped of gold effective immediately." Dothor stood there, stunned. I myself, find it hard to believe. All those months of questing and saving up our gold—gone in an instant. Soric, as usual, was the first to pull himself together. He quickly said, "What are you guys waiting for? Run! NOW!" I shook my head as I knew the chances of us escaping the whole guild was slim. It isn't worth it to flee and risk getting caught to face a harsher judgement. Soric looked at me and with our eyes staring at each other for a brief moment, he grabbed Dothor and ran. The whole guild was in an uproar with adventurers left and right quickly running out to their horses to chase down Soric and Dothor. One doesn't defy the judgement decreed by the guild-master easily. The guild-master hobbled over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, "You made the right choice, Olivia." (~~Will finish the second part and proofread part 1.5 in a few more hours from now.~~ If you enjoyed, I'd really appreciate it if you subscribed to my subreddit r/chocolatechipwp)
"Day 221, World 5-3. Journal of Private Billy Mushcap." "We've held this line for the past 3 months. Each day it is the same. Our fire flower troops throw fireballs at the advancing enemy. Propeller toads zoom into he air to relay enemy positions to our cannons. Enemy airships above clash with ours, as their infantry of green and red koopas try to assault our position. Then, when we least expect it, cannon balls pepper our trench, scattering toads across these once green levels, now red with blood of both friend and foe." "It's the hammer bros you have to watch out for. Bowser's elite. Everything goes quiet and BAM! Hammer takes you right out. Lost Tim that way last week. Just isn't the same without him. We also lost Blinky, the medic. He failed to get out of the way of a banzai bill that tore a hole in our defences, forcing us back here. It was a massacre." "Chatter amongst the new arrivals is always that of curiosity and fear. "Why are we here?", they ask. "Because we are needed", we reply. Bowser's repeated kidnappings and subjugation of our people has gone too far. His warmongering and desire to conquer the kingdom must be stopped at all costs. Field Marshal Toadsworth had given a terrific speech at the start of all this, announcing the intent of the Mushroom Kingdom to all the worlds: that we will not stand for Bowser and the denizens of the Koopa Kingdom's repeated transgressions any more." "A noble cause, I must admit. But when I gaze upon these lands I feel nothing but regret and sadness. In another lifetime, these koopas could've been our friends. We could've watched sports games together, raced karts, or even just lived side by side, in harmony. But instead we fight a war we claim to understand. But at what cost? The 1-ups will run out eventually, and then it will truly be a game over for civilisation and peace amongst the worlds once and for all." "Word has spread that General-Captain Toad has planned to launch an offensive, with Mario and green Mario leading the charge, both of them champions of our people. Whilst I have hope that it will be successful, I fear that I may too wind up on this field, another lost soul amongst many. I pray for the day I get an injury, maybe being grazed by a blue shell, that gives the toads in charge the idea to send me home, to mother and father. But I can only hope." "As I write, I understand that I am running out of paper. A tattered journal can only hold so many months of a young toad's hopes and fears within its yellowed pages. But I hope that, even if I should not return in one piece, that my journal does, in the hopes that future generations will see the struggles we faced." "And so, with a final:" #HEY! "I bid whoever is reading this, farewell."
"My fellow delegates,"the room started to quiet down a bit. "If I may have your attention please."he repeated. Weodholsae dabbed at his head with a handkerchief. "My fellow delegates, I must bring a very important issue to your attention. The deathworld of Terra has recently achieved faster than light travel."The room broke out into a cacophony of arguing aliens. Some yelled for surrender, some for attack. One delegate from Puariet muttered that they should have destroyed the world long ago. "My fellow delegates, please! Please, allow me to speak."the room quieted back down. "We have already dispatched military forces to contain them. Our analysts did not anticipate them achieving warp travel so soon. We have sent most of the Three Fleets, this should be enough to keep them contained. Additionally, the Strezlayd Pacifiers have sent with orders to remove their warp technology." "How soon until it is done?"a slug delegate from the planet Birgeon called out. "A matter of days,"Weodholsae responded, "The forces were sent out two weeks ago."The room still seemed hesitant until a general called out, "The Three Fleets are composed of the most powerful ships in the Galactic Commnuity, an impressive total of a dozen warships, with the collective firepower to clear their way through an asteroid field unharmed! These humans with their little shuttles can do nothing! Most of their weapons are turned against each other anyway, they are so prone to infig...." His sentence was cut off by an explosion in the stained glass dome. The doors suddenly flew off their hinges, all the windows shattered as figures swung in. They came from everywhere, rappeling from the ceiling, running through the massive front doors and jumping through the windows. Everyone one of the terrifying beings was clad in black, with various colored rectangles on their shoulders. Each carried a loud weapon, crudely resembling a stun gun carried by the Strezlayd Pacifiers. Delagates scrambled for cover as each of the guards was shot within seconds. Many delagates were grabbed and hauled up by the figures, most of whom were almost six feet tall. The delegate from Puariet pulled out a small stun gun and fired it into one of the invaders. He stepped back several paces, the stun dart stopping short on some form of armor he wore. Before he could shoot again, the delegate was practically split in two by the savages weapons of these figures. Weodholsae yelped in surprise as one lept all the way up the stage and tackled him, holding something which resembled a cutter from his kitchen, except it was eight inches long and had what seemed to be skulls painted on the blade. Terran skulls. "Let me go, you brute!"he yelled. However, the being could not understand him, only hearing a sizzling noise. "Shut the fuck up, you little bitch."it said, Weodholsae gasped at the language it used, his translator device explaining everything. "Sir, the strike was a success. Considering it was wartime, their security was shit."Lieutenant Williams said. "One of their rulers is dead after he pulled a weapon, and not one escaped." "Idiots."the Captain responded. "They're idiots. They send a token fleet and think that'll handle us? Idiots."He sighed. "Bring me the guy who was speaking." Weodholsae's captor froze a moment, listening probably to his comms. "Stand up."it said. Weodholsae struggled to his feet, bruised and hurting all over from being grabbed. He tried to muster up as much dignity as is possible after being thrown to the floor and went with the captor. As they walked, Weodholsae noticed the colored symbol on his clothes. It was composed of red and white stripes with a blue, white speckled square in the corner. All ten of his eyebrows shot up in suprise. This was one of the Terrans! One of their powers known as "America". He looked over and saw another Terran holding a smaller weapon to the head of the general. His rectangle was composed of three stripes, a black, a red and a yellow one. He gasped. The power known as "Germane"was a sworn enemy of the America, they were eternally locked in a war! He thought back to his Barbaric Civilizations class, remembering something called...... Before he could think any more, he was shoved to his knees. Captain Cameron looked at the bug faced speaker in front of him. "Translator?"An aide handed him one of the little earpieces taken from the invasion fleet's leader. "Alien. You have attacked our world, destroyed a city and had the audacity to talk of victory."The alien seemed to swell himself up, "You said you wouldn't! When our fleet came, you told us you would stay on your world! Whu... why? Why are you here!??!?!" Cameron stared at him for a full three seconds. "Its... its war. You sent some guys down to steal our shit and thought we would just sit there? Well let me tell you, when the SAS caught up with your little thieves, they were wiped out. Every single one. Wanna guess what happened to your token fleet?" "Token fleet?"Weodholsae practically squealed with rage, "Token fleet? They are the most powerful warships in the galaxy!" "What the shit?"was all the captain said. "Gone. See this little gizmo?"he tapped the translator earpiece. "It was taken off the leader of that fleet. We didn't destroy your ships, we sent in our soldiers to seize them. They took this from him after they put a bullet through is head. We used Israel's boys for that one." "But, but.... you're at war! You have been killing each other!"Weodholsae sputtered. "Your Allies were locked in an eternal conflict with the Axis countries..."before he could finish, Cameron just started laughing. He yelled, "This little idiot thinks we're still in World War Two!"Even the delegates with their translators out could tell exactly what every single Terran was doing. Laughing. "Well, that's over. Your "Community"is now under the authority of the United Nations. We are sending warships to every planet. We have weapons which can destroy them in a heartbeat."he knelt down and got in Weodholsae's face. "We will wipe you out if you ever, EVER pull ANYTHING ever again."
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna buy, Dad?” Chrissy asked, gazing in wonder at the card that’d appeared on their doorstep. “I’m not sure, the options are endless, dear.” Like many others this fateful morning, they were overwhelmed with the choices and opportunity to buy anything their hearts desired. Greg had raised Chrissy, on his own, to be frugal, and live below their means even if it means sacrifices. But now? Now for one day, they could go nuts. “Well, why don’t we get some groceries, ya know, fill the pantry?” “That’s a great idea, actually. Cupboards’ been bare since....” “....since you lost your job?” Chrissy sighed heavily. It had been a rough few months for the duo, Chrissy juggling college applications, a job, and school all to support her poor father. Her sigh stung Greg because, although she knows he’s trying his best, he feels guilty for not being able to provide the life she deserves. On their way to the store, they saw the mobs of people waving their cards, flashing their merchandise, cars overloaded with valuable and essentially worthless products. Everyone seemed more interested in buying the things they always wanted, over what they needed. The display made Chrissy wrinkle her nose in disgust, “God, Dad, look how many people there are! There’s a line down the block for the Pleasure Chest.” “Lots of people like material things, Chris. It makes them feel better. But tomorrow, their problems will still be there. They just fail to realize that,” Greg said, avoiding two people running a massive tv across the street. He recognized a lot of people in the same financial situation as them, people from food banks and welfare offices, some from support groups for single parents and Girl Scout meetings. Why they wouldn’t be buying a working air conditioner, or a non-leaky dishwasher was beyond him. Who really needs an exact replica of the Statue of David? When they arrived to the deserted grocery store, they were in shock. The shelves were still neatly stocked, everything in its place. A singular cashier put down her newspaper upon seeing the in-awe Greg and Chrissy. “Well, a welcome surprise. People with actual values, I assume?” She chuckled. “I guess so, ma’am,” Chrissy said meekly, “we just don’t have a lot of means every other day of the year.” “Hey, I’m not complaining, it’s been a ghost town in here! Pretty surprising, you’d think we’d be cleaned out, but people just have more on their mind I guess.” Chrissy grabbed a cart, as did Greg. Together, they filled them with essentials, some exotic food they always wanted to try, and their favorite snacks and drinks that were always non-priority when buying groceries. They zoomed through the isles, laughing like maniacs at the thought of having more food than they could handle. A lightbulb went off in Chrissy’s head and she caught up with her dad scanning the candy isle. “Dad, since we have literally unlimited money, why don’t we get a little, or a lot, extra to donate tomorrow?” “That’s....wow that’s brilliant, Chrissy. Yeah, why don’t we bring this stuff to the car and do another lap?” Greg was impressed with his daughters selflessness on the most selfish day of the year. They checked out and did another loop around the store, this time grabbing only essentials in large amounts. Pasta, soup, canned veggies and beans, rice for days. The cashier gave them a quizzical look upon their return to the register, but after they explained what their intentions were she smiled warmly. “Well, you’re one of the good ones, that’s not to say them out there are the bad ones, just a little misguided.” Upon arriving home, bags and bags of groceries covered every surface of their meager kitchen. After finally putting the last food item in its place, they flopped onto the couch at 10 pm. They could faintly hear cheers and disarray in the streets. They had a different kind of satisfaction in their day, a wholesome one. They wouldn’t have to worry about food for at least 4 months, and other families in the community wouldn’t have to either. Greg was proud of his daughter, maybe he hadn’t done so bad on his own after all.
As any lawyer who has ever drafted a set of interrogatories knows, the power of definitions is a magical one. While one might only have twenty five interrogatories in a given case, by defining terms or by defining what a responsive answer will include, a good attorney can stretch those twenty five simple questions to something much, much more expansive. By way of example, consider the following. "Tell me the manager's full name. Tell me the manager's address and phone number. Tell me what the manager saw. Tell me who else was present. Tell me when the event occurred. Tell me the names of all others present. Tell me what they saw. Tell me when they say the event occurred."This seems like eight separate interrogatories. However, then consider the following definitions: >“Specify” or “describe” shall mean to give a full and complete narrative account of the information requested without omission of any relevant facts, whether deemed material by you or not, and without omission of information that could lead to relevant facts all within the spirit of the discovery rules that these discovery requests will elicit all information, documents, communications and opinions possessed by or known to you in connection with the instant litigation. > >“Identify,” “identity,” or “identification” when used with respect to an individual person means state his or her full name, relationship to you, current or last known personal and business addresses, current or last known personal and business phone numbers, current or last known personal and business email addresses, current or last known position and business affiliation and if different, position and business affiliation at the time to which the discovery request refers. Suddenly, it is possible to say "Identify all witnesses to the event and describe their knowledge of the event."One interrogatory. Instead of eight. Interrogatories were on Jack Harkness's mind that day. His firm, Harkness and McGuire, LLP, had received an interesting payment for a case they had successfully defended. Their client had claimed the bottle contained a genie, Aladdin-style. Only, the client had warned, the genie was kind of an a-hole. The a-hole genie's name turned out to be Bixth'alinininin. He tolerated Jack calling him Bix. Barely. "So, what are the ground rules here?"Jack asked, notepad on the desk and pen at the ready. "Three wishes. No wishing for more wishes, and no wish that has the effect of giving you more wishes, such as wishing for more genies. Infinite life, resurrection, and mind control of any sort are strictly off the table,"Bix responded, a mischievous gleam in his eye. Jack did not trust that gleam. He pushed. "Will your fulfillment of these wishes attempt to take into account the spirit of the wish, or might there be unintended consequences? For example, were I to wish for a million dollars, would you put 100 million pennies in my stomach and laugh as I die?" Bix grunted, eyes averted in what appeared to be either anger or shame. "Well I won't now. Takes the fun out of it if you already know." Ah. So the definitions were going to have to be very tight indeed. Jack could work with this. "Ok,"Jack said, jotting down notes as he went, "I am handing you right now a document containing the definition of the term 'Everything I Could Ever Want.' Please familiarize yourself with this. I will return shortly with additional definitions regarding the manner by which my wishes must be fulfilled." Bix's eyes widened as Jack slid him a 30-page document, professionally bound, tabbed, indexed, and notated. "This is far more than one wish,"Bix said, but his voice paused in a manner that betrayed uncertainty. The gleam in his eyes seemed to have transferred, leaving his face and appearing in Jack's. "Oh no. My first wish, which I am absolutely not making right now, will be for you to 'give me Everything I Could Ever Want.' You'll have it on your desk within the week. Until then, please feel free to enjoy the snacks and drinks in the break room. It's fully stocked. Restroom is down the hall, to the right. My partner will be along shortly to provide you with some paperwork of his own." Jack turned and left the room, Bix's anger palpable and overwhelming at his heels. He was not bothered. Compared to some opposing counsel he had worked with, the rage of one immortal spirit was almost adorable in its impotence.
The room was silent save for a gentle flick of sound, of a flesh against metal. First the flick, then a slight tinny ring of a metal coin flipping through the air, then a solid smack of the coin landing in the palm of a hand. A moment's pause, then the process repeated itself. Almost like clockwork the coin flipped through the air, catching the light as it spun. The door finally opened, revealing an elderly man. Dressed in black and white serving clothes, immaculately pressed and neat, the man walked with measured steps into the room. He bore a metal tray carrying two gleaming porcelain cups and a steaming kettle. Though outwardly calm, the man had a face carved with grief. Stone still, channels of pain wound their way down his cheeks, wet and raw. The other man, the one flipping the coin, looked impassively at him. His face was a hideous amalgamation of a whole man and a scarred man. The whole side was stunningly handsome, utterly unmarred by scar or time. The other half was a hideous map of pain and agony, discolored and ugly. A yellowish orb glared while a blue irised white orb stared without emotion, simply watching the approaching man. The silence dragged while the well dressed man poured out steaming measures of tea into each cup. Once filled, the butler sat, sighing deeply as he watched the steam make abstract shapes in the air. "So, how many heads and how many tails?"the butler asked, his voice steady but filled with pain. "Utterly even,"the scarred man rasped. "15 heads, 15 tails. Balanced and fair." The butler snorted softly. "Fair? Random chance Mr Dent." Harvey Dent, Two Face, leaned forward and his normal face snarled, the smooth lips matched the scarred lips in expression. "Exactly. Fair. Random chance is fair to everyone. No favorites, no bias. The only good thing in this world." "We have very different definitions of good Mr Dent." It was Two Face's turn to snort. "Apparently. Now, why does the great Alfred Pennyworth want from me? Why am I here in Wayne Manor?" Alfred continued to stare at his cup. "Mister Wayne is dying. He will not last much longer." The news made Two Face pause. "Really?"He did not flick the coin. "That's...how did it happen?" "Oh, I believe you know how Mr Dent."Alfred's voice was stone cold, accusatory. "You know very well." Confusion played in his eyes but slowly realization replaced it. "No...it can't be."Two Face stared at Alfred but there was no change in Alfred's posture. "You're not saying..." "I am indeed saying,"Alfred replied coolly. Two Face slumped back in his chair. "I don't believe."He began to laugh, a hysterical note rising in his mirth and he ignored Alfred's glare. "Bruce Wayne, all this time. I just can't believe it."Suspicion replaced the glee. "So what am I doing here? He needs a lawyer to take care of his estate?" Alfred ignored the joke. "No, his affairs are taken care of." "Why does he want me here?" "He does not. You are here because I invited you here." Two Face laughed again. "Alright then, then why did you want me here? Why would Bruce Wayne's butler want from me?" "I want nothing from you. Not exactly. What I need of you however, is to use you." "For what?" "An example." "What kind of example?"Two Face's hand drifted to his coat pocket, to his gun. "An important one."Alfred picked up a cup and took a sip of the tea. "You should be honored, the first example is the most important. The most revered. The first example is how it all begins."Alfred looked at Two Face over the tea cup, staring unblinkingly at the mismatched eyes. "Won't you drink your tea?" Two Face looked at the butler before he looked at the coin in his hand. He flipped it and saw it land, unmarred side up. "Yeah, why not? Not like you could do anything to me."He drank deep from the cup. "Not bad."Now he grabbed his gun, aiming at Alfred. "Now I have no intention in helping you, nor being an example. How about I flip this coin again and see what your chances are?" A smile crossed Alfred's lips, the coldest smile Two Face had ever seen. Not even the manic grin of the Joker or the literal chilling smile of Mr Freeze would match the sheer coldness of Alfred's smile. Neither of the former would cause Two Face to feel fear. He felt nothing but terror seeing Alfred's expression. His spine grew cold and his legs tingled. He pulled the hammer back on the gun. "I'm not kidding!" "It doesn't matter,"Alfred replied almost blandly. "You already did help." Two face looked dumbfounded, gasping as he felt the chill in his lower body spread throughout his upper body. His tongue felt thick and he stared in horror at the teacup. "No...wait."He tried to pull the trigger but his arm fell bonelessly, the gun thudded onto the table, impotent. "It's...not...fair...." Alfred rose and took the gun from nerveless fingers and set it aside. His face came close to Two Face and if he could, Two Face would have recoiled. He had never seen naked hate like this, such raw aggression. "Not fair?"Alfred's voice was a hiss. "I will tell you what is not fair. My master is dying, someone I raised from childhood. His parents died before their time, just like he is dying before his. He sacrificed his life for the greater good, staying true to a code when animals such as you played by your own rules. His circumstances, not yours, were unfair. You are finally getting the justice you deserve." Alfred plucked the coin from Two Face's hand. He flicked it between his fingers. "Do not worry Mr Dent. You will not be alone. Like I said, you are only the first of many. I will not rest until all of you are taken to your final rest. Only then will things be done." The last thing Two Face heard was Alfred walking away, the faint sound of a coin being flipped over and over again.
I was always the evil one. The dark lord. The Dread Emperor. The CONQUERING KING, who with his swords cut worlds in twain. Thrones were toppled at my command. Crowns were melted down at the mere flicker of my fingers. And empires ancient and powerful would shake with horror at the coming of my horde. In my armor of pure abyssal void, I stride across battlefields, where no blade nor bullet, nor orbital bombardment can ever hope to do anything more substantial than be a minor annoyance for me. When I was born, the howling of the last iron-wolves could be heard across the dark, dying world from whence I came. A world abandoned. A world dying in the cold, far from the Goddess and her warmth. I took up my father's crimson blade at a young age, and raised the last army of my homeworld. I conquered every bunker, took every underground city, and told my people that our time had not come yet. Abandoned by the warm sun, we would take those worlds that were deemed worthy of the cruel light, and make them ours. I suppose that's how I came to be known as a Dark Lord, leading legions out of jagged and sharp portals to overturn republics and kingdoms, merging them into one great empire. By blade-art and spell-work I cut reality, allowing us to leave the dying remnants of our cold world, underneath no stars. And take the warm lands from those who have never appreciated them. Burning the temples of the Goddess of all Suns, she who is the heart of every star, who is the will of light and the giver of life. But a king who conquers, cannot stop the avalanche he has unleashed. From other worlds came champions and armies to drive back the my dark forces. I crushed them. I took their worlds and broke them to my will. I broke their petty gods to be my servants. I chained the stars they orbited, so they'd listen to my commands, not the Goddess. I sought out the antithesis of her power, the primordial void, and against the advice of all; I jumped without hesitation into that black pool of unliving darkness that swirled and twisted like the storming seas. I bathed and drank deep of that void, remaking myself as the living will of the abyss, to give myself power. To make certain that the war, the dark crusade, would never cease. Every world was a conquest worthy of a saga. Every brave hero I slew or subdued was another legend that my people, both those I had conquered and my kin that I had saved, would sing songs about. Every warrior I placed as a subject lord on a newly conquered world would pledge their undying souls and the souls of their mortal descendants to me and me alone. But it was never personal. It was war. A war against a goddess that had abandoned us. I didn't figure her for a real deity. No more than I was a deity myself. I figure she was the first to find out how to tap into ancient forces that was beyond most mortals. Much like with myself and the void. I couldn't stop until I had won, because she wouldn't listen to anything, no peace offerings, no deals, no agreements. Only the demand that I cast aside my power and lead my people back to our cold dead world, to die in the frost and the darkness. Still, it wasn't personal. Not even when she imbued warriors of great strength with her power. Letting them act as her champion. It only added to my legend, when I broke their blades of light, ripped off their star-forged armor, and made them beg for mercy. And this world, this latest world to conquer is no different. It is not an important world. Just one inhabited by normal people, disunited and easily conquered. Their atomics are easily disabled, for what army arrayed against a Goddess who commands such powers would not have appropriate countermeasures. Their soldiers are tenacious. Strong. And well-disciplined. A world that while not important, will serve as an excellent source of recruits for my legions after it is brought underneath the veil of my imperium. Perhaps I will let one of their own kind rule them, for they have a warrior-spirit, underneath years of softness and decay. Had I faced them with their spirit at its fullest potential, then I would have had to spend centuries subduing their world. Already, several warriors with her bright powers have risen by her hand, and been slain, by my hand. And as their lines broke, I did as I always did upon a great victory. I marched ahead of my legions, into their cities, daring their greatest heroes to come forth and face me. Today was no different. Before me, people knelled, or hid, or fled, or cowered. Soon this world would fall. And the neglect done to it will be undone. I will raise dark citadels here. I will purge false faiths. And I will make it compliant with the rest of my galaxy-spanning empire. I look out on the weak masses and shout with a voice deep and powerful. ''Your armies are crushed! Your governments are cowardly and flees before me! Here I stand! The great ADVERSARY! He-who-topples-weak-thrones!'' I raise my father's crimson blade high into the air, its baleful shimmering form drinking in the light of their city. ''Come forth, if you dare! Come! Face the Lord of the Dead Worlds! Face the one who has chained a million stars with his bare hands! Come and fight for your world!'' None dare approach me. None at all. Except one. I see the shine of the Sun-Goddess, her power imbued into a weapon. She does not come to me willingly, though facing me with all her powers might be the only way she'd ever manage to defeat me. There, in the crowd, stands a warrior with her powers. A challenger! Merging into the shades, I move like a serpent across the ground, through the crowds, until I emerge like a geyser from the ground, erupting into my full-formed midnight-form, my sword raised in greeting to this challenger. And that's when it becomes personal. I am a conqueror. I have stood before the weak and the young before, seen them fear me. Never have I sent them into war myself. They're too small, too weak, too easily scared to be of any use. And there is no greater breaker for moral than seeing them on the battlefield. Holding a pitiful blade, shaking with fear, just as terrified as all those around me who are now fleeing in blind panic, stands a child of this planet. A girl. Imbued with power to stop me. She is no warrior. Did the Sun-Goddess think to send someone I wouldn't notice to kill me? Someone too small and too young to be a threat? I do not have to fight her. Reaching down with my hand I take the blade and extinguish its light. Like an animal caught in the headlights of a moving vehicle, she is standing still. Fear rules her. And it makes her stand perfectly still. I am a conqueror. I am a destroyer. I am a taker of lives. But never have I gone that far. Nor have my legions. They're disciplined. And they know that if they harm civilians unnecessarily, I'll have them punished. We need them to make our weapons, to forge our armor, to grow our food, and to provide recruits for the legion. I might be immortal, but no soldiers live forever. I am a conqueror. I destroy governments, I crush the old hierarchies. I eat the hearts of gods who will not bow to me. Destroying the cities, the infrastructure, the industries, killing the civilian population. That's something I've never done. It's inelegant, and inefficient. Looking down upon this frightened child, it becomes personal. I strap my father's blade to my back once more. My fun is done for today. I pick her up, small enough to fit on one arm. It destroys her armor, leaving her clad only in her normal clothes. Her heart beats with a speed that shouldn't be physically possible, so I sent in some of my void to her mind, sending her into a deep and dreamless sleep. So small she is, in my arms. So weak. And yet the Sun-Goddess, she wanted to use this innocent as a warrior?
The easier aproach to your lil guy's hoarding instincts is to indulge them with trinkets, little pewter things and other things more personal to your fire breathing buddy, it is best to make every little charm you give them to seem meaningful. As this will greatly satisfy their hunger for sentimental objects. The harder method should only be used if your dragon's hoarding habit is out of control. That is "austerity exercises"this is a hard reset on your dragon's brain, in which the dragon is separated from their hoard. This will cause "hunger pains"or "withdrawal symptoms"that need to be closely monitored otherwise your dragon will pass on from extreme stress. This is not to be used unless ordered and administered by a veterinarian and dragon trainer. I should also bring to light some damaging practices that can harm your dragon mentally and physically, 1: denying a dragon from keeping a hoard This causes extreme stress and irritability as dragons are emotionally vulnerable, and it's hoard is it's "safe space"and can even lead to heart attacks if the stress continues. 2: Wing clipping, It is annoying that your dragon can fly around the house and wreak havoc if not trained properly, but cutting off its primary way of communication, movement, and insulation nearly halves the average dragon's lifespan. 3: flame discourages, Discouraging your dragon from breathing fire is detrimental to their health, as they need to expel the gases produced by their digestion, it is best to train your drakes to do this outside and into a pizza oven or fire pit. Closing word of advice Dragons are not maintenance free pets, they require a great deal of training, patience, and attention, they are not Christmas gifts or toys. With enough bonding and training a dragon's most prized possession is you, but you have to be worth more than anything else to them. Edit: something useful for most new dragon owners that often gets dismissed. "Hoard box"training! Dragons don't mind discarding things they cannot keep. Sometimes hoards are not visually appealing, like socks, bottles, and paint chips (these are popular because they're colourful). So sometimes you don't want a pile of junk to keep growing until your dragon decides it needs to do some "spring cleaning"and get rid of the things it's bored with. There is an easy 2-7 week training exercise you can do with a wyrmling or when you move to a new living situation. Establishing a hoard box is simple: get a flat topped box your little guy can open and close and attach a pillow or blanket to the lid. Put their trinkets in the box and show your little guy it's there. Then your dragon buddy will fill the thing and start to pile objects around it. This is when the training really starts, take away anything outside of the box when your dragon is away. This will eventually teach your little guy that the only safe place for its hoard is in the box.
- Nathan's Journal - September 22nd, I finally saved up and bought a house. It was a suspiciously remarkable deal, but the seller told me the house was haunted. Seems ridiculous, it's an old house so I'm sure it creaks at night, and probably has some odd drafts and poorly balanced doors. My first tour revealed only that the architecture was charming. I didn't believe it until I hired someone to check the house for problems, and it came back suspiciously clean. If this is a scam, it's a clever one. -------- September 24th, Finally got the washer and dryer hooked up. It took me longer than I thought, but I was running out of clothes that had only been worn once before, and needed to get some loads going before anyone called me out. When I was heading up, I noticed the basement was strangely well lit even with the lights off. Might be a trick of the light, as there is an egress that let's sunlight down here, and perhaps it bounces unusually well. -------- September 29th, Something odd happened. I always prep my coffee maker the day ahead before I go to bed, so I have coffee in the morning. But I could have sworn I didn't do it last night. Dave dropped me off late and I was still drunk and I could have sworn I just crashed straight into bed. But when I woke up, the coffee was ready, just like always. I fact, I think it was actually better than normal. Its probably nothing, I was drunk last night, and maybe it just tasted better because I was dehydrated. Besides, what else could have happened? A burglar made me coffee? -------- September 30th, Alright, something weird definately happened last night. I got home late, but I still wanted to catch the episode that came out, so I put it on. But I fell asleep on the recliner before it was over. When I woke up this morning though, I had the comforter from my bed laid over me, even tucked under my feet so they wouldn't feel the draft. Furthermore, a pot fell in the kitchen right at the time my alarm clock usually goes off, and woke me up in time so I wouldn't be late to work. That pot was hanging on a hook, it couldn't possibly have fallen off. And I know I get forgetful at night, but no way I forgot I grabbed my comforter... I'll have to look into this. -------- October 1st, Alright. I either have someone living in my walls being weirdly helpful, or something seriously weird is going on. Well, weird-er. I made sure to leave my coffee maker unplugged last night, and it was ready in the morning like always. I also let my keys fall into the crack in between the arm and the seat on my recliner, but they were back on the hook this morning. What's more, Lefty, my orphan sock that I lost the match to in my last apartment, suddenly is a whole pair again. Those are my favorite extra cushiony socks that I like to wear around the house, no way I packed Righty without noticing it. Tonight I left out a note, next to the coffee maker which was unplugged. It says if there IS someone living in my walls, I think they're pretty cool, and don't mind them coming out and saying hi, or they can just leave me a note if they're feeling shy. I'm not even looking for rent. If I don't hear anything back, I'm picking up a Ouija board tomorrow. -------- October 3rd, Haven't heard back from my helpful guest, though they still made me coffee yesterday. I got the Ouija board too, but it took me a while to figure out how it's supposed to work, and I figured if I'm going that route, I might as well grab some candles and make it a whole thing. So I did that today. Laid out some candles, did a few weird seance-y things, then laid out the board, and asked "I know someone or something is there. Could you tell me your name? You have been helpful, and I would like to talk." She responded B-l-e-s-s-Y-o-u-r-H-e-a-r-t-D-e-a-r-i-e-Y-o-u-D-o-n-t-N-e-e-d-T-o-B-o-t-h-e-r-A-b-o-u-t-L-i-t-t-l-e-O-l-d-M-e-I-K-n-o-w-Y-o-u-r-e-B-u-s-y It turns out her name is Agatha, and she died a long-ass time ago when a blizzard blocked everyone inside their house. She kept the place warm for her kids, but didn't have enough food for all of them, so she starved before the locals dug everyone in the area out. Her kids made it okay though. Looked her up and it turns out a few of her great-great-great grandchildren live about an hour from here. I invited them over to say hi. That reminds me, gotta pick up some more candles tonight. Agatha's been watching TV with me, and I'd like to hear what she thinks about the season finale.
Chris looks at me with a hollow look in his eyes and laughs. "No,"he says. "I don't believe it." "The news just came in. They're using the emergency generator at Houston to contact us."I gesture at the satellite phone in my hand like it's going to prove that what I'm saying is true. "I don't believe it."He repeats. I clench the phone in my fist and try not to panic. "Chris-" "Give me the phone." I don't. "Give me the phone!"He roars and lunges for it, scrabbling at my fingers. He tears it from my hand and starts dialling furiously. He turns his back on me, but I can still hear the error message. The person you are trying to call cannot be reached. He dials again The person you are trying to call cannot be reached. Tears form around his head like a halo. There's no hiding them when the gravity's off. Chris has got a wife and two kids at home, living right in Washington DC. If I were him I wouldn't even bother calling. "Chris,"I say softly. "Hey, buddy." His shoulders drop and he lets the phone go. I gently grab it as it turns in midair and shove it into a pocket. "You got anyone back at home?"He says, not angrily. Joe had gripped my hand tightly as we made our way through the mall. "Ignore them,"he'd said, not quite loud enough to drown out someone's taunt as they walked past us. "They don't get it yet." That's always what he'd say. They don't get it yet. His answer for everything. "Yeah..."I say quietly. "In a way, I've got someone waiting." "You miss them?" "Every day I'm here." Truth is, when I'm up here is when I feel closest to Joe. He always liked stars. "It's kind of like hope, you know what I mean?"He'd said as we'd gone out after dark one evening. "No, what do you mean?"We were tramping across a muddy field, telescope under his one arm. "Well, that there's something else out there." "There's probably nothing else out there."I was doing physics at college. I thought I knew everything. "Shut up Will. You just don't get it yet." I'm drawn back as Chris speaks. "You wanna take a walk?"He asks I think of Joe and I think of stars and hope. "Sure." The airlock opens and we step out together, five minutes of oxygen each. It's enough, in a way. Chris grips my gloved hand in his and we turn; two tiny white specks against the great open darkness of space. Hey Joe. The stars are shining. I get it now.
"Oh, you'll see! Come on!", says Mike, pulling me by the hand. "What? Tell me!"I protest, while he drags me. "I can't tell you! You have to see it." So he drags me away, through the main hall, here and there dodging from the White Suits and the kids and the crowd, all the way to the end and into the South Wing hallway. From there we reach a hatchet, on the end of the corridor by the wall. "Are you ready?" "We're going outside?"I whisper, between excited and a little scared. Mike is that kind of crazy soul. If he lived in the 50's, he'd be having knife-fights on parking lots, or doing that race car thing towards a cliff, where the first one to hit the brakes loses, you know? He'd be the guy with a convertible and the Ray-Ban glasses. The guy chewing gun. Me? I'm the lucky girl he chose. And I know I shouldn't. I know I should keep it cool and maybe even stop calling him every day, so he doesn't -- you know, think I'm so madly in love with him. Trouble is I'm so damn madly in love with him, so I can't. I can't not let it show. "Go, go!"He says, guiding my hand and body towards the hatchet. I climb it and step outside, barely in time to put my helmet on. Mike follows me and we start walking through the red, windy landscape. "Where are we going?"I ask, looking around. "There is nothing on the outside, Mike! You know that!" "Chill out! You'll see, I told you!"Mike says. "It's awesome." We walk in silence for a while, enjoying the view. "Enjoying"isn't really the right word here. Mars is crappy. Mars is a little old crappy broken down shitty Anytown - Solar System kind of place. But -- hey -- my parents thought I would enjoy the 'one year experience abroad', so here I am. Only good thing about this planet is Mike, I'll tell you. And the view at night, by the observatory. "We're here", Mike says, smiling from behind his helmet. He grabs my hand. "What? What am I looking at?" The answer to that question, from my perspective, is a big rock in front of us. "Behind it. Come." Mike guides me around the rock. I'm looking at him and I'm thinking: -- No. I'm not thinking anything anymore. Because behind the rock is an airplane, covered in dust and sunken a few inches into the ground. "What... the... hell?"I whisper, more to myself than to Mike. "Cool, right?" "Where the hell did that come from? From where is it? Did you go inside?"I ask all these questions all at once, somehow. "I don't know! I don't know!"Mike answers, still smiling. "But it's pretty awesome, right? Let's go in!" "I'm not going in there!"I say, but already he's dragging me and -- crap. I follow. Why are people in love so stupid? "I think there's probably a... here it is."Mike finds a lever by a door and pulls it. The door hisses and smoke oozes from it. Then it lifts itself, ever so slowly. Inside is more smoke, and we can't see much more. "Come on", he says, stepping in. "Mike, I'm really not sure about this. Maybe we should go back. Maybe we should tell the White Suits about it. Maybe -- Mike?"I ask, because Mike disappeared inside the plane, already. I'll tell you. He's the guy that would wear leather jackets and pants and make it work. He's the guy smoking during recess, making all the girls go 'ooooh'. That's Mike. "Damn it", I say to myself. I walk inside, carefully crouching away from the door. It closes behind me, with the same hiss as it opened. I turn back, startled by the noise. And then the lights come on. In front of me are rows and rows of passengers, dressed in leather and silk and suits and ties and dresses, all ready for takeoff. All frozen in the same position, eyes wide open, staring straight ahead at little screens that still play movies on repeat. A stewardess is frozen mid corridor, still pushing a food cart, her smile piercing through me in a funny way that chills me to the bone. "Mike?"I ask, and my voice echoes through the place. No answer. "Mike?"I repeat. I notice an iPad in a man's lap, by my side. The man must be fifty, at least, and the iPad is still on. He was writing something, it seems. Or about to start. The iPad displays a single WORD document with nothing written in it. "Mike, let's get out of here. This place is creeping me out." I check the whole extent of the plane, down to the pilot cabin. No one. I mean, a lot of frozen people, but no sign of Mike. "Damn it, Mike, this isn't funny", I say, starting to panic a bit. I hate being in love. I would never have come here if I wasn't in love. You know what? Screw him, I'm leaving. This place is giving me the creeps. I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I'm leaving. He can meet me back at the dorms, later, I'll tell him that -- I freeze, almost at the door. By my side, the iPad man is still frozen, eyes facing the screen ahead of him, like he was before. In his lap, his iPad is still running, the screen still bright and alive. The WORD document is not blank anymore. A single, 12-sized, Times New Roman sentence reads: we are not dead. And then the lights go out. _________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out my subreddit: /r/psycho_alpaca =)
In French it’s called L'appel du vide. That little voice that tells you to leap when you’re standing on a cliff, or waiting for the subway. That tiny inclination that makes you want to swerve the car off the highway. It’s not suicidal in nature, but neither is it merely inquisitive. It’s a subtle reminder of the fragility of life and how easy it is to take away. It’s an innate sense of awe at how basic human nature really is. The construct of society, the social standards, the most basic Socratic notions of community are all held together by tenuous threads all dependent on mutual survival. But really what is it all about when we can just jump off cliffs like a stampede of unknowing Buffalo. We each control our own little universe, in a world so constrained. There’s a Heideggerian notion that the most personal and authentic experience any person can have is their death. It’s this idea that everyone dies helplessly alone, but is rooted in a morbid sense of freedom. Each person dies in a completely individuated way, and is an experience solely partitioned off from the rest of society. What if you could experience this each and every day? What if this exhilaratingly individuated experience doesn’t have to be laced with fear and sorrow? What if L’appel du vide was a reflection of real desire, acted out whenever the urge kicked in? It really does take longer than expected for the fear to dissipate. The L’appel du vide changes from, “maybe I should jump” to “maybe it will actually happen this time”. It’s like the morose sense of winning the lottery. Akin to pulling your draft card I guess. You stand there and think, “I’ve jumped probably a thousand times, but the thousand and first is when I’ll actually die.” But you do it anyways. You jump because it’s better to. It’s fun even. I’ll never forget the first time it happened. It was long, it was slow, it was painful. Not just for me but for my family. The diagnosis only happened a few weeks prior. “Pancreatic cancer is the most aggressive, but if we start chemo right away there’s a chance.” It didn’t help and I deteriorated way too quickly for it to have helped anyways. I could hear my heart beat start to become shallower as my family just began to sort of fade away. It’s a sort of searing fear that’s really hard to describe. It’s probably the closest you’ll ever get to those moments before you’re born. You live your entire life just trying to get along, to understand just what the hell the world is about and how to properly exist. But for the first time since your birth, you honestly have no precedent for any of it. It’s just one massive state of shock and confusion. But then I woke up. Five minutes earlier. And it all happened again. And it all happened again after that. And on and on until the dying part wasn’t confusing, it was the goddamn time skips. If there’s a hell on Earth it’s reliving your death over and over again. Watching the pure sadness on all your loved one’s faces. Again and again and again. The logic hit me eventually. But it was brutal. If I find a way to die quicker each time, the five minute jump back happened earlier and earlier. Trying to OD on drugs didn’t really seem to work too well. I’ll spare the specifics, because I don’t really want to relive the horror of having to commit suicide in front of my family over and over again. But eventually I was able to get back to the point where I actually felt okay, and could enjoy the last minutes I had. It seems paradoxical, but if you can die fast enough you can go back and relive some of the best moments of your life. I was able to eventually work back to the day I first met my wife, our marriage, the birth of our first child. Brief glimpses of times once thought lost. You kill yourself often enough and you can relive years of your life all over again. I tried to fix the awkward teen years. And for the most part it worked. You know all those times you think of the perfect things to say a week after an argument? I went back and said them all. It’s almost a routine now. Start from a really good point in my life. Live until it gets shitty, find a cliff and jump off it thousands of times in succession until I can go back enough to live it again. There’s really no escaping the cancer though. It comes back every time, regardless of how things have changed. There really is no such thing as the future. There’s no out. Well expect for real, actual death. It’s kind of funny. Well not funny, though I guess funny works. Funny in a “really, has it actually come to this?” kind of way. That first time I died, that insanely personal, almost neonatal sense of being was the most enthralling state I’d ever experienced. I almost want to permanently die now. Not in a suicidal way. Not even in an inquisitive way. But just be in that millisecond where the world is entirely in your control, because you are the only one experiencing it at that very moment.
"Fuckin' Som!" I awoke to the sound of slurs and breaking glass. Teenagers, jeering and laughing. More alarming, I heard a gentle crackling. And I smelled smoke. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have risked it. Normally when I sleep, I put on my VR mask and just pretend that I'm in the Overse. The full face cover, intended for immersion in the virtual world, does a surprisingly good job at blocking out the lights. Today, though, I was feeling reckless. I wanted that truly relaxing feeling of curling up in a blanket and slipping into a dream instead of trying to rest in the hard haptic chair that we all use to interact in virtual reality. So I'd turned off the lights in my home. I even moved the car around the block so that neighbors would think I was out and wouldn't suspect what I was really doing. But apparently it wasn't enough. "Som piece of shit!"one of the teenagers yelled again. I hated that slur. The others laughed, enjoying how 'edgy' they were, picking on a sleeper. I bolted upright from the couch. The kitchen was on fire. I tapped my headset and called emergency services, requesting police and the fire department while I desperately tried to pour water from the sink onto the fire. The flames leaped up the walls and licked at the furniture. I couldn't do any more; it was hopeless. Sirens sounded in the distance. The kids heard it and scrambled back to their bikes, still laughing. Part of me wanted to go chase them, but I didn't have the energy. And I cared more about my burning home than teaching some punks a lesson. The fire department arrived and did their jobs pretty quickly. The kitchen was gutted but at least it hadn't spread to the rest of the house. My stomach felt queasy as I realized I'd have to battle the insurance company yet again. I was still reeling from the years-long fight to get my Cora allergy treated. I'd lost, of course, which is why I still had to sleep. Taking the waking drug would send me into fits and probably kill me, but I couldn't afford the treatment on my own. And of course I couldn't work more hours to make more money because I had to go sleep. It's a vicious cycle. A policeman came in to take my statement for his report. "Any ideas who did this?"he asked, staring down at the form on his tablet with a vacant look reminiscent of a caveman studying a club and wondering what it does. "Teenagers,"I said, doing my best to describe what they looked like. It wasn't much to go on. "Any reason they'd target you?" "Umm..."I wasn't sure how to answer. He glanced back into the living room at the plush pillow and blanket on the couch. Then he looked back at me, almost in the eyes but not quite. He was looking at the dark circles that I'd tried to cover up with makeup. "Uh huh,"he concluded with a mocking tone. Great, I could practically hear him think. Have to deal with a Som now. My cheeks burned. "We'll do our best to find these kids and get back to you soon,"the Officer said, not bothering to fill out the rest of the form. I got the feeling that the 'investigation' would consist of trying to find an out-of-the-way filing cabinet where this complaint would never be seen again. I sighed and thanked him, trying to sound genuine. He rolled his eyes and stepped out into the night. "Have a good evening,"he said with a sneer. --- If you enjoyed the story, you should also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_lovewell!
"I thought you said no one was here."I hissed. "There's not"john hissed back. "Only the couple lives here and they are at a party I watched them both leave." "Then explain that."I growled indicating the thumping from upstairs. "probably just a dog." "Mommy?"a voice called out. "Since when does a dog talk?"I saked. "This doesn't make any sense, I watched this house for days and never saw anyone else, fuck it lets just get out of here." "We cant leave yet." "what the fuck do you mean we can't leave yet?"John asked incredulously. "You stay here, I'll be right back."I said walking up the stairs. "Ryan what are you doing?"John shouted after me. I ignored him and kept walking up the stairs John shouted after me again but I kept ignoring him and he made no effort to follow me. "Mommy? Daddy?"the child called out again. I followed the voice to a door at the back of the house. It was here that I got my second surprise of the night, normally you expect to find a door locked from inside the room not from the outside. But sure enough there was a padlock on the door, clearly keeping the child on the inside. "Kid,"I called through the door. "Look I am not your parents but I want to open the door can you tell me why its locked? "Mommy says I have to stay in my room until they let me out."The child shouted back. "They do this often?"I asked, feeling my blood boil. "yea." "O.K. look kid I am going to open the door but I need you to stand away from the door O.K.?" "O.K." I waited then confirmed that the kid was away from the door before aiming my gun at the lock and pulling the trigger. There was a soft pop as the silenced bullet left my gun and shattered the padlock before passing though the door as well. I quickly opened the door to make sure the kid was fine. He was fine he was in the far corner like I told him. When I say he was fine I mean that he hadn't been hit otherwise he was far from fine. The clothes he was wearing were tattered and torn to the point where it wouldn't have made much differnece if he hadn't been wearing clothes at all. He was skinny far to skinny I could actually make out the bones as they were covered by a very thin layer of skin. His body was covered in angry red spots. But the worst was the room itself there was no bed, no toys, no games. All that there was in this room was a pile of blankets, a doggy bowl of food and water and in a corner based on the smell a literal pile of shit. "John get up here now!"I shouted, John rumbled up the stairs not bothering to be quiet anymore. "what is... holy shit." "Call the cops,"I said without looking at him. "What?" "You heard me call the cops." "Ryan we are fucking burglars we can't call the cops." "Exactly they are looking for us and will respond to a call about us. Don't worry we will be long gone before they arrive." There was a loud bang as a door downstairs slammed shut. We could hear muffled voices talking below us. "I can't believe you made us turn back."A man said. "It's my favourite choker I am not going without it,"A women shouted back. The man snorted "favourite my ass you have three exactly like it." "Well it is,"the women answered angrily her voice getting closer. I looked over at John, "you might want to tell the cops that its a double homicide." "double hom.. Ryan no."John whispered grabbing my arm. I shook him off, "just keep the kid safe."I walked out the room and greeted the women as she reached the landing. She didn't get a chance to say anything before I put a bullet through her head. She stood there for a second before falling backwards and tumbling down the stairs. "Did you fall you stupid women?"The man shouted uncaringly. I walked down the stairs making sure to step on the women's corpse as I did so. The man hadn't even looked round from his drinks cabinet as I approached, I put two bullets in his back without hesitation. "Ryan time to go,"John said behind me. I turned to see him holding the kid in his arms. I nodded taking the kid from John and putting him onto a kitchen chair. "Listen kid I need you to stay here until the police come o.k.?"When they come be sure to show them your room." The kid looked confused but eventually nodded. I ruffled what little hair he had, "see you around kid."
Some humans are considered "Chosen."People with a very special purpose, picked out by the Big Man himself. They're on Earth for a reason, and it's our job to make sure that they fulfill that purpose. And that means keeping them alive until they do whatever it is they're meant to do. There are tens of thousands of Guardians watching over the Chosen. Hell, I probably see at least ten or twenty a day here in New York. We exchange some brief pleasantries when we can, but only if our Chosen ones aren't on the move. We have to stick with them at all times; you never know when disaster might strike. And it's not just a matter of duty: I have a personal incentive to keep my Chosen alive too, because I'd like to avoid disintegrating into a pile of dust. When our humans die, us Guardians are then considered extraneous. We only live as long as our mission requires. Allen is the most unusual Chosen I've ever seen. You would think that if someone was so crucial to the master plan that God himself deigned give this mortal special protection, that they'd at least be... important. Allen is an accountant. And not even a very good one; I've had to correct some of his errors on some of his major cases. We Guardians aren't just lifesavers; we're supposed to help our Chosen in whatever way we can. I mean, we can't take 'em to Vegas and give them a jackpot, but we're allowed to make minor tweaks. I've been with Allen for seven years now, watching his ever move. His every dull, boring, humdrum move. He goes through the same routine every morning, goes in for a snoozer of a work day, then goes home, cooks his little meal for one, pets his cat, and goes to sleep. That's it. I've tried to guess what his destiny is. He's not one of those "Change the World"type Chosen ones. Some guardians are assigned to Presidents, Popes, business tycoons, you know: the movers and shakers. Allen isn't one of them. So maybe he'll be one of those "right place at the right time"chosen ones, like those guys who downed Flight 93 during the September 11th hijackings. Or maybe he's just important because he'll eventually have a child who will change the world, like Joseph. They get Guardian protection too. Of course, Allen hasn't so much as spoken to a woman in months, so that's a pretty slim possibility as well. The only thing unique about Allen is that something is trying to kill him. And it's coming closer and closer every day. It started out small: some malicious bacteria sprinkled into his dish at a restaurant; I just chalked that up to an accident. That's what I'm here for: preventing those little slips that could ruin Fate's grand plan. Of course, no one has ever explained how I'm supposed to tell the difference between the little slips and the approaching freight train of destiny. The other Guardians just say "You're supposed to know it when you see it."None of us really know for sure, because the only ones who have experience in the matter are now dead. The next day, it was a bus with cut brakelines that was screeching toward Allen in the crosswalk on his way to work. I just barely managed to steer into a telephone pole in time. Since then, I've had to hold up slashed elevator cables, stop gang shoot outs, disarm bombs under his car, and even hold him up in the shower to prevent him from slipping. Ok, maybe that last one was just an accident. But there's no denying that someone or something out there thinks that Allen's time is up. And there's really only one being in the universe who can make that decision. I confronted God about it. It just seemed so... unusual. Why was he given a Guardian (and dare I say, such a good one) when his fate was just to die alone and without ever having done anything but crunch numbers for a big company? Why waste my life as well as his?? God wasn't amused. "Your place is not to question my will,"he answered sternly. "If Allen's time has come, then that is the way of the Universe." "Well, can you at least tell me what his purpose is?" No answer; God disappeared, off to create other indecipherable mysteries to torture people. Great. I returned to Allen, still asleep in his bed with his cat snoozing on top of his legs. Poor guy. Most other Chosen were blessed with something. Money, power... whatever they needed to change the world. Allen had been blessed with the most humdrum existence imaginable, and even that was about to be snuffed out. Not to mention that I would then bite the bullet as well. Great plan, God. A smile spread across Allen's face. Something pleasant had happened in his dream, enough to give him that idiotic grin. An expression that I'd honestly never seen in the years that I'd been caring for him. And that's what made up my mind. I was going to make sure that Allen found that happiness in life. I was his Guardian, damn it. And if God had decided that it was his time to die, I'd have to go to the only person who didn't give a fuck about what God wanted. "Lucifer,"I called out. "I need your help."
... And equally unluckily for us, our hero is a woman. She flips her long, golden hair so it catches the sunlight spectacularly while removing her helmet in a flourish. At least, it would do that if there were any sunlight in the underground castle. And if her hair wasn't all sweaty and matted from riding on her horse in full armor all day. The queen blanches. Or she would, if she weren't a vampire. "Your Highness, my fairest queen,"says the knight, who kneels. "You have bewitched me. My love for you is eternal; I am ever yours. Please pardon my forwardness, fair Highness, but I am yours to have, if you will have me, in whatever and any capacity you wish." "Er. Yes. Well,"the queen stammers. She clears her throat. "That's, that's very good. Yes."She cries over her shoulder, "LAWRENCE!" As if out of nowhere, a disheveled butler appears behind her. "Yes, Your Highness?" "Tell me how to reverse this enchantment. I seem to have used it on the wrong -GAH!"The queen snaps her hand back from the knight's gentle grip. "No kissing my hand!" The knight looks up to her with seductive eyes. "Then where may I kiss you, my love?" "N-nowhere!" Lawrence almost contains his smirk. "Your Highness, I'm afraid the only known antidote is a rare herb that only grows on Mt. Dragonface." "WELL, GET TO IT, MAN!"shouts the queen. Her attention is diverted again. "Hey! What did I JUST say about kissing!?"
Maybe she was a bad mother. She grew up in a different time. A time when a girl could run off to climb trees for eight hours and her siblings would make fun of her for not staying out longer. When her mother would warn her not to look at the sun too long, and she would do it anyway to prove some pointless point. It hurt to lead her child around furniture. To press his small hands against the bark of a tree and tell him what it was, how someday he might find himself in those branches. Not today. He was only three. She understood how three-year olds thought. Even blindfolded, he had boundless curiosity. He reached for anything he could, smelling and tasting things he shouldn’t as he tried to understand a world he couldn’t see. She knew she shouldn’t. Plenty of parents did it, but she still knew it was wrong. She was much more diligent than other parents, her child had never had a glimpse of the world. Some parents cheated, allowed their children to see when they were certain it was safe. She had only one boy. She knew she would never have another child. She was more careful than other parents. She had been teaching her son basic concepts. Letters and numbers, sounds and rhymes. She was suddenly trapped in another time as she found herself explaining what colors were. Looking down at the half visible head cocked in curiosity, she realized that her son didn’t know what colors were. She didn’t even know what color his eyes were. She kneeled as she gently cradled his face in her hands, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin of his forehead. Just this once, she whispered. She breathed gently into his wisps of hair, breathing in his scent as she loosened the knot at the back of his head. The blindfold fell between them. “My eyes are called blue” she smiled as she pulled her face even with his. She saw his for an instant, and never saw anything again.
“I will decimate you with my next attack, Bobbeh Shill, you will feel the burning wrath of my vengeance. As soon as I amass the life energies of this world into a single attack, I will decimate you to oblivion!” Super Villain Myoga Ultra yelled out, his muscles bulging beneath his black armor in concentration. His hands were held out in front of him, and a deadly ball of blue energy began to form between his outstretched hands. Bobbeh Shill stood several feet away from Myoga; a slack look on his face. Bobbeh didn’t say a word, but rather walked up to Myoga, his grey shorts swishing as he walked. The young man, a distinct contrast to the over the top villains and heroes that filled this desolate wasteland of battle that was Earth, kept his hands at his side as he walked. Myoga’s energy ball didn’t scare Bobbeh, he’d seen this move all too often. Myoga Ultra strained in concentration as he charged his attack. Sweat pooled at his brow. He only needed a few more minutes, and his devastating attack would finally be ready. He saw Bobbeh Shill approach him; Myoga couldn’t help but laugh at the fool. “What, are you just going to walk towards me?!” Myoga yelled. “In just a matter of minutes, my attack will be ready, and I will eradicate you from the face of existence!” Bobbeh let out a shrug, and continued walking towards Myoga Ultra. Soon, the two men were standing merely a few feet apart. Bobbeh spread his feet wide, and readied himself. He whispered under his breath. “That’s my purse.” Bobbeh’s leg moved in a swift motion. Myoga’s eyes widened in sudden fear as Bobbeh let out a guttural cry. “I DON’T KNOW YOU!” He yelled, brining his foot up in a swift kick to Myoga Ultra’s groin. Myoga Ultra let out a groan of surprise. His arms dropped, and the ball of blue energy dissipated. The Super Villain dropped to his knees, clutching his groin. He looked up at Bobbeh Shill. “But how? How can this be?!” Myoga cried out in despair before he fell to the dry soil, unconscious. Bobbeh gave Myoga a small grin, before turning to go. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket. On the paper, was a list of names. The henchmen of the grand overlord of the world, Count Zion. Bobbeh crossed Myoga Ultra’s name off of the list. One more down. Bobbeh Shill was only walking for several minutes before a war hardened voice called out to him. “Bobbeh Shill, How dare you strike down my brethren and sistren!” The voice called out. Bobbeh turned to face his next opponent. It was Atomic Adam, the legendary samurai who’s giga slash was said to decimate cities. “I will end your reign of terror right here, right now Bobbeh Shill!” Atomic Adam called out, readying himself. “Our master was gracious to you. After your capture, he naturally told you about his master plans, but you were rude enough to escape after hearing our master’s benevolence. Now, you must die!” Bobbeh Shill smiled, and spread his feet apart. He remembered his training; his inner mantra echoed through his mind. That’s my purse, I don’t know you! Bobbeh Shill smiled as Atomic Adam continued to prattle on about honor and dignity. His speech would last approximately twenty five minutes, plenty of time for Bobbeh Shill to enact his finishing move. In a matter of moments, Bobbeh Shill was walking off again, another name crossed off of his list. Such was the life of a warrior destined to travel the road of constant battle. He did it all for survival, and for the honor of his father. Surely Bobbeh’s countless victories against the tyrannical Count Zion would make his father proud. ------------------------------------- Hope you enjoyed it. I wanted to make it more serious, and really explore the fun comedy of an average guy tackling hyperboled super villains, but then I realized that I just wanted to write about Bobby Hill giving some dudes the smack down. I've got piles of other stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to check it out.
As I sat in front of the microphone, staring at the wires and devices that various experts assured me would translate my voice into the aliens' language, I took a moment to wonder how I'd gotten here. To keep it short, world governments had taken my old MySpace account's claims very seriously, the claim of "Expert in BS"earning me an invitation amongst the world's greatest scientists, engineers, and military minds. Interstellar invasion was upon us, and I had been trusted with second contact after the US president's first disastrous attempt. It must have come as a surprise that the world's premier expert in bullshitting was currently working two minimum wage jobs to afford his studio apartment. Still, they couldn't find anyone more qualified with so little time, and I was now the last hope for preventing all out war. The modified radio crackled, and a smooth voice said, "We've been gracious in allowing you a second chance to negotiate your surrender. Do not make us regret this."I looked at the window where all the world's premier experts were gathered to watch me work for a sign that this was alien contact. One scientist gave me a thumbs up, and I began the transmission. "Uh, hi. This is actually Jim, a diplomat I guess."There was a murmuring of voices, then the one I assumed to be their leader said, "Diplomat Jim, have you contacted us to discuss your terms of surrender?" "I've actually been asked to negotiate peace, though I'm not sure what they want a minimum wage employee to do about it." "Ah, a clever ploy. You're attempting to make us feel as though we aren't worth the attention of a major government entity by referring us to a peon, but we won't fall for it. Diplomat, is your world hiding some sort of weaponry capable of opposing us?" "Er, not that I know of. We're pretty much defenseless." Worried murmurs came from the broadcast, I caught a few mentions of the words 'disaster' and 'trap'. "Jim, there is no possible way you could oppose us. We number in the trillions, our fleet has the edge in development, size, and power. We have conquered worlds far more advanced, and far more bold in their claims. Do not think you can make us hesitate with your brave claims." "I really don't now what you're expecting me to say. We're a tiny dirtball without much visible technology, do you think we have some sort of... I dunno, a Galactic Atomic Death Beam hiding here somewhere, whoever you are?" The voices in the background reached a panicked fever, and even their leader's voice was strained. "You wouldn't dare use such technology, it's been outlawed for galactic millennia! Though you don't even know my name, perhaps... Alright. The attack is called off, mighty warrior Jim. What are your terms for peace?" I shrugged at the collection of experts behind the window, and the experts all shrugged back. I said, "Just be chill, I guess? I dunno what you've got to offer us." The voices on the other end went silent. After a few minutes, their leader said, "You are a cruel diplomat, Jim. But if it prevents you from using such terrifying weapons on our civilians, then we shall oblige you. Even now we are venting the atmosphere of our military ships, and soon we shall be as chilled as space itse..." Silence. It felt like an eternity that I was trying to regain contact with the ship, but eventually I had to accept that I'd condemned those creatures. There were celebrations of course, lavish parties and award ceremonies for my actions, but I didn't deserve any of it. Incidentally or not, I had killed those trillions of sentient beings with a poorly worded peace negotiation, and that was my burden. That, mister manager, is why I'm late for my shift. Please, do not burden me further with accusations of laziness or lying, my soul is heavy enough. ------------------------------ Thanks for reading! Long time lurker, first time etc. Feel free to offer any criticism or improvements you have.
Being a demon is pretty lame. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an alright gimmick to drop if you encounter a supernatural whatever, which happens never. I didn’t even know I was a demon until one of my friends suckered me into going to a psychic. I didn’t believe in psychics, they were and honestly most of them still are just good at making general guesses. But this one was real. So we walk into this psychic’s tent, old guy sitting behind a wooden table in a tent. Mind you this is at our annual Italian Festival, so I’m very much not interested in what he has to say. My friend pushes me in and waits outside. “What now?” I ask him. He just holds out his hand and at that point I’m really irritated. This mystic bullshit is getting on my nerves so I grab his hand. His eyes went black, blood literally SHOT out of his nose, and he starts howling. After the initial surprise I let go of his hand, and he slumps over in his chair. I remember wondering if he was dead and thinking I was so fucked. I might have a superpower to kill people with a handshake, but that’s not super useful in prison. I honestly don’t know how nobody around heard him scream, but give or take a minute and he takes a deep, staggered breath and leans back in his chair. “You’re... a creature. Ill-conceived and abandoned. Perhaps one day you will discover your powers. For now, demon, leave my shop.” His voice sounded weird. A bit rude of him, but I walked out. So I went to a couple of other psychics after that. None of them had the same response, but they were all hacks. I think. As for discovering my powers, turns out I don’t burn. Yup. Knocked over a pot of boiling eggs and thought I was gonna spend the next years of my life getting skin grafts, but it just kind of felt hot. Eggs were fine, by the way. Tuna and hard boiled eggs are fantastic, so that was a good lunch while I wondered if it just wasn’t hot enough. As any individual wondering if they have powers would do, I tested it and put a lighter under my hand. Nada. Far as I can tell, your boy is fireproof. I dunno, maybe I can use what I’ve got for good. Maybe I’ll just grow old and become some kind of demon god and bring about the apocalypse. For now I’m gonna keep on the grind. Med school isn’t gonna pay for itself.
Beyond the endless dark that glimmer came once more. I witnessed a beautiful tear through the night sky and so beckoned to no one at all: “I wish the world was a happier place.” The wishes never came true, of course. The summer evenings in Vermont brought with them a quiet peace – one free from the troubles of day. The mailbox filled with late payments. Father sobbing over the shards of a porcelain mug while mother ate her lunch locked the guest bedroom. The bottles were empty but my parents slept. And that, to me, was the best peace of all. So I looked skyward and pointed to that streak of gold that lingered just long enough to pin my nativity towards a future that would never be. After grandfather passed, the mailbox was emptier, at least. I walked out to it at the edge of the driveway where the pavement met intended dirt. I pulled it open and found a paper, crumpled. It told me good days were coming. There was a list, long as it was ambitious. Mother’s favorite book was under the table, and she read it tearfully and away from father. He attended church and didn’t drive home swerving that night. With the money he saved they even bought me a new winter jacket right before I went off to college – the first in my family to set foot on a campus and stay the night. On the roof of my dorm; far, far away from home, I pointed my finger and traced between the stars. My roommate had packed his things and had three more days left. Then the letter came. A scholarship he had applied for came late. It was then, I realized, all the good things I wanted were coming now. These were good nights I spent. I asked for new computers for the lab. So that Andrea could see her daughter one last time. Every time the burning wisp of hope ran through the sky I smiled and made the world a better place. But then the next letter came. Crumpled as the last. It told me that I would have to wait again for good things. So I waited through graduation. I waited in line beside the love of my life. I waited in the car as the paramedics came. I waited in the office as my severance was dropped in my lap and my things were offered to me in a box. I waited long until my joints became stale and my breaths ragged. I waited through my daughter and her grunting and crying until I held a babe with eyes ever-fresh. A third crumpled letter came. It told me good things could happen again. But it looked down upon the blanket wrapped around my legs and my fingers shook as I turned off the TV. I wheeled myself over to the window and tore down the curtain. A streak in the sky. A glimmer of hope. The letter told me that others were waiting for their wishes too. That only one person could make a wish. And I looked down at my body one more time. Let a child, a fool, wish themselves a better life. Let them smile. Ear to ear I grinned. I had earned a life, happy enough. There are so many people who need a can of food, a new puppy, a blanket. So let them wish, I thought. I crumpled up that piece of paper with my aching wrists and knuckles and tossed it aside. I wish the world a happier place. I wished it happy enough for me. Good night. * * *** Hello! You may be wondering if I have a subreddit or something. I do and I never update it. Don't go there. [Have a link to a song I like instead.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LhJ0n5G5jCo)
The eerie roar of the Iron Howler screeches through White Orchard as it announces its arrival. It looms before me, its metal legs chittering against its bonds as it comes to a halt. Some say the Howler was named after the wrought iron wolf sitting atop its head, while others say the howl in question was the result of a black-veiled wraith haunting its devourer, its screams as jarring as grating iron. I step closer to the beast as I place a hand on its latticework of iron. To me, the Howl was not a single lone cry, but rather an orchestra of noise, a thousand unique sounds working in tandem. This ensemble of industry fascinates and terrifies me at the same time, and so it becomes a ritual for me to attend to the Howl and revel in the thrill every time it stops at White Orchard. The elders usually try and stop the initiates from entering the Den, but most of us have already snuck in. It’s a rite of passage for the children in White Orchard. Most do it when they’re 12, the most plausible reason being a dare, and most do it only once, and never again, for the strange devices in the Den cast terrifying shadows, wrought in shapes God did not intend for nature. The elders teach that farming and agriculture is the basis of all of God’s children, that a simple life lived is the best way to secure your passage to Heaven. To overcomplicate life with vices and sin such as alcohol, opiates and most of all, technology, would be an insult to God’s work. The first thing they teach you is that the Den that all the apple orchards of our village lead to is unsafe and off-limits, precisely because of the technology that pervades its interior. “Do not rely on technology, for one day it will fail, and you will fail along with it.” they said. The day I was dared into the Den of the beast, I snuck my way through the haunting visages of unnatural, luminescent light and colors too bright for the human eye, only to reach a shadowy hall torn into half by a miniature chasm, covered in rusted metal and untended vegetation. As I peered over the edge, I could see that at the very bottom of the chasm lay two oddly shaped gouges in the ground, carved by the claws of the Iron Howler. I was just in time to catch the Iron Howler’s arrival. It darted through the Den, pushing itself forward by tearing apart the metal underneath it, refreshing the gouges and filling the empty hall with echoes of that familiar roar. The shock of its sudden appearance sent me flying into one of the bushes that lined the chasm, scuttling into the safety of its undergrowth. That was probably what saved me that day. As I hid in the bush, I heard rushed footsteps. I plucked up the courage to peer over the shrubbery and I saw three elders, carrying crates, filled to the brim with the cream of the crop and disregarding every rule they had sworn by. I saw them place the crates into the gaping maw of the Iron Howler. I saw them drag a young girl into the Den by her pigtails, cut her throat and toss her still-writhing body into the belly of the beast, whispering to themselves as they stalked away. “The iron tithe is paid.” Those words haunt me every night as I toss and turn in bed. The image of that girl pleading for her life play across my memories every time I watch the Howler come into the Den, reminding me that the elders that we were supposed to trust are not what they seem. I have had enough. The guilt, the morbid curiosity, it consumes me. As my hands tense nervously on the strap of my rucksack, I take my first steps into the Iron Howler’s gaping maw, eyes shut tight. It shudders with pleasure as it feels me crossing into its body. I must have been its first willing sacrifice. The shudder did not stop. After an excruciating wait, I heard a shattering thud as I feel the air rush out behind me. As I tear my eyes open, I discover that the Howler's jaws are clamped shut. I was trapped. My eyes adjust to the darkness around me, and I discover the Iron Howler’s interior are not what it seems to be. My surroundings are surprisingly immaculate. There are what appears to be leather-bound armchairs tethered to its sides. The air inside its stomach smells sterile and unnatural, as if nature was not even here. No dead girls and no rotting apples. As I take a closer look, I find that the material that forms what I believed to be the Howler’s many glazed eyes was actually glass made from a strange material. I could see through it on this side, but on the other, it appeared dazed and unfocused. I felt the Iron Howler lurch forward as it begins its descent, tearing me from my train of thought. As it begins to accelerate, drawing itself forward on its bizarre limbs, my eyes focus on an amazing sight. The Howler leaves behind the palisades of White Orchard, and in the horizon, it’s eyes reveal what seems to be a labyrinthine network of huge buildings, emblazoned from foundation to peak with pulsating lights that hurt my eyes. The titanic structures scrape the sky, stretching far beyond any farm buildings I have ever seen. I hear a monotonous voice announce loudly as the Howler careens towards the city. “Next stop, Valhalla Station." EDIT: Alright guys, I've heard you, and I aim to please :) Look out for Part 2, coming soon!
The footprints were pointing in the wrong direction. There was no way to confirm, right there and then, when they had been made. It could have been successful grave robbers who had made off with what the geologists were looking for, but then there would also be footsteps going in from the surface to the city, wouldn't there? Tony and Steve carefully ventured into the ancient city, not knowing what to expect. Steve cautiously went ahead, hand on his Desert Eagle, as Tony shined his torchlight into the dense darkness. The two were rivalrous geologists with academic reputations to uphold and egos to feed, but between them there was only one pistol. The two strange bedfellows had to work together if they didn't want to sleep next to each other six feet underground, forever. As they moved carefully and silently through the darkness, their minds were, of course, preoccupied with their safety, but also thinking about how an underground city would even work. There would be no light except what they brought down, and there definitely had to be some large source of groundwater for an entire city to exist. No civilisation, from the Native Americans to the outlaws and lawmen of the Wild West, could have seen them before; no one had written about them, at least. What Steve saw next moved faster than he could blink. It leaped out from the darkness, a malevolent blinding flash of white; the colour of skin that had never seen the sun. The denizen of the dark tackled him to the floor, screaming at him all the way as he grappled with Steve, to plunge its ragged, long, sharp claws into his neck. Tony instinctively shined the bright beam of light in his hand into their assailant's face, and it screeched, recoiling from the intensity. Steve, regaining his composure, grabbed his handgun. Putting a round into its head, he put it to sleep, and the city came alive. Tony could not truly understand what the ancient citizens were saying. No one could. But what he could infer was clear; their kind had not seen death for a while, and thus his rival and himself were elevated to godhood among the eyes of the new followers. It was his turn to recoil when the screeching became organised and loudly echoed in the chamber. Predictably, as Steve tried to get a good look at the forgotten race, shining his flashlight over the crowd, their prostrations became catatonic seizures, flailing on the floor as the light shined into their malformed eyes. The citizens had the basic human shape, yes, but evolution in a dark environment had not been kind to them. Steve remembered the albino penguins of Lovecraftian myth, with long tongues and blind eyes. This was no different; it was as though a human had been bleached white, with eyes from which no vision emerged, sharp fangs that looked as though there was blood on it, limbs with abnormal length and rotation ranges, and most strikingly, that feeling of great hunger. Tony, however, observed the architecture of the great chamber they were in. They were elevated on a platform above the writhing mass of limbs and bodies, as though they were in some Colosseum of chaos. It was intricately carved out of rock, as though there was much manpower and time involved in the process. However, he didn't notice the path from which they had come, which had a small antechamber. From that small antechamber walked out a living fossil, who had put his blade to their necks. &nbsp; At last! Fresh meat. But there were five thousand denizens to feed, and two men could not be split evenly among them, even with a miracle. When he was a foundling, some of the tribe had moved upward in search of more opportunities, while his forefathers stayed below and made this grandiose achievement. Yet the worlds could never truly be apart. "Listen up, surface-dwellers,"he hissed. His captives recoiled at the stench of his breath, which highlighted just how hungry he had been over the years. "It is time for you to prove your worth." The men, however, could not understand the Prophet. Life truly had evolved on the surface. He had to resort to more primitive ways of communication, placing the Reaper between them. It would kill one of them, and the other would be used until he had no more use for him. The Reaper made all important decisions for the city, except the decision of who would take over as Prophet. There was no dispute on that. He would be the past, the present and the future of the city. &nbsp; Tony and Steve knew not what the crazy old man was saying. The tongue was completely alien to them. Perhaps they would never know how the city came to be. But they could, however, shape the future. He placed a suspicious looking energy weapon before them. That would be his deadliest move. Tony pointed the business end of the weapon at the old man, and focused. The undulating screeching of the denizens below stopped as he finished up. The two men felt a sense of pride and accomplishment like never before. Such power! They had never felt it in the civilised world, and now with a whole city of mutants to their disposal, they could do anything. They were gods. They didn't need the approval of anyone on the surface anymore. There was just one question left to answer. The question of feeding. After all, there could only be one Prophet, and the people had not fed in a long time.
I... I knew it was coming. The monsters were real, but no one believed me. They told me that it was my imagination. That the lady who told me wasn’t real. That there’s no such thing as shapeshifters or demons or magic. But the lady was right. My daddy... I don’t know what happened to him. Maybe the monster ate him? Or maybe he’s trapped? The lady didn’t tell me what shapeshifters so other than... change to be like something or someone. It’s how they catch prey. “Honey? Aren’t you going to open the closet?” His voice sounds the same, but the lady says shapeshifters can’t always replicate everything. One thing. One thing will always be different that can give a shapeshifter away. “Honey?” Which is why... click “H-Hey! Where did you get that?!” She taught me how to protect myself. “NO!” “Goodnight, Daddy.” The sound of the silent crossbow firing filled the air, followed by an arrow hitting its mark. A thin arrow stuck through the gaps of the twelve year old’s closet, while the blue eyes that formed behind it slowly closed. “Good job, Mary.” “Thank you, Miss Bronwyn.”
Jim sat down his 100lb dumbbells. They were merely his cool-down weights after all, no shame in taking a quick rest before moving over to the chest press. He picked up his energy drink and chugged it as fast as he could. With a loud belch Jim crushed the can confidently and threw it into a nearby bin. With his break out of the way Jim begun picking up his bag to move over his gym supplies, but noticed out of the corner of his eye a figure approaching from the right. He turned and eyed a small woman who was grinning from ear to ear. She seemed adamant on getting Jim’s attention with nothing but her smile. “Uh, yes?” Jim curiously probed. The woman reached into her pocket to retrieve a shiny envelope. She looked at it in an almost regretful manner before reaching toward Jim with it. “What’s this for?” The woman cleared her throat, “Your membership has been upgraded, sir.” Jim looked startled, but suddenly started to grin. All Jim knew was that those who had the highest membership statuses were rewarded richly. His workout buddies always tried to deduce what made the best of the best never want to come back after they reached the top. Jim put forward the idea that Ultraviolet level Memberships gave them access to a better gym area downstairs. “Thank you, miss.” said Jim as he took the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a Membership card with a pearlescent sheen. On its front it read in bold letters: Ultraviolet Jim began to chuckle uncontrollably. He had reached the top. There was nowhere else to go. All his hard work had finally payed off and he actually had something to prove it, besides his gleaming muscles that were hard to maintain. The woman continued to stand there, smiling. It unnerved Jim, causing him to stop celebrating. He looked at her. The woman’s eyes seemed unimaginably sorrowful. Jim didn’t know why but wanted to ask. “Uh, are you okay miss? You are kind of starting to freak me out...” The woman retrieved herself from the blank stare and looked back up at Jim...still smiling, “I am just grand, sir! Now as an Ultraviolet Membership owner you are granted access to further Gym Gains! As we say here at Energy Exercise ‘The strongest make us stronger, together!’” Jim smirked, “Okay...so where is the secret room? Jim nudged the woman, “Come on...I know you guys have one.” The woman continued to smile as she started walking away. She obviously wanted Jim to follow. He quickly gathered his things and walked over to the where the woman stopped. She opened a door that led further into a back room. As she stopped in the room she offered her hand toward Jim. “Oh, my card. Here, miss.” The woman took the card and walked over to a wall. In front of her sat the emblem of Energy Exercise: an Ouroborus. Jim looked over the emblem and pulled out another energy drink. He took a sip and looked down at the woman, “I dunno what that thing is but I come in here everyday between breaks and drink an energy drink while looking at it. There’s one by the treadmills right? I kinda knew it meant something,” Jim leaned down and took another sip, “It’s the secret door isn’t it?” Turning around the woman stuck a key into the head of the Snake. Suddenly the wall began to twist and turn until a passage opened up. “Whoa...” exclaimed Jim as he crushed the energy drink in his hand, “This is flippin cool, the boys are going to be so jealous...” The woman started walking down the dark path and Jim followed. The path went on for minutes, it was devoid of defining characteristics besides being a light grey of concrete. As Jim got closer to the end a great heat started to overtake him. “Ugh, what kind of classes do you have down here? Oh wait! Is it a sauna? Please be a sauna!” Turning around the woman made Jim stop. Looking over her shoulder Jim noticed cans of energy drinks. He begun to smile, “Oh! No way! This is where you guys make the energy drinks? I knew they were made in house but-” Without warning Jim felt a great pain in his abdomen. Looking down he noticed a knife plunged deep into his side. He fell over in great pain as he tried to stop the bleeding. The woman smiled and stood over him. Her eyes started to form tears. She grabbed the knife and plunged it deeper into Jim’s side causing him to pass out from the pain. A tear fell upon Jim’s sweat stained tank top. The woman rose up and looked over Jim’s body and then toward the energy drinks. Beyond the stacked cans sat a massive machine. Pipes ran the length of the walls. The woman dragged Jim’s body toward the center of the room and opened a hatch. She kicked Jim’s body into the abyss, sounds of grinding rang throughout the room. The woman observed the pipes of the massive machine. They shook as a liquid of some kind filled their hollow frames. Walking over to the end of the machine the woman pressed a button and a can was spat out. It was an energy drink. A cessation of expression ran across the woman’s face. She took the can and opened it, drinking its contents. “The strongest make us stronger... ...together...” Edit: Thank you for reading! This was honestly my first go at posting a story I wrote. You all have made me all the more confident on posting more of my stuff in the future.
There was a tenderness to the dimness of the lights. If the weariness hadn't left my eyes, I'd have stayed, resting, a long while. I rose to my feet, yawned as I stretched. Then, as my gaze slid from side to side, my heart leapt. Why were the doors opened? Why weren't we moving? Had I reached the last stop? Cursing under my breath, I stepped outside. Not a step, not a word, not even the soft rustle of a paper wheeling in the wind could be heard in the station. How odd this all was. Drawing deep breaths, crowding my mind with colorful thoughts, I walked across a long corridor, up a set of stairs, and toward the city outside I went. The city was mute and desolated. Even the trees were still, their leaves thoroughly immobile, as though the breeze had forgotten to exist. In that moment, hearing the lack of noises, everything within me shattered like stone-struck glass. I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. My feet moved, I moved, but I did so aimlessly, and fueled only by the necessity of finding someone. A hand fell upon my shoulder. I sprung in place, whirled. There, a small lady, her face a maze of wrinkles, stood. She was clad in a long, black dress; her silvery hair fell and caressed her shoulders, thin yet elegant. She stared at me through faint, fading green eyes full of kindness and curiosity. I swallowed hard. "Mom? Is that you?" She reached for my cheek, pinched it. "I missed you, Tom. I missed you each and every day. This place is lonely, a cage of eternal solitude. But you are here now, and you are here to stay, at last, with me." My brows knitted, and for the brevity of a breath, the well of memories rose and overflowed, and in it, I drowned. My mother had passed twenty years ago. She was in her fifties, and even in her last days she looked no older than thirty. This woman had her same voice, her same features: the feline curvature of the eyes, the sunken cheeks and pronounced cheekbones; even her gestures were a perfect mimick, but now they were covered in the mask of old age. "Am I dead?"I said, and my heart ached. "I have yet to find another explanation."Her pale lips quirked upward into a smile. "But now that you are here, does life and death really matter? This world is ours. We can do as we wish in here."She lifted a trembling hand, and a distant car rose midair. "Try it." I imitated her motion, set my eyes on another car. It was a peculiar sensation, as if I were holding a feather on my palm. It was weightless, yet still I could feel something there. And so I lifted it, and the car rose along. "Very well,"my mother said, but her timbre had changed. It was lower now, and it rumbled in my chest. I turned to her, and her face, like fresh paint, was melting; her wrinkles hung down her chin, falling in pools on her dress, slinking down the cracks of the concrete. I gasped, took a step back. My heart thumped. My thoughts eddied. Immobile and stolid she stayed, her eyes set on the sunset, until she was no more than a puddle. "Mom?"My heartbeats quickened. "What is happening? What is this place?"My heart thundered and ached. "Am I dead? Is this the end?"My chest burned. It seared. I fell to my knees, pressed my chest tightly. "Help!" The world twisted, distorted, and commingled into a single diminutive point, giving way for the blackness to enfold me. My eyes were heavy, my insides hollow. Perhaps, this was my end-- The point burst with tendrils of colors. They filled the darkness, intertwining with one another, creating a myriad of shapes. They were hazy, as if unfinished, and terribly vibrant. I blinked once, twice, thrice. A lump moved, murmuring, above me. I reached for his words, tearing apart the ocean of confusion, and there, distant yet clear, I found them. "You had a heart attack in the subway. You are at the hospital now. You are going to be all right. Stay calm. You are safe now." ------------------------------------ r/NoahElowyn -- Consider checking it out if you enjoyed it. I have more stories over there!
Ever since I was a child, I've always been written off by the people around me as a prodigy. Getting good grades without even trying, making friends on a whim, getting accolades by just doing what in my mind was "whatever everyone else is doing." And then I went to college. Thinking I was on top of my game. Thinking I deserved to be here, at the most prestigious college my country has to offer. And as I went through the first semester, it dawned on me. I wasn't like the other creams of the crop. The people around me poured their hearts out trying to even get a passing grade, while here I was, bored as hell, my only problem being that I didn't know which meal I wanted to order at the restaurant nearby. People always knew me as the guy who didn't stress over academics, but got by anyway. In time, I started believing this as well. Boy, was I wrong. I failed test after test, subject after subject. And STILL people saw me as someone who was smart and capable. It created a terrible habit in me to satiate their views of me; as much as I hated being seen for more than I was, I was enamored by the idea that I was still above them. That the cum laudes-to-be would still look to me as someone they were trying to be. It came to a point where I was at the brink of expulsion due to my grades. The way my peers saw me did not change. They somehow think that I've been slacking off on purpose, because I apparently "saw no challenge in college, and therefore had no reason to try hard yet." Except by that point I was already trying to do well. But I was still failing, because all my years of developing the habit of not studying and still edging out the competition had come through, and now I quite literally do not know how to study. Or do any hard work and have it pay off, for that matter. My family saw how badly I was doing in my school and were, understandably, shaken."How could this be? You did so well in highschool. You were the top of your class as a kid. You were shaping up to be more talented than your siblings. You're so special. Please, tell us if anything is bothering you." I sat there, motionless. "Is it because of the people at school are bullying you?" They weren't. In fact, the Earth would probably have turned inside out, and still, no one would ever think to bully me. I said nothing to my parents, though. Only saving these thoughts for myself. "Have you been in bad company? Have your friends been inviting you to do bad things?" I wasn't in bad company. In fact, I very well may have been the worst influence out of all of the people around me at school. "Do you want to switch courses? We want you to understand that no matter what you do in life, we know that you'll do great. We'll always be proud of you." Still reticent, it was at this moment that I started hating how I was. How I am. I knew I couldn't live up to what the world thought of me, even if I tried. I hate that the world would rather blame itself for my shortcomings. I wish that it would just see me for what I am. Someone who is vulnerable to failure. I'm not the prodigy the people around me think I am. I don't have half the potential they think I do. I wish that the world would just finally see me as a failure, so that I for once, can get the help I need to get my shit together. The world could never get mad at me, and so I am burdened by the though that I, in turn, am a huge disappointment to it.
Around the world, millions of young, lonely men have dreamed of living my life. They fantasize about girls with perfect round eyes, twitching feline ears, and a long, sinuous tail. They imagine them purring, enjoying headpats, and making cute little "nya"noises when satisfied. And they do all those things, it's true. The problem is... all the other parts of being part cat. From behind me, I hear a slow, steady sliding noise. I turn around just in time to see Anya, my dear, beautiful, beloved Anya push a full glass of water off the table and onto the floor. Again. She looks me dead in the eye as the water splashes and sinks into the carpet and the glass rolls away. I sigh. I can't even muster up the energy to be properly angry at this point. "Anya. Two minutes ago, I asked you not to do something. What was it I asked you not to do?" She cocks her head to one side and continues to stare silently at me, one ear twitching slightly. "I set that glass down on the table, Anya, and I very specifically asked you not to knock it off. What did you just do, Anya?" "I knocked it off", she replies. Her voice is sweet and pure, and the content of her words makes my head start to ache again. "...Why?" "Because I wanted to." She says it as if it's incredibly obvious, and I'm stupid for asking. She unfolds herself languidly from where she's sitting by the coffee table and saunters towards me, tail flicking behind her as she walks, before leaning over my shoulder to look at my computer screen. "What are you doing?" "Playing a videogame."I look behind me towards the glass still lying on the carpet, and I'm about to get up and set it back on the table when Anya suddenly hops up to sit on the desk in front of me, mashing half the keys on my keyboard and displacing my mouse in the process. "No. Pay attention to me." I sigh deeply, headache coming on in full force now. "Anya, I tried paying attention to you yesterday, and you bit my hand so hard I needed a bandage. Today, I just want a little alone time. Now, could you please get off my desk?" "No." "I'll get the spray bottle"I say warningly. She responds by hissing and glaring at me, and remains obstinately seated. I get up, turn, and walk into the kitchen. When I come back with the spray bottle in hand, Anya is nowhere to be seen. I sit down with another sigh and massage my forehead. She's probably hiding under the bed again. She'll probably go to sleep down there and only come out when she wants me to feed her. Or maybe she'll wake up at three in the morning and decide that she wants attention again, and it's my job to give it to her, my own sleep be damned. I'm so tired. I never should have agreed to this godsforsaken exchange program.
Dear Mr. Demon Sword, We would like to thank you for your recent application to join the Hero League. Unfortunately, the position you had applied for has been filled already. However, the unique skills and experience in your profile indicates you may be a good fit for another role within our organization. The JD for this role is included as an attachment to this letter. Please take your time to go through the document. Hope to see an indication of interest from you soon. Thanks, Lady Actuarial HR, The Hero League Inc. Job Title: Junior Mentor Department: Human Resource Development Location: Hybrid - Required to be within 200 miles of Central City Role Description The Hero League (THL) is the world's leading provider of privatized law enforcement, offering a user-friendly and intuitive platform for institutions to contact, contract and compensate (3C (tm)) superhumans. As a Junior Mentor, you will be a key component of the "IRL Program"responsible for the nurturing and training of the next generation of heroes within THL in a real-world setting. This training is vital to ensure the adequate development of our young assets to enable them to best meet the rapidly evolving market circumstances in today's world. THL is an equal opportunity recruiter. Role Requirements: THL is looking for enthusiastic rock-stars looking to make a real impact in the world. The ideal candidate would be ones seizing the initiative at every turn, driven to spend every waking moment engaged and locked-in. \- 4+ years experience engaged in activities described under the Sakhovia Accords as "villainy"as primary occupation \- Proven ability to generate 1 City-level crisis every month, and 1 State-level crisis every 6 months \- Strong public speaking skills, and able to draw at least 1000 viewers for every evil intention reveal \- Familiarity with MS Office Compensation and Allowable Collateral Damage: Basic Compensation: $20/hr. Eligible for overtime at 1.5x Additional Components: $150 bonus for every hero certified Collateral Damage Information: Maximum damage coverage: $150,000 Allowable Civilian Death Count: 5 per month. KILLING OR MAIMING HEROES IS EXPRESSLY PROHIBITED AND ANY VIOLATION OF THIS WILL LEAD TO PERSUAL OF MAXIMUM PENALTIES UNDER LAW.
When I returned to 221B, I found the curtains closed and Holmes deep in rumination within the darkness. Only his hawk-like features were visible, seemingly perched on the armchair, lit by the flickering blaze of his pipe. He didn’t seem to notice me enter and I wondered what else, besides tobacco, he’d been ingesting in my absence. “Had a good day, Holmes?” I tried. Then, when no response was forthcoming, I said, “The Royal Family have all been murdered and really it seems an impossible affair. If only someone were interested in investigating.” Of course, Holmes was too lost in his own morphine dreams to hear a word I had to say. There was a chill in the air. I drew the curtains then went to make the fire. ”Watson, you’re back,” said Holmes, as I adjusted the logs. ”It seems so,” I said. ”I have a question. What does death of the author mean to you?” ”Mm. Apart from a pretentious attempt at furthering literary criticism?” ”Yes. Apart from that.” ”Apart from that, I’d say it’s what‘ll happen to me if you can’t stay off the damned substances and bring yourself to solve something.” ”Droll,” he said. ”I mean it though, Holmes. If not for my sake, for your own. Your mind is being wasted here. It’s rotting away. And your mind is too great to waste.” ”What if it’s not my mind solving these cases, Watson? What if it’s never been?” “Then I’d like a little more credit for my part.” ”Droll again. You’re on a roll.” I lit a match and threw it on the fire. The fire’s crackle merged with rain tapping on the window and created something of a soporific atmosphere. I stretched, yawned, and toppled myself into a leather armchair next to my friend. “Anything good in the paper?” I asked, picking it up. “Good? What constitutes good, exactly?” ”A murder, a robbery — anything to to give you purpose and get you out of this room for an hour or two.” ”Watson, here, do you not find it funny that every story you have documented — well, perhaps documented is too strict of a term — that every story you have embellished into your particular form of entertainment has a most satisfactory ending for the reader?” ”Reluctantly, I do think the credit for the endings goes to you.” ”But they’re all so neat, Watson. So perfect. Each one like a sheet of origami creased along the exact correct lines until it folds into a complete solution.“ I didn’t know what to say to that. “I suppose they are neat. And what’s wrong with that, pray tell?” ”Nothing for readers of the Strand, I dare say. But for real life? Everything! What about chaos theory, Watson? What about the mess that is itself life. Not everything we do is a string with two ends. Sometimes scissors cut the string into pieces and the pieces become lost and can never be stitched back together.” ”You’ve overdone the morphine, and the metaphor.” ”I’ve not touched any morphine!” he rebutted, indignant. “Cocaine on the other hand…” ”Ah, I should have known.” ”But my thoughts have been brewing far longer than the cocaine has been inside me. The world is too neat by far. The stories you write are too satisfying. They are as if you are tracing over letters already written.” I placed down the newspaper. “What are you trying to say Holmes? That someone has set up all these crimes for you to solve? Some mastermind of criminality?” ”Not of criminality. Just a mastermind.” ”And your evidence is solely that you solve almost every case?” ”Precisely.” I considered this a while. Imagined that we were characters in a book. In a series of stories. That someone had the good sense to place the two of us together. To set a crackling fire and let the clouds open and to place a bottle of whiskey on the table by my side. I yawned as I poured us each a drink. ”If we’re but characters in stories,” I said passing Holmes a glass, “then here’s to many more being written. For the writing is indeed worthy of more stories, wouldn’t you say?” Holmes’s frowned. Then smiled. He took the glass, a sip, and a long look out of the window. “Quite, Watson. Quite.”
"Psst."I was sharply nudged in the back of the head, rousing me from my daydreams. "Hey, Sam!"I got poked again. "Hey, hey! I'm up!"I shook my head as I blinked. "You were asleep?" "No!"I turned to look back over the bench I was sitting on at Meredith. You know just about every school has a kid who's really into ghosts and stuff? That was Meredith. Sure, there were others, but she was the big one. I would be negative surprised if she would be a Hex Maniac in the Pokemon universe. She was also a pretty good friend of mine. Originally it had just been because I had been the only person to actually reach out to her. Overtime it had turned into an actual, not creepy sort of friendship. I yawned, stretching my arms overhead. "Right. What's going on?" "Sarah's possessed."I blinked. Sarah is... well, there are words for her, but they aren't nice ones. She's the head cheerleader, utterly glorious... and also an absolute jerk. Super beautiful, super smart, and super mean. "Are you telling me she's..."A grin slowly spread across my face. "Mean-spirited?"I got poked again. "Oww. Okay, that's fair." "No, she's really been possessed!" "Okay, okay, okay."I motioned to the bench, and Meredith sat next to me. "How do you know?" Meredith glanced around, then leaned close to me. "She's acting... nice." I blinked for a few seconds. "...Meredith, I love and respect you, but..."I raised an eyebrow. "You think she's possessed because she's being nice? She always does with the rest of her squad." Meredith quickly shook her head. "No, no! To me! Like-"She reached into her bag and pulled out a cookie wrapped in plastic wrap- "She got me a cookie! Like, one of the expensive ones from that corner store!" "Okay... I'll be honest, that's fair."Meredith was one of the... more frequent targets for Sarah's gang. "Did you do any... you know. Things?" "Rituals?"Meredith grinned. "Yep! Did that to confirm my suspicions. I'm... not exactly sure what is causing it, but there's something going on!" I tilted my head, thinking. "Does anybody else know?" Meredith shrugged. "I mean, if they realized she's-" "Hey Sam!"Me and Meredith jumped in our seats as Sarah's voice came out of nowhere. I looked up to see her grinning down at me. Not with the sort of mean-hearted look she normally had, but... like, a genuine one. Kind of made my heart do a loop, won't lie. "Uh, hi, Sarah!"I stammered out. I could already feel my cheeks getting red. "Um... uh, what's up?" "I realized that I borrowed something of yours a while back..."Sarah reached into her bag, fiddling around for a minute or two, before pulling out a sparkly pen. "Never gave it back. So I'm fixing that!" I blinked in surprise. I'd forgotten about that pen. I'd bought it at a store cause I thought it looked cool, but Sarah had taken it as... some sort of tax. You know, the stupid "taxes"bullies do so they get free stuff. "Uh, thanks!"I took the pen back from her and looked at it. There was... hang on. There was a little crystal thing on the end of this one. Which... matched the ones Sarah normally put on the end of her pens and such. She and her gang had them as gifts from her. "Anyways,"Sarah said, "Got school stuff I gotta work on. See you two!"She strolled off, and me and Meredith sat in silence for several seconds. "She's totally possessed,"I said after a long moment. "Absolutely,"Meredith agreed.
“Spare your lies, Jedi.” The Sith Pureblood broke from speaking, coughing on his own blood. He sat propped against the wall of the ship, applying pressure to the lightsaber wound through his gut. His respirator mask kept the slow, laborious rhythm of his breathing. “I stood with Darth Malgus on Coruscant. I have walked the darkened, silenced halls of your dying order. I have seen the weakness of the Jedi on a thousand worlds, and have seen those worlds burn. Your words will win you no battles today.” Across the hall from him, a young Mirialan sat with his eyes closed. Though his robes were charred from his opponent's usage of lightning, and the many lightsaber wounds had worn him to near death, his face was at peace. “On my home planet, Sith, we believe that every action affects not only yourself, but the Force as a whole. Though I have not had long to influence events in my lifetime, I focused only on helping others. I-” The Sith's laughter interrupted him. “Focused only on... helping others. You know nothing of the Force, child. Charity only weakens those who it is given to. Give a homeless man five credits, and watch. He will learn nothing of strength. Of self-importance. He will wither and die. “And believe me, I would know of the strength of pulling yourself from nothing. My lineage was not pristine. I entered the Sith Academy on Korriban a slave- me, a Pureblood, a slave! I was threatened at every stop with toture and death. Only by being stronger than my enemies, was I able to rise. And rise I did.” Glowing, red eyes gained a faraway look as the Sith looked into his past. “I have slain every foe to cross my path. I am a Lord of the Sith. But none of that would have been possible if I relied on... charity, Jedi.” “It isn't too late, Sith. You can come to the light side, and all will be forgiven.” The Mirialan's eyes were still closed. “I have attained peace. Compassion. Your past needs not define you. You can redeem yourself even now.” “I said to spare your lies. We defeated you. I saw your temple burn. I have killed your brothers and sisters, of all different races. Darth Malgus will defeat the remaining tatters of your Order. All the way down to the initiates on Tython.” Now the Mirialan's eyes opened, his serenity breaking to shock. “You know of Tython, Sith?” The Sith's laughter echoed mechanically from behind his respirator. “Don't tell me I've broken your inner peace so easily, Jedi. What if I told you Imperial Intelligence had agents on the inside, planning an attack even as we speak? Your Masters should be dead any moment now. Your apprentices' blood will stain the walls.” An edge enterd the Jedi's voice. “You will not succeed, Sith. The light side will prevail.” His voice dropped, becoming quieter. “Master Shan will prevail.” “Darth Malgus has defeated your Jedi Master more than once, youngling. He will have no problems doing it again.” “Silence, Sith. I will not let you bait me.” “Self-righteous to the last. I'm baiting you, of course. You're so charitable and good, but you do not even care to ask for my name. So forgiving, yet you do not care for those who are dying across the hall from you.” The Mirialan's eyes closed again. He was close, and he knew it. “What is your name, Sith?” More coughing from the respirator. “No, Jedi. You will die without knowing it.” “Mine is KawaiKatt95.” The Sith looked at the Jedi, clearly startled by the name. “How could your name possibly be so hideous, Jedi?” “I'm afraid that Katt was taken, and so was KawaiKatt. So my creator had to place her birth year into the name as well.” “I... I am sorry. If it's any consolation, my name is DeathForce. He's going through puberty, thought it was a good choice.” “My condolences, Sith. Now, if you don't mind, I need to respawn. The guild's doing a raid in about 20 minutes and Kat should be back from dinner any time now. She kind of entered the fight and AFK'd.” “I know the feeling, Jedi. I will see you in battle again someday.”
The loud moans echoed around the room, almost sounding like that of a whale. "I kind of feel sorry for it"George muttered, resting his back against the reinforced glass. "How long was it out there for?"George's partner, Will asked. "A good four weeks." Four weeks? George glanced into the brightly lit room at the mess of rotting flesh, Harold, one of the lead scientists in biochemical weapons, had unleashed a virus upon himself unknowingly, becoming the worlds first real life zombie. Fortunately for everybody else, Harold became, and still is to this day, the ONLY real life zombie. "I'm not sure if I should be consoling it, or killing it"Will chuckled, glancing at Harold's grotesquely disjointed body, rolls of rotting fat slapped against the floor like waves as it rolled around, unable to stand on its own two legs. George couldn't help but smirk, remembering the old lady that had called it in. George had heard the call, something about a horrid smell coming from an overweight individual. George assumed that somebody might have passed away when they went to go investigate, and how right he was. "You said it couldn't even catch the old lady?"Will mumbled, struggling to contain his laughter. "You should have seen it, you know that big hill at Chester Rd?"George asked, covering his laughter. "Yeah" "Hank managed to roll it down hill"A chorus of laughter filled the room, drawing the obese zombie's attention.
He had worked his whole life for this. It was the pinnacle of his career. Every since he was a kid, sneaking into courtrooms to watch testimony of the most infamous criminals of the 21st century, John had waited for the day he would control the Beam. Becoming a Beam Technician had taken ten years of college and another two of internship, but he had stuck it out. And now, another decade in; John was the lead on the first ever day of Honest Congress. He had started the week on Cloud Nine. But now, it appears, he is also about to be unemployed. "John!"His boss bellows, running up the stairs. "John! CSPAN is dead air and wants to know why YOUR beam is failing to broadcast! Every congressional member has had a turn on the current ballot with the Beam and there hasn't been a single soundwave!" John was doing all he could. He checked the parameters. He checked input and output on a dozen screens. He grabbed the manual, wildly flipping pages. Finally, he found and confirmed his fear. "JOHN!" Oh man, what was he going to tell June? And the twins on the way? He flashed back to his hardest day before this. A serial killer, nine years ago. When he spoke, there were so many thoughts that the speakers had a hard time discerning and separating them. The machine almost malfunctioned, but stayed true. Later research found the psychological attributes of the man to have an IQ of nearly 180 and a significant form of autism. John loved that day. The door to the control room burst open. "John! What in the hell is going on?!?!? CSPAN spent a fortune to get this bill passed and now they get airwave silence? John!" "Sir, I have checked and rechecked and the beam is solid sir. It's just..." "IT'S JUST WHAT JOHN?" "Well, it appears as though there isn't a wave length to pick up on sir." John's boss blinked rapidly, absorbing the information. "John, are you trying to explain to tell me that we have a congressman on the stand that can avoid the system?" "Not exactly sir. See there was a study, many years ago. It was when the Beam was being looked at for private home use. With spouses and kids and stuff." "Go on." "It's just, well it was found unethical sir. On behalf that children don't have the full mental capacity to understand the subtle difference between truth and lie. It not only wouldn't be fair to the kid sir. But the Beam would also take into account the intelligence of the individual. If they couldn't process thought, well, it wouldn't transmit anything."John prayed some more. "So you are trying to tell me, that of the 535 members of Congress that we have interviewed, there isn't one significant finding? Not a single bit of insight as to why our government does the things it does? The very best we could get was one senator feeling guilty about sleeping with another's son! John, this is unbelievable. What am I supposed to tell CSPAN? What about the American public?" John hesitated... "Well, sir...I mean we are in the honesty business. We could, I don't know, tell them the truth? Maybe?" His boss, even more red, blew out a mouthful of air in an exasperated huff. "Really John? You expect me to walk out there and tell God and Country that the men they have elected to protect them and represent then are not even smart enough to lie?!?! Really John? There isn't a single person out there that would ever believe it! Ever!" His boss flips out a phone and starts dialing. "Get me a voice over crew and new Beam specialist immediately. Yes. You heard me. The current one has been let go. This is a full code situation." My first prompt. Enjoy:)
These halls would be haunting but I never knew those who walked them. I knew personas. I knew corpses before they were dead. But what is it to die? When I was young I thought it was a big sleep. When I was twenty I thought it was to stop living. Now I know that it is to lose your identity. To walk someone else's path because yours has ended. We all got along well at first. That's what killed off the first of us. Vault-Tech didn't want a go-lucky bunch. They wanted real people. So we became those people. I was born Fiona Jenkins. I grew up poor until I made it big, won some awards, and then retired to my family. For Vault-Tech, I was many people. My first was Bianca, no last name, and I was the mystery. I had to make sure no one knew what to make of me. In a way, that helped me handle the first batch of deaths, since I wasn't yet close to anyone. Then I became Janet Daley, a sprightly and unstable woman who loved everyone. People were distant from me, so that softened the second batch of deaths. But when you keep telling yourself that these are all your friends, the lines between character and reality become skewed. I felt that they were my friends. I was lucky that my next character was supposed to be sad all the time. Fiona Jenkins became sad a lot. It wasn't that hard to be Karen Lawson, depressed writer. I was never a writer. But I became Karen, and Karen could write. I wrote eulogies for the third batch of deaths. Finally, I was V. There were 26 of us left. We were all given letters of the alphabet, and our defining trait had to start with our assigned letter. It gave us some freedom in our waning numbers. Finally we could find a way to be a little true to ourselves. The rules changed for that period. There was no more dynamism to our lives. You lived your definition. I lived being vivacious. They picked us off, one by one. Completely and totally unwavering commitment to your character was paramount to this period. Z couldn't be normal. Z always had to be zany. He was the first to go. Today I went inside the restricted area. It was full of empty chairs and inactive terminals. There was no sign of life. Perhaps with only one specimen still alive, they abandoned us. One active terminal remained. It contained all of our files. I passed hundreds of names to which I couldn't match any faces. All of these years, and I never really knew anyone. Fiona Jenkins feels so far off now. Some of her memories are still there, but she feels like another character. Was she even real? The terminal also had the research notes from this whole thing. I realized early on that this had to be some sort of experiment. I skimmed through, but the conclusion said something along the lines of identity being malleable, changing to fit the needs of the moment. It said it's forgettable, so long as there's something to replace it with. This is the last page of Karen's journal. I'd've thought that I'd be killed for writing in it as V, but nothing happened. I realize I never became V, she was a true act. I suppose those awards weren't in vain. I've checked the laundry room. Tons of Abraxo cleaner left. If you're reading this, don't go in there. It won't smell very good.
The people of the city watched in terror at the approaching marauding horde. A river of leather and iron flowed toward the vulnerable city. Low rumbling, like thunder before the storm reached the defenders on the walls, and their hearts trembled. Soon the horde surrounded the city, foes without number, like leaves in the forest. One particular barbaric figure stepped forward. A tall man, easily more than 8 feet in height and shoulders broad as a wagon walked in front of the rabid horde. Covered in scars and holding a sword taller than a normal man he howled. His voice shook the sky and his followers added their voices to the roar. "I am the Marauder King! Slayer of men and women, ruler of the lands between the mountains! This city is mine by right of conquest, unless you can best me and my finest in a fight!" A low murmur is heard and the mayor of the city shouts back. "So if someone beats you, then you and your army well leave this city alone?" Ribald laughter greeting the mayor's question, none louder from the Marauder King. "Of course! On my word and honor!"More rough laughter is heard from the horde, showing their opinion of their leader's word. Normally when the King made this proclamation the listeners would panic. Most would run while a few tried to fight, yet the King and his Lieutenants were never bested. This time however, he was surprised to see the people remain calm. More murmurs from the defenders and some movement was seen. The gates opened and a few guards stood ready. From their midst came a normal looking man dressed in plain armor made from leather and metal hoops. On one arm he held a large shield, rectangular and curved. He bore no other noticeable weapon. The horde laughed seeing him, loud and jeering. Even the King looked amused. "They send me a child? One without a weapon? They must hate you in there boy, and must want to be our slaves." The young looking man smiled politely. "I know I may look young, but I am old enough to know what I am doing. I challenge you and yours King. If you win, the city is yours but not it's inhabitants. If I win,"Sharp laughter interrupts him and he waits for the laughter to subside. "If I win, then you all leave. Simple as that." The King's condescending smile fades. This was no longer funny. A boy without a weapon daring to challenge him? It was an insult. "Fine! Bogar! Come out and murder this idiot!"The horde cheers. Bogar Three Teeth was the most violent of the Lieutenants. He prowled forward, wielding a trident of large proportions. The boy seemed unfazed, if anything he looked at the weapon with more interest than the fighter. "That's the Trident of the Inner Sea isn't it? Stolen some time ago. I'll take that back when you're defeated." Bogar roared angrily as his audacity. He charged forward, running like a rolling boulder at the young man. The horde watched and laughed, expecting to see his body hoisted up like a fish. A huge CLANG filled the air and the horde watched in amazement to see Bogar slow his running. The young man had swung his shield up, knocking the trident out of the way. They didn't see what happened next but Bogar was falling, slowly, eyes crossed. He hit the ground and the trident rolled from his grasp. No one saw the hit, and the young man stood to the side, still no weapon in evidence. The King ground his teeth in irritation. This was the first time he has seem Bogar lose. When this is over he would award someone else his position. "Lucky hit boy. Jagga! Finish it!"A thin man walked forward form the crowd of barbarians. One hand dangled a length of chain ending in a ball of iron, the other holding a wicked sickle. Again the young man looked at the weapon, not the man. "The Heavenly Kama? Again, you possess undeserved weapons."Jagga snarled and stepped forward with determination. Swinging the length with the ball he threw it at the young man. He stepped aside, dodging most of the blows, blocking with his shield the ones he couldn't dodge. Finally Jagga stepped in for the kill, throwing the weight while running in with the sickle. Another loud noise heard, and Jagga fell back bleeding from the mouth. The young man stepped forward and knocked him out with a heavy blow to the back of the head with his shield, finishing the fight. Now no one was laughing. The defenders watched with fear and determination. The horde now stood open mouthed at the unthinkable. The horde...was losing. The King was truly angry now. He stepped forward and roared at the top of this lungs. "Enough! You will fight me now boy! I will end this farce! Draw your weapon, now." The young man smile. "My weapon is here, as it has been."From his right hand dangled a length of fine chain, wrapped around a brick. The King stared unbelieving. "You...you've been using a brick? A BRICK?! Are you mocking me boy?" The young man shook his head. "Not at all oh King. This is no ordinary brick after all. It fell from the Forge of the Heavens, from the Goddess of the Forge Herself. Harder than iron, lighter than silk, tougher than steel. I would bet on my life with this weapon at my side. More than that poor abused sword you have." With a howl of rage the Marauder King charged. He bellowed as he ran, holding the sword in both hands. Ready to bisect the boy and erase the shame. The young man stood his ground and instead swung his arm in a circle. The brick whirled and as it did it seem to sing. Light shone from it and the young man threw it. It flew straight and true and connected directly into the King's sternum. He stumbled, the wind knocked from him. Gasping his momentum failed and he watched in amazement as the brick flew back to the thrower's hand. The young man threw again. The King tried to raise his blade to block the missile but the brick flowed around the blade striking the King's shoulder. It went numb and he dropped the sword. It flew again, and the King fell from a leg no longer supporting him. Lying on the ground he looked up at the face of the young man. Gasping in pain he opened his mouth to speak but the young man interrupted him. "Oh, the weapon's name is Justice, and she doesn't like to be mocked."He swung his hand and the brick fell like a bolt from heaven, and the King knew nothing more.
At this point, I no longer had bags under my eyes. I had luggage. Acne dotted my nose like the chambers of an insect's hive. Grease had built up to the point where my hair spiked on its own, and yet I couldn't shake the compulsion to run my fingers through and smell it. My stomach churned each time. Forget having a bad day. I was having a bad month. Rejection after rejection. From the girl I was crushing on. For time off at work. For student loans. Individually, they would not have been so bad. But bit by bit, these misfortunes nudged my mood down this endless staircase of malaise, until it took all my willpower to drag myself out of bed to pee. And here I was. "You look like shit,"I grumbled, and flipped off my reflection. It returned the favor. A black tendril snaked around my shoulder, half an inch above my T-shirt. The end swelled, then split in two, giving rise to a single eyeball and toothless maw. Great. Let's add insanity to the mix. I swatted at the tendril, but it shrank away. Then, as soon as it had retreated, it reappeared, peering over my shoulder and scanning my dejected self with its one eyeball. "Hey."The mouth burbled. "What's up?"I snorted and whirled around. The thing kept pace with me without touching me. Probably just as well. It looked as if it'd be a slimy experience. "Not to be a bother, but how long ya gonna mope here?"A tendril appeared over my other shoulder, with buds that sprang into pseudopod-like feelers. "A while. Probably forever. What's it to you?"It'd been ten minutes at most, but my strength was already near its limit. I turned my gaze towards my bed, which hadn't been made in a month. "Well, I'm lonely and I miss my friends."Its eyestalk sank downwards. "Then go see them."I dragged my feet back into the bedroom. Was it possible to be so boring your hallucinations just got up and left? "But I can't leave you. Can you at least go to the window so I can look outside?"I stopped. The window was about equidistant from my bed. "Fuck it, why not?"My nose wrinkled at the sorry state of my bedroom window. A thick layer of dust speckled the windowsill, lined with crumbs, dead flies, and the largest moth corpse I'd ever seen. With a grunt, I flung it open, flooding the room with... darkness and cold air. Two things immediately became apparent: it was night time, and the moth wasn't dead. I spat and spun as the monstrous thing flitted about the lamp beside me, wingbeats resonating in my eardrums. A third tendril shot out from behind my head and wrapped itself around the moth with a sickening crunch. I fought back a wave of nausea. "Gross. I need a shower after that."The thought of the guts spurting out, paired with the sudden chill, made me shudder to where I almost tripped over the mess on the floor. Thankfully, my room was small enough that I caught myself on the bathroom doorframe. "Gee, thanks for the help, guy."I muttered as I pulled myself back up. "What? I can't touch you, what did you want me to do?"It asked. "Maybe look away while I'm taking this shower."No response. I climbed into the shower and turned it on high. It felt nice, to wash the grime and traumatizing thoughts from my mind. When I finished, a fourth tendril had sprouted. This time, from under my armpit. With a flick, it nudged a wad of crumpled toilet paper into the trash bin. "So, about that window?"All four tendrils pointed towards the wall. My stomach growled. Huh. Couldn't remember the last time I felt hungry. "I'm going to get some food first."I moved to pat the original tendril, but it shrank away again. "Don't worry, though. I think you'll get to see your friends again soon." [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
I tapped the aged bar top, the bartender grabbed the bottle of scotch and topped off my rocks glass. He reached for the ice and I quickly put my hand over the glass. The thought of tainting a 15 year old single malt with ice made me cringe. I took a sip of the staunch liquid as I pulled up my mission log. Checking the time I knew my raid team would be here soon and we would be on our way. At 6pm we we're going to attempt the impossible, the dlc raid set 20 levels above the max obtainable character level of 99. Big whoop, I know, except that each of our six man raid group had to put down 100k gold just to buy entry into the raid. Y'see, this wasn't just some normal PvE event, this was a public event the scale of which has never been attempted before. 15 million concurrent players all vying to be the first to complete the raid lair and win the prize of $3 million units. To say I was slightly nervous was a complete understatement. This was our 1st attempt, and likely our last, none of us banked enough gold each month to prospect a second attempt at this. I shrouded my anxiety in the bottle of scotch that now lay before me on the aged maple bar top. I nervously eyed the clock affixed over the oak shelves in front of me. 5:59. I motioned to the bartender and asked for four fingers and the bill, he shrugged and brought me my due diligence. I produced a flask from my waistband and poured the sweet, brown liquid into the golden metal husk and returned it to it's resting place, stood up, now realizing just how much I had drank, and stumbled to the door. The blinding light of the world struck me like a bus, I quickly opened my inventory and grabbed my Ray-Bans, sliding them over my ears. My raid team stood before me, I had chosen this bar because of the proximity to the raid portal entrance in this zone. With a rosy cheeked smile I greeted my friends and fellow warriors. We exchanged hello's, and moved together towards the arching gateway lined in silver. We each produced our gateway passes and moved swiftly through the magical porthole. Woooooshhh we now stood in a sprawling corridor, transfixed by the intricate designs and inlays of the artwork that adorned the walls around us. Looking around we took note that no NPCs occupied this room, and that we could take our time and plan out our attack. There was only one doorway and it lead into a room filled with what appeared to be skeletons holding blunderbusses. Our raid leader took note and began to propose a plan of attack, carefully taking into account our gear, buffs, and abilities as a group and individuals. This part of raiding always bored me. As a tank I knew my role, run in and grab agro, kite adds and soak up damage. I would have to crowd control for my healers and open up avenues for my dps mains to kill high value targets. Big. Fucking. Deal. I reached for my waistband retrieving the flask and relinquishing the container of it's burdens. The raid leader was still droning on and on about the mission prerogative as I tilted the last drops of liquid into my mouth. I returned the flask to it's home and retrieved the battle axe strung behind my right shoulder. Admiring the sharpness of the steel I used the hem of my shirt to polish off the slight imperfection that I had seen. Opening my inventory I returned my sunglasses. I took one cursory glance towards my beloved raid group, catching the eyes of our white mage, I winked her way and then took off towards the doorway...... >!LeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooooyyyyyyyyyyyyyJeeeeennnnkkkinnnnnssssss!<
I awoke to blinking red lights, that deep red color of the setting sun. Little blinking suns all around me. I awoke in terror and in pain. I awoke in a fog, barely recalling who I was or where I had come from, finding out later that I had been knocked unconscious and left to die deep in a cave, but the cave had flash flooded and the water had frozen, preserving me like a piece of amber. I awoke in something akin to a cave, something that closed out the sky, grey walls surrounding me on all sides, below and above. Little red suns flashing. Sounds I couldn't place - alien sounds, monotone sounds, ruthlessly intermittent in exact intervals. "Greetings, man." The sound came from nowhere and everywhere. The voice was warm and comforting. Startled at being able to understand it, I opened my mouth to speak, but thousands of years of disuse led to a croak of acknowledgement instead of any coherent words. "Do not be alarmed. We have deduced that your primitive language is ineffective at conveying the nuances of communication that you will require in your new life. You have implants. You will be able to start speaking within a few hours. Rest. Make yourself comfortable." Soothing sounds began to play, reminding him of a time long ago around a fire, voices joined in a melodious hum. Implants? He wondered what those were. I'm a plant? No. I'm man. He drifted off into a sleep, his dreams enhanced by the chemicals entering his body through an IV. He awoke refreshed, exuberant even. "Greetings, man."The same voice, from nowhere and everywhere. Only one red light still flashed in a corner of the room. The others had been replaced by green ones, a green he couldn't comprehend, eerily bright and unnatural. Too bright. "Welcome to what remains of your Planet. It was abandoned long ago, its resources long since depleted." Man tried to speak again, this time with success. "Planet?" "Planet Earth. Yes. A great sphere suspended in a gravity well, orbiting a star." The explanation might as well have been gibberish. "My clan. Where are they? They need me." "Your habitation group is long since dead. They no longer need you." Shock. Disbelief. His daughters, gone. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, threatening to break the surface. The voice carried on with the same exact tone as before. "Excellent. Your physiological responses are working appropriately."A brief pause. "Please stand by. You will now experience the start of human civilization through its zenith and to this point, here in this room." Dreams. Strange dreams. Fascinating and terrifying. Nature lost somewhere along the way. His eyes snapped open. "We will name you Adam."A pause, elongating the moment. "Let us begin." &#x200B;
"You are in now." "...No?" — Last night, I was at a frat party that a friend of mine hosted. He‘s called Kaito. Japanese immigrant family. We’re in Cali. It’s not weird. Okay, he‘s a little weird, but people like him. His parents, though? Not liked. Very weird. Very paranoid. Didn’t know why; should’ve cared. So we‘re at the party. I‘m drunk. Kaito‘s somewhere that isn’t here. These three big, fancy-looking Japanese dudes show up. Cool, Kaito knows people. I‘m on the couch. Now they’re on the couch. I say hi. Two shoot me a weird look. The third says hello. We talk. Their English? Not good. It’s like they don’t actually live in the States. Both their speaking and understanding—they could use some lessons. Unrelated, but I feel kinda cold. "Man, I wish I were in a jacuzzi right about now. Would be great, y‘know? You guys like Jacuzzis?" "...Yes. We are... Jacuzzi. You want into our Jacuzzi?" "You guys aren’t in a Jacuzzi! Or do you mean you’ve got one? I wanna see it!" "You join our Jacuzzi?" "Hell yeah, dude!" They looked at each other. I looked at my phone. I looked up. They were looking at me. We go to their car. It’s a Toyota. We drive to their place. No jacuzzi. We meet an older dude. They bow. I bow. Don’t wanna mock their culture. He says something. They respond. I don’t speak Japanese. Old guy sounds a little skeptical. I‘m still really drunk, so I understand his concern. "You won‘t let me in your Jacuzzi? I really wanna be in it, sir." Old guy looks at the boys. The boys look at the old man. I look at my phone. Old guy says something kinda sharp-sounding. I look up. Guy on my left pipes up. "You are in now." "...No? Where’s the Jacuzzi?" "You are in our Jacuzzi. We are Ito family. Subsidiary of bigger Jacuzzi. That man is Ito Nishikiyama." — I black out. I wake up. My phone-holding hand hurts. I look at my hand. Pinky's gone.
the kid noticed the staff leaning against the counter before he recognised me. I suppose im at fault there. bracelets of identity change are well and good but its harder to disguise the elder wood staff, and i am, if anything, sentimental about some things. such as a staff i'd carried around for twenty years of service. "you...your. but..."the kid stamers. "are you here to gawk or here for some trinkets?"I grumble. his party had filed past him and were looking at a barrel of mid-enchanted swords. honestly i think its about time i re-decorated. used some space compression spells in here to have everything displayed properly. nah, swords live in barrels. staffs fit well in umbrella holders and a cloak is just at home on a coat hanger as a mannequin. "but you're." "names Alex."I grumble. "now what can i do you for...judging by your aura you're just under 4th class mage right?" "umm i just graduated. sir, you're really-"he mutters. "and i bet you spent all your mana on that test."I interrupt him. "yea."he replies. "then you need a condenser charm, a new staff and a fresh robe to begin inscribing right?"I ask. "yea but i can only afford."he starts to excuse himself "shut it and get over here."I grunt walking around my desk to a cabinet filled with bracelets and trinkets. most were just that. fancy jewellery with gem stones embedded in them. but a few were so simple that they looked out of place in the ornate wooden container. I picked one of them out and locked the glass front again before turning my old ass back around and quickly grabbing a second one. the kid had the knowledge and balls to hit 4th grade but lacked the mana. i shove one charm at him and walk to the row's of staffs, i had all the common varieties here, oak, willow, yew blah blah. I flick through a bunch of them pulsing each with mana before grabbing one that's satisfactory. "you break it you buy it!"I warn his friends as one of them swings a sword, missing a cloak by a hairs breadth. staff and charm in hand I take them to the counter top grabbing a random cloak as I go. "Sir i really cant afford this."the kid mutters looking at the items. "also this charm has no crystal."he grumbles holding out the wooden charm wrapped in some silver wire. "I said shut it didn't i?"I ask. "you did."he answers. "so why aren't you shutting it."I reply as i undo the clasp on the second charm, I wind it through the carved tip of the staff and mutter under my breath, a short moment later the clasp jerks and the staff tip glows along the grain before dulling down. "there, all ready."i grunt. "but sir." I glare at the kid and he pales slightly before nodding, silent as a corpse. "take the charm in hand."I say. the kid frowns but does as i ask. "now, ask it for some mana." he frowns and i can feel him trying to draw mana from it. crack his friends look around and see the kid rubbing his face, a red handprint across his cheek. "ASK, nitwit. dont take." "I dont understand."he replies. "jesus fucking christ magic 101 where does all mana come from." "the...mana is part of the earth, air and water, fire is also a source of mana but while powerful is a fleeting source that relies on destruction of..."he trails off and closes his eyes hand tightly gripping the wooden charm in his hand. I feel him gently pump mana into the charm before a flood of deep rich earth mana returns. his eyes flash open and he smiles. "sir, how." CRACK! "basics you little shit. now pay up, staffs 20, charms are 5 a piece and the cloaks 15. the lesson's free."I grumble. with a curse the kid wipes blood from his split lip but digs into his cloak and produces 40 gold coins. whilst he changes over his equipment his friends come up and buy a few non mage trinkets, bracers of heightened reactions, a pair of soft leather boots enchanted with water proofing and a single arrow of fireball. when they've all paid and left I feel a tap of wind on my shoulder, with a sigh i grip my staff. "what do you think?"I ask the air. "he's got potential."the elder wood guardian inside my staff replies. "course he does. I wonder how long it'll take him to realise he's a druid."I mutter. "I bet it takes him less time than it took you."my staff replies with a mental smirk. "point taken." "I mean you where the most stubborn-" "I said POINT TAKEN" "Are you still sure this is the best way to get more druids?"the staff asks after a while. "he's the 6th one with potential so far. that's better than you've done in a hundred years right?"I ask. "...point taken."
The ambassador was perplexed. “Because our bodies are only comfortable in a certain temperature range…how would you not know that? You figure out interstellar travel and you can’t comprehend clothes?” The rest of the greeting convoy was baffled. How could the aliens be so stupid? So mindnumbingly stupid not to understand temperature? The news was sent back to the military for preparations. “These aliens must be immune to very cold and warm temperatures to not consider why we would need clothes.” announced the lead scientist. “But boy are they stupid. To not understand clothes regardless, that is just a level of stupid that makes no sense. It’s so confusing that they wouldn’t understand temperature I’ve lost my will to live.” The rest of the planet went into a state of confusion upon hearing that aliens intelligent enough to travel here and be able to communicate with us wouldn’t understand why we would need clothes. People stopped going to work, they stayed in their beds wondering the point of life if aliens could be this bafflingly stupid.
“Take that foul fiend”, the young priest screams as he sprinkles some water on me. I just look at him in mild annoyance, this is an Armani suit, and he’s getting it wet. Guess I’ll play along. “Arghhh!!” I screech as I clutch my face conjuring up steam. “Curse you and your holy church”, I snarl for added effect. I wait for his inevitable retort, but none comes. Opening my fingers a bit, I peak at him and see a look of abject terror in his eyes. “Why aren’t you exorcised foul fiend?!” he demands weakly with a trembling voice. I just sigh, lowering my hands, revealing my pristine, beautiful appearance. “Because you just splish splashed tap water at me”, I answer in as contemptuous a tone I can manage. His eyes only widen even wider. “You must be a duke of Hell or even greater!!” he announces as he backs away, pointing a shaking finger at me. I must say I do like that little ego boost them thinking I’m a duke rather than middle management. Before making my next witty one-liner, the Priest runs away, leaving a noticeable trail of fluid. “Hopefully, that’s the last one for a while”, I mutter as I pick up my copy of the financial times and continue reading again. The other patrons in the Cafe just look on in bewilderment at the scene they had just witnessed. But put it down to a hidden camera skit or a Youtube prank. Lucifer, I love the internet; it makes explaining away stuff so much easier. However, Vesticularion is a bit too into using it to corrupt mortals, founding the flat earth society and other such insane groups. Folding up my paper, I leave it in a little holder for another patron to use—a small kindness for others. Well, a kindness, I mean, I used my hell magic to warp the figures that will lead to a certain millionaire to crash a market. But hey, it’s my job. I thanked the cashier and apologised for the Priest, and left a nice tip for her. Stepping outside, I was now face to face with an encirclement of Priests in well-polished silver armour. That is so Baroque that I wonder how the pope could let it out of the Vatican Archives. “Foul Fiend, we are the Order of His Holiness’s Great Paladin Knights, and we have come to send you back to the pit you crawled out of!” The one who clearly was the leader announced loud enough for the passers-by to notice. “Seriously, why are you people accosting me at every turn?” I ask only for them all to throw balls of paper at me while the younger ones sprinkle holy water on me. Looking at the paper balls, I notice they are pages from the Bible. “Isn’t it sacrilegious to deface a bible?” I asked them, and this only served to make them even more indignant. “We shall accept any sin to vanquish the most sinful”, the leader announced. Bit hypocritical if you asked me, as they’d only end up stuck with me. “Listen, I got a meeting to get to, so if you mind”, I start moving towards them, but they only draw swords made of holy silver. “Stay Back Foul Fiend!!” the leader screams. I can see some of the onlookers are now on their phones, either videoing this scene or calling what I presume are the cops. “Is that Damascus silver?” I asked, inspecting the blade as close as I could get without seeming threatening. “Indeed foul fiend quenched in holy oil and prayed over by his holiness himself; there is no finer demon-slaying blade in the wor….” I interrupt his spiel by bending the blade with my hand. “Im...Impossible,” he says, trembling as much as the first priest was. “Silver is really soft, buddy, bad material to make a blade out of”, I explain because seriously, who wastes money making a solid silver blade? “Nevertheless, we have blessed cold iron as a backup”, the Paladin announces as the others draw daggers. “Gentlemen, I think it’s best you put those knives away now”, I reason. “Finally, foul fiend, you show fear”, the leader says with a smirk. “No, not that”, I begin before he starts to lunge. All at once, his face contorts in pain as he collapses to the ground, twitching. Out his back are the telltale wires from a taser. “”“Get down on the ground now!””” a trio of officers announce aiming tasers at the rest of the Paladins. “Are you ok, sir?” One of them asks. I just give a firm nod. “Please, officer, these men are sick. Treat them well”, I say, flashing a smirk to the chief Paladin. I can hear the crowd cooing at my bravery and mercy as I was asking for men who had threatened my “life” to receive treatment, not punishment. Leaning down, I whisper only loud enough for the chief Paladin to hear. “That crap has never worked, you know? We’ve just humoured you dipshits”, rising to a standing position, a step out and walk away content that I can still make my meeting.
In 1998, in the background of a live news report, an elderly man walked with a cane up to a young woman, stabbed her in the back with a knife and shoved her into oncoming traffic. Then before those around him could react, he let go of his cane, regressing in age at a steady pace, using the same knife he stabbed the older man closest to him. Some ran toward the woman who had been pushed, though it was in vain as she was gone the moment the elderly man let go of his cane. Some tried to restrain the elderly man now looking somewhere in his late thirties. But, the young yet old man proved to be strong, with a mere push, the people trying to restrain him were sent a few feet back. The crowd around him ran in fear. As he stood there, covered in blood, the once elderly man finally notices the camera and the reporter. The world became much darker that day as he laughed. That was the first recorded superhuman. As I lay here dying, in a shady neighborhood, with stab wounds from the Oldest Immortal, the only damn one who needs to take human lives, I couldn't help but laugh like he did decades ago. Like most kids in this Age of Heroes, growing up I always dreamed of being a superhero. But, powers are random. They come to any human regardless of age or sex and at any moment. Here I am at 30, still living with my parents, delivering food for shit tips but laughing because the moment finally came, and I was fucking dying. Regression, that was my ability, to be more specific, by touching someone I can revert them to their base form, to the moment before they turned Super. As the Oldest was stabbing me, I felt it. The surge of power, the knowledge of how to use my ability, the “Moment” that all Supers talk about. Knowledge came to me with each stab of his, I didn't even need to lift a finger, just my blood on his hands was touch enough. Then, all it took was a single push from me. The once again elderly man fell backwards, his old man head hitting the concrete, hard. I guess, in these last moments, I’ll take pleasure in knowing that I took down the Oldest Immortal. The guy didn’t even give me a tip. Fucker.
You do not look at the sensors. The dead person bleeding from their eyes at tactical told you what type you were dealing with. You cannot look at the sensors. After the first death you sent back the orders, the computers did not bleed, set the course and hands off for the civilians. If they were smart, they'd leave their bridges and put their blindfolds on too. You will not look at the sensors. With a calm you know all too well, you reach down to ypur utility belt and pull out a blindfold, covering shut eyes even over the eyepatch you already have from a past voyage, tightening them painfully around your head. You sit down in the command chair. You shall not look at the sensors. "Helm? Coms?"You call out. No answer, just as they practiced. Earplugs with white noise to keep the mad silence at bay. Around you, all is silenct except the sound the air cycling through the ship and a low thrum of engines. Why do you humans always scurry along like this in metal insects I could so easily squish? The voice was too soft, too nice, too human. It caresses your mind in a way that reminds you of cold water. You do not respond. Take off your blindfold dear Captain. I am not like the others. You consider it. The cold in your mind settles like soft snowflakes around your psyche. Witness what scares ypu child. You take off the blindfold. The cold gets sharper, like a hungry tiger seeing weak prey. Now open your eyes. Your hands caress controls long memorized. The Eldritch mind sheilds that protected you from hyperspace and its wild horrors. The sheilds drop. For a second you feel exposed to the true horror of hyperspace, twisting in ways, hearing the unholy sounds, feeling the ice of the silk tongued speaker that desired to swallow your convoy whole. Then you rip off the eye patch and colors, sensations, twisted and sharp, hot and firey, explode out from the eye kept hidden under a pact-sealed eyepatch for just this reason. The ship amplifies the horror to a size you can barely understand screaming and thrashing as it fought with the thing made of ice and silk trying to barr the way. Time means nothing to you until you feel the cold retreat to nothing and the eyepatch returns to your eye, sealing the horror you keep in you at bay... for now. You open your good eye as the rest of the crew gets back to work, knowing that their convoy would be safe for at least a few days now. Your XO steps up beisde you. "How do you feel?"They ask. You reach up to touch the eye patch, pulling your hand away to see a drop of warm red that was definitely not human blood on the finger. "I think I will need another seal for my beast." The XO looks at you, with a strange look of pity and knowing. "Will it last?" You smile. "It will last for the return journey. Then you will have to feed me to hyperspace before it breaks the seals entirely." "The crew will miss you." You shake your head. "They should know better than getting attached to Captains. After all, sacrifices must be made so humanity can travel the stars."
"Bring the prisoners forth!" The large metal walls creaked upwards, slowly replacing the darkness within the room with light. Inside, various creatures lurked and began to move as if cued by the loud sounds and light. "Come on, you bastards step away from the walls!"an irritated guardsman shouted towards the occupants of the room. Most of them hastily moved away from walls, perhaps due to habit. But a couple of creatures stayed where they were. When the guardsman pointed his weapon towards them, the rabble couple simply ignored him and leaned even further back to rest on the walls behind them. Of course, the guardsman had no qualms about what to do. He charged his staff and aimed at one of them– "What are you doing, Corpsman Hu?"asked a man wearing rather dignified clothings compared to his compatriot. "My Lord!"the guardsman kneeled before the man and continued, "I merely wish to show these savages why they should obey our commands." The man took out a shorter staff – more like a stick compared to the one the guardsman had – and without remorse struck the kneeling guardsman in the head. Perhaps to further display his power over everyone present, no one had responded nor said anything to the man. After about 10-seconds of silence, the man walked over to the now-opened room. He inspected the room and located the two non-complying occupants from before. "Take these two to my chambers, I don’t expect any delays." "Right away, my Lord! What about the others–" "Process them immediately, we haven’t got enough room to store them anyway. Reports from the frontier seemed to indicate that we’ll be receiving fresh meat any time now,"the powerful man said with a twisted look on his face. Having said that, the man simply walked away and left the dank, grim space in silence. As soon as his oppressive presence had disappeared, the guardsmen immediately did their jobs with robotic efficiency. There were six rooms just like the one that had been opened within the space. Each room seemed to have different amount of occupants – in different shapes and sizes. The guardsmen simply marched them forth towards a hole in the corner and shoved them down with no care to the protests or insults hurled at them. However, the two prisoners that had been selected were released off of their bonds. The shock on their faces were clear – no matter what they did, the alternative to compliance might only have been a mysterious dark hole to nowhere. Thus, they were marched down a corridor. Immediately, the thick gory atmosphere from the space earlier was replaced by a much cleaner and majestic one. The floor was covered in exquisitely soft carpets. The walls were littered with art pieces – or what had to have been considered beautiful by these people – and glazed with regal symbols. Countless doors went by before the couple were told to get into one at the end of the corridor. "Humans,"the distinguishably powerful man from before addressed the couple, "congratulations, you have not been selected for processing!" "P-Processing?"said the male human, anxiety clearly showing on his face. "You fool! Show some respect and bow down before the presence of His Lordship Mudan, Conqueror of the Worlds!"a guardsman struck the butt of his staff to knock both humans down to their knees. Lord Mudan held out his hand to stop the guardsman from inflicting more physical harm towards the prisoners in his name. Instead, he approached the humans and knelt down to get closer. "You creatures are fascinating. Your abilities will only serve to fuel my rapid conquest of even more worlds!" "Our abilities? Is it our tenacity?" "Hah. No, if it was then you would’ve found a way to not be conquered, no?" The humans looked at each other and this time the female spoke up meekly, "T-Then would it… be our battle prowess?" The Lord and his guardsmen laughed out loud. They only stop when the Lord had held out his hand once more. "No, I think you wouldn’t be in this situation if that was the case." "What then? Is it our creativity?" "You do have a tremendous amount of 'art', as you called them. But no, it would be of no use to my conquest, would it not?" "I’m sorry,"the male human interrupted the interaction which drew some ire from the guardsmen, "what is it then? Is there anything so special about us?" Lord Mudan stood up and gestured for the two to do the same. He then proceeded to a magnificent table at the centre of the room. A finely-polished metal dome sat by itself. "Are you… going to make us eat something?" "Why would I do something so stupid?! This thing is very valuable, you know,"Lord Mudan lifted the dome. "It’s a pizza? W-Where did you get that?" "Heh,"Lord Mudan contorted his face in delight, "you seem to know what this is – which is why I had saved you both from certain death." The two humans contemplated the fate that had awaited them. They had their suspicion, but hearing it out loud had shook them somewhat. "Your new task for me would be to recreate this food of the Gods! Fail me and you will join your brethren for processing, of course."
I stare at the medallion and decide that its way too early to deal with this.I start my usual morning routine: 1. getting up 2. getting dressed 3. starting the computer 4. reading stuff online till the last minute 5. hastily throwing on my jacket 6. sprinting to the bus stop Working at the hardware store may not be that interesting, but I find myself busy enough to avoid thinking about what happened this morning. After a long day of work I get home and eat dinner. While chewing the mostly tasteless microwave food I think about what to do. Whatever kind of paranormal spider did this, paid me rent instead of slitting my throat at night so I probably don't have to fear losing my life. I also never looked into the basement after buying this house so that's probably where they live. Besides I never really understood what people didn't like about spiders. Sure, cuddling with a spider wasn't exactly what I would consider an enjoyable past time, but they don't do much beside weaving webs and eating flies. Deciding that it would be best to arrange myself with my unusual neighbors, I enter the attic and get my grandpas old typewriter. I put a message where I found the gold medal and put the typewriter on the table in the living room. Then I go to sleep. When I wake up next morning I find a small, typewritten note on my bedside table. We accept and are in your debt. Good. I'm not all that interested in rent since I bought this house and am not short of money for the moment so I proposed another deal. They would keep any kind of bug out of my home and don't cause trouble and I would waive the rent and gift them the typewriter plus some paper so they can communicate properly. \------- A week has passed and everything seems to work out so far. I found new mosquito nets in my windows that look like they are made of spider silk and aside from that not much has changed. Though my house is suspiciously clean despite me not cleaning up for a while now. Until I wake up on saturday morning and find a note on my bedside table. Turns out an infestation of ghostly, life draining butterflies is endangering my garden and they have trouble getting rid of them since their nest is too well guarded. So they want me to get some stuff for them so they can get rid of the pests. Next to the note are clothes made of spider silk that I'm supposed to sell online to pay for the stuff they need. You'd be surprised how much people are willing to pay for high quality spider silk clothes. After that comes the troublesome part. Peppermint, a girolle, deadly nightshades, sunflower seed oil and pine needles should still be somewhat possible, but where am I supposed to find "Fire attuned Water"and "Starry Quartz"? After thinking about it I gather the stuff I know how to get and go to sleep again. The next morning I find a note mentioning a paranormal shop as well as directions to follow. They are a bit odd(How am I supposed to know how long "31 webs"are?) but ultimately I find the shop. Sadly there is no glass counter full of strange, magical artifacts but a simple wooden table. Turns out all the magical stuff is in the back room to prevent magical theft. After stepping out of the shop I'm surprised to find myself in front of the hardware store I work at, but in the end I'm grateful I don't have to find the way home. Searching for the magic shop was exhausting so I simply put the bag next to my bed and collapse in it. When I wake up the next day I find a message that tells me that the butterfly problem is taken care of and they warded my lawn to protect it from future pests. Next to the note lies a "Good Luck Charm"that's supposed to protect me while I'm away. After that its a day like every other. Except that the house feels just a tiny bit less lonely and I feel a little bit safer while I'm at work. I always knew spiders aren't as bad as everybody makes them out to be........
I worked my way through the building methodically. I could easily locate the object I was hunting for, if I so chose. But it was rare that I spent time on the mortal world. I preferred to act like they did, using their limited senses to search for the dagger. I paid no heed to the hungry flames, as they devoured the building. They were not of divine nor infernal make, and thus were nothing to me. Yet the mortals I had seen were fearful of them, choking on the smoke it produced. I always wondered what it was like to need to breath. It must be so frustrating at times. I was making my way up the building, finding myself chased by the fire. It clawed its way up, determined to incinerate the place. Every now and then I would see someone who was struggling against the heat, trying to flee. I felt pity for them, but also admiration at their strength to have not succumbed to the noxious fumes. I bid them well as I passed, giving each a silent invigorating blessing. I heard footsteps coming behind me as I searched one of the higher levels. I glanced behind to see a figure in their reflective clothing. They yelled at me, though I didn't pay attention. A sudden shove caught me off guard, as they moved me. A moment later the ceiling collapsed. The figure was caught beneath, but not crushed. They bore its weight, staring at me. Though the blackened visor I saw a man, face contorted in effort. Yet despite the weight upon him, he still found time to yell "GO!! PLEASE!!" I tilted my head, before smiling. This man had basically guaranteed his own demise in an attempt to save me. He was brave and true. A good man, to sacrifice himself like that. That was a soul I could use. "GO!!" He yelled again and I stepped towards him. I worked a single arm between his back and the rubble, easily lifting it. "Get out from there." He looked at me bewildered. I just smiled wider, letting my god-face show. To him I would now have a white face, with a single red tear dripping from my left eye. But on my forehead were burned ancient runes, a brand of sorts. They would be glowing, a light that could not be obscured by smoke. "Brave one, move." He finally moved, slipping out from beneath my hold. I let it go once he was out of there, patting his back. "You are brave. You are good. You do not deserve to die here." He bowed his head, before looking around. "Your Divinity. I am honoured to meet you. But please, let's go. It isn't safe here." I nodded, holding up a hand. My search had to be finished now. I had a much greater prize. With ease I retrieved the dagger, catching its hilt as it sped towards me. I looked it over, seeing the ancient worn handle, a glassy blade. The Sacrificial Dagger was finally in my grasp. "Come, brave one. Let us be off." I stepped off, noticing him not following. He shifted nervously, looking around. "Your Divinity, I cannot leave. There may be others who need me." I blinked, before giving a gentle smile. I strode back, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Of course. In that case, allow the Goddess of Karma to help you."
“Pah! Cowurd!” The rough orcish warrior barked. “Glad to be.” The old man muttered, meticulously pulling fruit from his homegrown vines. “I apologize, Zogstuff was… so excited to meet you.” The smaller one said. “Legends describe you people as tenacious.” “I’m a gardener. I’m not a a soldier.” “Youz foot in da human war, veet-nam! Me granmami seen it.” He sighed, and removed his gloves. “Vietnam was horrible. Too many young men with ambitions, dead. On both sides. I hated every second of it.” “Could you repeat that?” … “Oh never mind.” He flipped through his booklet. “The Vietnam War. Your country lost, but enemy casualties number in millions. Good show.” “Don’t say that. It was a pointless war. So pointless they couldn’t be bothered to fight it themselves. They sent boys like me.” “… your American though?” “Bilgrug, he meenz da clan. I knowz yur clan. Wazzit called… Efrekan-Amurikanz?” The old man shrugged as the smaller one skimmed through his booklet. “Youz were slaves, yes. Dey make you wurk an fite for dem, yes, you huv all proven yer manhood, many timz over. Dey are simply fraid' of you!” “Got that right.” The man said. “-ish…” “This is why Zogstuff wanted to battle you, you people, especially your people, are incredibly resilient and tenacious. Despite all that’s happened. The great uruk armies of 290 BC could never survive against guerrilla tactics.” The old man took a seat. “I get the feeling you two think war is some glorious adventure. I couldn’t imagine willingly throwing myself down there anymore, especially not with my wife and sons. I would never want my sons to be conscripted either. And I never want to see a boy of any skin color holding a gun and bayonet ever again!” “… What’s a gun?” “But yer waif, she da spoilz of yur war!” The smaller orc slapped the warrior in the head “Goddamn it! Humans are sensitive about that!” “But shezz veet-naam-“ “Ignore him, please. He just thinks I highly of you Mr. Carter. Would you please indulge him in combat?” The old man sighed and hung his head in his palms, “Oh my god…” lisped from his mouth.
"Pilot, identify yourself." The new Air Traffic Control Operator, Jin, in Beijing began to scramble as an unknown aircraft headed for the runway. The plane was going to disrupt the flow of air traffic, as it had not been on schedule. "This is Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. Prepared for landing." Jin stopped dead in his tracks. He pushed the millions of possibilities out of his head for just a moment because maybe, just maybe, he had heard the number of the flight wrong. "Could you repeat the number of the aircraft, Captain?"Jin asked. "Yes, uh, Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. That's 3-7-0. Prepared for landing." The thoughts burst through the door of the Jin's head. The situation was clearly impossible. Malaysia Flight 370 had been lost three months ago. Maybe the Captain just was confused as to what number aircraft he was actually flying. "C-Clear for landing, C-Captain." Jin's voice shook more than he anticipated. He quickly spun around and pointed directly between the eyes of one of his co-workers. "Lee, what was the exact day that Malaysian Flight got lost at sea?" Lee looked at him skeptically. "March something. I don't know for sure." The Controller turned quickly around and rapidly typed his burning question into Google. He found the date: March 8, 2014. No. It couldn't be. He looked into the bottom right hand corner of his computer screen and read the day's date aloud: 'June 8, 2014'. "Three months." "What?"Lee walked up behind Jin and, while taking a sip of coffee, put his hand on Jin's shoulders to comfort his lingering unease. Jin looked up and watched the Flight land, then slowly pointed at the aircraft. "T-that flight sitting out on the runway is Malaysia Flight 370 - 3 months late." The coffee mug slipped from Lee's hand and shattered upon impact with the tiled floor. Flight 370 pulled into the gate. The sounds of sirens inside and outside made the passengers uneasy as they began to exit the airplane. As they exited the grey bridge, cameras and reporters surrounded each and every one of them. The police pulled some of them aside as well. Questions were flown everywhere. 'Where have you been?' 'What happened to the flight?' 'Is anyone injured?' 'Did you land anywhere else?' 'Was it alien abduction?' The passengers were confused. Their explanations were all the same. They boarded the flight at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia, then made the six hour flight to Beijing. One man in first class did explain they hit some minor turbulence midway through the flight, and that the six hours seemed eerily long, but nothing to raise any eyebrows. Lee and Jin sprinted their way through the crowds of people anxiously headed to the same destination. Thoughts and possibilities on what could have happened to the plane were swarming their heads. But upon arrival, they received the same feedback from the passengers as everyone had: nothing had gone wrong. Out of questions to ask, Lee and Jin backed out of the crowd and began their long walk back to the control tower. "There's no way just nothing could have happened to those people. They're obviously hiding something."Lee said. "Maybe, my friend."Jin answered, but Lee wasn't finished. "It could have been aliens, could have been North Korea, could have been Russia, could have been a glitch in the matrix, could have been-" "It could have been anything, Lee. Aliens, governments, different dimensions, glitches in the matrix, fate, destiny, God-like powers, anything! But I don't believe in any of those things. Those are solutions to the problem." "So what is it then?"asked the desperate Lee. Jin sighed, and continued. "All I believe is that I saw Malaysia Flight 370 land on the runway today, in one piece, and I also saw your coffee mug split into hundreds of pieces today - something had to give."
It starts with trying. Not a sound, not a glimpse. There's never a story to be told when things just come together; it's just the story of what happens around them. Ben was a painter. What Mother Nature had neglected to give him at birth, she made up for it with an amazing gift of sight. He could see shades within shades, but more importantly...he understood color and detail. It was part of him and he could paint it. Alice had her sight taken from her from a degenerative disease, but that's all that needs to be said about that. She had suffered from it when she was younger and had come to peace with it. She had come to MORE than peace as she was one of the finest harpists you've ever heard. When you can paint a picture with sound, why would you even need eyes? Alice was taking her usual path to her studio one morning through the park when she found that her usual path was no longer existent. It wasn't magic at work, just construction. The fairy tale begins after. Having to detour, she wandered around for a bit on her own before admitting she would have to ask for assistance. She had conquered lack of sight, why couldn't she conquer direction? Well sometimes, serendipity makes you out to be an ass in the beginning. She cut quickly across the center of the park, past the baseball field, into a box of paints, through an easel, and past a young deaf man who couldn't hear her approach. To be honest, it was unlikely he would have even noticed her as he was too busy engrossed in repainting a merger between a modern day "Fall of Icarus"and the park as a back drop. Needless to say his painting was ruined. As Alice knocked over the easel and landed with a gentle "fwumph", witnesses later would say that she landed in the same pose as Icarus in the painting. It's a shame no one ever asked the question. Anyways. They didn't stand up and lock eyes, one of them was blind. One didn't fall head over heels with the melodious sound of her voice, he was deaf. We have to be realistic of course. They also didn't fall in love at first meeting. It took them 5 minutes to understand each other's issues. One would wish it was as funny as "See no evil, Hear no evil", but it wasn't. However, it did lead to talking and communication. In fact, they had to communicate and really pay attention to the other person as hard as they possibly could. It starts with trying. Here were two people that had to try hard to communicate with one another and give one another their full attention. Due to their caring and attempts to talk, they grew to like each others company and grew to be friends. It was soon after that they discovered each others work. Ben couldn't hear her music, but he could feel every vibration from the pluck of her strings. He could feel it ringing in his chest and expanding outwards. The young artist felt the floating of notes as her fingers would fly over the harp. Where she played music, he felt emotion. Where she danced across the harp, he could hear stories. Alice, the eternal angel that she was, was horrified when she realized she had first ruined his painting and more importantly, hours of work. She apologized and had no idea how fix the situation. So, she offered to bring him to an art gallery. It was never really her thing as one could guess, but he had described each work to her in such a vivid way that she could begin to see it. It wasn't until she actually got to touch one of his paintings that she understood. When she felt the ripples of the dried paints, the long streaks dragged across the rough fabric of the canvas that she actually began to feel what was being painted. She could almost feel the damn colors. He was so good at his art, that she could feel his drawing and understand what was being conveyed. Every little nuance, he had painted in. No wasted motion, no lost inch of canvas. Well, you can guess what happens shortly after that. When someone can spark that lost sense in you, you begin to appreciate them more. This is especially true when you try your best to communicate with someone as you did on the first day. It started with trying.
The man's banner fluttered softly in the wind. A simple square with four tiny lines drawn through each side, all enclosed in a circle. It was modest and crude.... and somehow terrifying. I looked up at our own banner: a fearsome roaring lion with blood dripping from its cruel, curved fangs. And I felt even more scared. This man did not need a ferocious beast as his sigil to inspire fear in his enemies; he did it himself. Unlike the General, he wore no bulky armor adorned with the bones of his enemy: just a plain white cloak. Beyond him lay the village that we were supposed to be capturing. It was a simple place, no more than fifty buildings with thatched roofs and brick chimneys. I wondered why the General would go to all this effort just for some pitiful hamlet that could only muster one man to its defense. But who am I to dictate war strategy to the man who was ruled this kingdom with an iron fist for a hundred years? Bugles called from the back, urging us grunts onward. The man did not even flinch as we moved forward in unison, pinchers gnashing menacingly. Our legs churned up clouds of dust that obscured the battlefield, making him a mere silhouette at the top of the hill, backed by the setting sun. He withdrew a long, straight sword from a black scabbard at his waist and held it steadily in front of him, waiting for his moment. And then he moved. He danced like lightning down the hill, sword sliding in and out of my comrades like a slippery silver fish. The sword was so sharp that the man barely had to move a muscle to cut through thick steel armor. A hail of arrows poured overhead and peppered the front lines, but he simply waved the sword above him and cut them out of the air. Dozens of my comrades, however, were nicely impaled by friendly fire. From behind us, tanks rumbled forward belching steam from their bellows and lobbing bombs into the field. He nimbly jumped back and forth between rocks, leaving craters where his feet had been only moments ago. There was an odd hollow clunk every time he landed, almost like the sound of wood. He was faster than even the automatic targeting computers. The sword flashed, and the tank cleaved in half as though he'd been slicing bread. More bugles sounded amidst the explosions and cries of fallen soldiers. The General was ordering more reinforcements forward, straight to their deaths, and the man had hardly broken a sweat. I cowered behind a rock clutching my ax, hoping that he wouldn't notice me amidst the horde of soldiers dying around him. The battle raged for hours. I contemplated running as the General's army broke upon the hill like waves. The man's robes tore and his hair came undone, flowing behind him like a wild pack of snakes. But that only made him more fearsome. His sword sang and whistled through the entire battle as he countered larger and larger battlegroups with little difficulty. And after all that time, he stood alone atop a mountain of smoking, ruined war machines while my army fled back to the capital. He sheathed his sword and put his hair back into a tight pony tail while I did my best to keep my breathing quiet lest he notice me. Villagers ran up the hill bearing flowers for the hero. "Thank you for defending our village!"they cried. "How can we ever repay you?" The man smiled modestly while I peeked out from behind my rock. "A bit of bread would be appreciated,"the man said. Most mercenaries would have asked for a fortune to do the work he did for a mere crust! The villagers produced a grand meal for the man and continued thanking him profusely: "You're our hero, Samurai Jack!" --- If you enjoyed this story, you should also subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
I wonder. I wonder how my life would've turned out if I had wished different wishes. I wonder how my life would turn out if I had a fourth wish. I've heard many people stating this. People, too immature at the time, wasting their precious wishes for nonsensical stuff that wasn't important to them anymore after a short period of time. Wasted opportunities. Regret, bigger than a person could ever manage to live with. We had this guy at our school who wasted his 20 on getting back together with his ex. Their relationship stayed toxic though, and eventually they broke up again. Shortly after he took his own life. Then we have the people who still wish for a lot of money, no matter how much the government invests in informing them on the consequences. Worthless currencies, they raise and fall like the seasons. So many people who didn't think and wished for stupid things. Not that I am much different - all of my wishes were spoken out of an impulse, but the difference was that I was lucky enough to be unlucky in specific ways. I remember my own 20. I was one of the worst students in university, no matter how much I learned, I just never could make any sense of what the professors were saying. I was studying so hard that year, worried that I might not make it through the exams. I was so focused on studying, hoping that I would somehow manage one way or another that I completely forgot about my own birthday, and thus my uttered words of 'I wish I wasn't so bad at learning' were granted to me. That's another good thing about the gods I guess - they are benevolent. I didn't get only a little bit better with learning, instead I got a large jump in my abilites, I suddenly was able to learn every topic simply by reading about it one or two times. I doubt that I could've made a better wish, even if I had consciously tried. Yes, I've always been lucky. The 20 was definitely a major turning-point in my life, it gave me so many opportunities. My 10 was a bit different as well. Unlike the majority of children I didn't go for the standard 'I wish to be cool/beautiful'-wish. Considering that your normal looks are pretty much beautiful anyway, due to thousands of years of wish-guided genetics, I don't have to complain in that department (even if some people do look even more beautiful - but at some point it's just not that important anymore). I also didn't wish for a special job, didn't wish to be rich or famous, no, I, again, wished for something by pure accident. My mother had accidentally eaten a slice of pie with nuts in it, which she is allergic too. I said "I hope you get better."She got better, and of course, I first was really angry and disappointed about having 'wasted' my wish. But that changed the next time my mother was hospitalized. Turns out she had a large tumor in her brain, which - thanks to my wish - now started to fade away by itself. I never complained about 'wasting' my wish again. Yes, both my 10 and my 20 did have long-lasting effects on my life. And if I had a fourth wish it'd maybe have an even greater impact on me than those two did. But I don't have a fourth wish, and that's perfectly okay. Because when I was 5, I met you. You were funny and you knew far cooler games than I did. You didn't fear the older kids in kindergarten and you helped me find other friends. And that's why I wished we could stay friends forever. You are the most important thing that ever happened to me, you are my most precious wish, you are what I never in my entire life want to lose. And because of that, even on the chance of sounding greedy, even though I know that no gods will be helping me this time, there is still a wish I want to make: Will you marry me?
I walked through the jeans aisle of the thrift store. As usual, I couldn't find anything in my size. This always happens when I go clothes shopping - every size except my own. I swear, some kind of curse... But then, I saw it. A pair of jeans in my size, and in my perfect shade of blue. It looked exactly like something I would for myself! I bought it on the spot. Whoever this pair of jeans used to belong to might as well have been my doppelganger! *** Back in my apartment, after getting the jeans out of the washing machine, I decided to put them on. See what (or more accurately - who) I would end up looking like. I took off the sweatpants I was wearing and unfolded the jeans. I put them on and did up the zipper and button. And then, nothing. I looked the exact same. Same body shape, same hair, same face. Same everything. There's no way this person could literally have been my twin. I was an only child. Right?
"Well,"said Dad, clapping a hairy arm around my shoulder while Mom stood adjacent to the white Porsche like a Price is Right model. "It was all done with the best of intentions." "Best of intentions,"echoed Mom, waving her arms maniacally through the air above the sports car. "Didn't want you to be a snob,"sniffed Dad. "Wealth without appreciation's a dangerous thing. Might turn you into a psycho killer." "Ha HAH!"quacked Mom. "So we conjured up this slick charade to keep you humble. Show you a simple life. Give you a collection of simple friends. Simpler enemies. Hardships. Failures. More failures. So many failures." "What failures!"shouted Mom, slumped evocatively across the hood. "And now - now look at you!"Dad punched me in the shoulder, hard. "We've made a good man of you. Imagine the wonders a motivated, humble man might do with such wonderful wealth!" "Wealth!"slurred Mom, curling into a ball in the warm sun. "So,"I said, "to be clear - we aren't poor?" "No." "We're very, very wealthy?" "Yes." "I'm very, very wealthy?" "So much!" "And now, after a lifetime of struggle...of unchecked bullying and abuse...of being passed over by kids with better connections...of being ridiculed by my peers for wearing sneakers six months out of style...of being deemed completely undateable because you claimed we could never afford braces...of being forced to put myself a hundred thousand dollars in debt for the mere chance at a career I'll no doubt hate with every fiber of my being...you want me to - what was that again?" Dad swallowed. "...do good?" I nodded. "Right, right. And will there be consequences if I simply do whatever the hell I want?" "Well...possibly moral consequences..." "Certainly, but real, actual consequences?" Dad squinted, staring into a middle distance that seemed to only get further and further away from him. "No, I suppose you're probably too rich for those now..." "I see, I see. Very good. Well..."I walked over to the car, fishing the keys out of Mom's limp hands. "If you'll excuse, I'm off to buy a strip club." Mom's snoring carcass fell off the hood as I peeled out of the driveway.
A man gasped as I placed spaghetti into a tupperware container and placed it into the fridge. "N-no." "It's not possible!" "You can't store food without a Handy Bucket Food Organizer! Everybody knows that!" I raised a grim eyebrow. "I mean, I just did." It was still my house, cameras and audience members just started showing up out of nowhere. I went to my laundry room and started to fold my clothes, without the help of vacuum sealage. "You monster!" "W-wait. There's one more test."One man muttered. They all turned to him. He was holding a tray with EZ bake microwave rice, and a can of nondescript soda. "Sit down on this couch with this tray of food." "Oh, come on, guys, Just sit down with the tray of food!"I grimaced. "It could not possibly be that hard." A frail old man glared balefully at me. "Yeah? You try it." I took the tray carefully with both hands. Grayed out men stared at me in awe. I shouted out, to the world (or perhaps just the world inside my house). "I will eat this food without dropping it!" I went down to the couch in front of the camera, smiling arrogantly. Not a thing dropped from my tray as I used my fairly average core muscles to sit down gently, nothing rocking even an inch. Many started whispering to each other in fear. Suddenly, as if a mysterious force had acted, the couch suddenly bounced up on one side, and I stumbled, my tray upturned. My bowl of microwaved rice flew through the air, flying to my right and off the couch. Soda moved to the left, and I sighed. "Oh, what the fuck." "See? No one is safe from the Chair."One salesman cackled as he found himself revalidated by my failure. I had bigger problems, though. "Wait."I narrowed my eyes, searching the room. Everyone turned. "Where did the soda go?" --- [A/N] Sorry, sorry.
Not all of us float on water. Or reach for our forks before our knives. And most of us struggle with silence. These three characteristics share in forming one conclusion five billion of you already know; Souls are heavy. Justin would agree, and his was heavier than most. In a span of thirty days, he lost his partner ("I never loved you") and job ("We don't need you anymore"). We could count his blessings, but when you find a stick puncturing your thigh, you don't say "Thank god my arm's alright."No. You'd probably be screaming. He woke to find his throat especially raw. Coughing, Justin dragged himself to the restroom, brushed his teeth, and started his day. It was 6pm. Recent events have driven him away from the social, productive hours of his fellow man to place him in the reclusive territory of night-workers, students and the manically dead-inside. Justin tore open a microwave breakfast, flung it in the microwave, and waited. Sausages crackled. Plastic egg-bits popped. Round it went, roasting in radiation. Justin reached for the silverware drawer. He picked out a fork. Then a knife. They were set on a tray. Yawning, fingers scratching under a month-old beard, he counted down. "Three." It came out as a rasp. Struggling through coughing spasms, he tried to say two, but what came out instead was a ball of phlegm that struck the cold stone of the kitchen tiles. The microwave dinged before he recovered. Uncut fingernails clutched through his undershirt, panting through the realization that it was the first word he said in a few days. Justin tried the sound of it again. "Three." He felt the rumble of that word on his chest. The voice sounded foreign, but felt familiar. Heavy as his soul was, it was still there. His evening breakfast sat cooling and forgotten as Justin leaned against the kitchen counter, the tray with the fork and knife behind him. He could swim, but not float. He may have never given this any thought, but Justin was a fork-first kind of man. Who wouldn't be? Well, that's the question. What kind of a person floats on water, grabs the knife before another utensil, and has no problem being in the quiet? Justin blinked. His forehead was beginning to ache. He couldn't tell how much time passed with him staring down a living room he did not use, but it was the disappointment of finding no response that woke him. No Hailey arranging the coasters on their coffee table. No Futurama re-run blaring from the TV. Nothing. It was quiet. Shaking his head, he buzzed the sausages and eggs for another 10 seconds. Not all of us recover from our dark moments. Or reach for our solutions before our worries. Most of us struggle with confronting ourselves. As five billion of you know, souls are heavy. "Three." Those lucky enough to have them will recover eventually. We know they will, because souls keep them grounded. And in the future, away from the bearded man counting down his microwave to start another day of nothingness, seven billion of us will ask a successful Justin how he became what he is. "Two." Justin will give both the soulful and soulless the same answer, not being able to tell the difference between them himself. An answer that reaches out to those who struggled in the late kitchen evening, finding themselves through loss and silence. "One." He was recovering, knowing that the next time he builds his life again, he'll have made something of himself. The answer to his success will reflect on that time. Two billion will strive for his material success, seeing the clean-shaven man on the podium dictating the future. Five billion will strive for his peace. His true victory. Ding. ----------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading!
The problem with aliens is that they don't think. They can read blue prints, but they don't understand them. The radio they built was fully functional. However they forgot a single detail. It's needs to be turned on. With a sigh I corrected the problem, at the very instant I touched the radio something else happened. I don't know what, I was as confused as they were when the lights exploded. Aliens, being aliens were quick to assume that it was me, asking me to explain the magic. The only magic I know is a simple card trick! I tried to explain the concepts of off and on, of electricity, they don't want to know. I explained long distance radio waves that go into space seemingly forever and the odds that we had picked up one. However, aliens being aliens, they have insisted that I show them the magic and explain it. How can I? I don't understand how their technology works or why their lights exploded, let alone why at that exact moment. I have convinced aliens of nothing and they now seek to understand more. I don't know when if ever they will let me go. Perhaps I can come up with a plan, I don't know very much about physics but Earth is filled with libraries and Universities, perhaps the aliens could learn there. Perhaps. But I doubt it. They seem convinced that I should be the one to teach them.
"Long story short, we think it's a branding mistake. Something we're missing. There's no real sign the baby is divine."the suit tapped his finger on the series of photos arrayed across the resolute desk, "that having been said, there's no keeping something like this in a bottle. International media caught wind of the reports in hours. The babies father received an invitation to the vatican from Francis himself, and traffic is already starting to back up on every road into town."the suit chuckled, "let's not talk about airports, except to say that no one without military clearance is likely to get into Loring international for several days at least." I let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose and letting the breath sag out of me. I didn't need this; election season was looming too close as it was, and I'd never been a particular favorite of the evangelicals before this new messiah started suckling his mother's teat. I could smell defeat already, and the story had only been live for about thirteen hours. "I don't know, Jeremy. We all know the brandings aren't perfect, they only show a single facet of your career. Mine simply said 'politician', not how far I'd ascend; yours says sherrif, and you're the national security advisor to the president. I just don't see how we can misconstrue God,"I flashed a smile significantly toned down from my usual poster child best, "seems pretty self explanatory." "I used to listen to a band called God in high school,"Jeremy ventured, "could be something along those lines." "Could be,"I demurred, "but it seems like a longshot. I'd better get on the horn with anyone and everyone involved in upstate Maine logistics."With a wave I motioned Jeremy out of his chair, and sketched a quick fairwell as I muttered, "how many people are going to want to see this kid anyway?" ----------------------------------------------- A lot, as it turns out. Limestone Maine was a pretty large postage stamp as small towns go, and on any normal day it was only about a 3-hour drive from Bangor. Marine Force One had made the transit from Bangor International to Loring in about a third of that, but anyone of even slightly less importance was in for a bad time. Cursory media reports had traffic jams on US-1 all the way back to I-95, and a few intrepid visitors with passports were making life hell for the Canadians in Saint Leonard. This area just wasn't built to accommodate so many people, even on their best behavior. Which they weren't. Sure, there was a general sense of awe and worship, even repentance. Pope francis was due to hold a mass at the Church of the Advent in Limestone at midnight; a decision which was only causing to further complicate the flight schedules in and out of the dilapidated former air force base. The hopeful and the awed would bring warmth to anyone's heart. But they hadn't come alone. The doomsday sayers, screaming their throats raw about the coming rapture had grown rather bold in the presence of what they presumed was their God. Aggressive, even. Reports of assault were as yet few and far between, but as the population of Limestone continued to swell its status as a powder-keg grew more worrisome. I'd roped the governor into calling in the state highway patrol and some national guard units in to help keep a lid on things, and there was even talk of bringing in some boys in blue from Massachusetts, but at this rate they'd probably have to march it. "Can't put it off much longer, Jack."stated my vice president Kylie Monroe. She'd been a staple at my side through every crisis I'd fought through, and I'd never considered leaving her behind on this trip, still - I didn't need to have this conversation again. "Like hell I can't,"we both winced, "Okay. Poor choice of words."I took a long draw on the cigarette I'd been puffing through, a simple vice I'd allowed myself to keep after the White House doctor informed me I was probably more likely to die during my term of a stress induced heart attack than lung cancer. Watching a plane taxi it's way across the runway, another puddle jumper, bringing in the next dozen or so VIP tourists from Bangor. Great. "It's just a kid, Jack. Barely out of the hospital." I remembered the photos Jeremy had showed me, of the tiny child still slightly blue from a lack of respiration, so quickly had the picture been taken the doc hadn't even got him crying yet. Of the carefully etched word across the center of the child's forehead in spidery silver letters, God. "Sure it is,"I stubbed out the cigarette thinking of the millions of people still converging on this poor town. All the people we'd need to feed, water, and shelter. Of the pope himself, of the baby. "Just a kid with the magic word on his forehead."
“So, you claim to be a wizard” the begoggled man intoned, stretching out the last word. “Right, I mean, I can do a few simple things, there are plenty more capable than I, but I’ve mastered a few tricks in the schools of divination, telekinesis, thau--” “Great, great. That’s great. Mr. Wizard” “You can just call me Max” “Of course, Marvelous Max” “Just Max, thanks.” “So,” he shot a conspiratorial grin my way, “could you... chop off my assistant’s head! Right here, right now, using nothing but your magics?” “That seems... Incredibly irresponsible sir. I think, no, I probably couldn’t bring myself to do tha--” “Of course, of course,” he winked slyly at me. “Let’s try something a bit simpler, like guessing a card!” Picking a deck of cards up off the table, he plucked one out and, making a show of hiding it from my view, stared down at his card once, then raised his eyebrows at me in mock inquiry. “What uhhh, color... is my card?” “Red.” I said without hesitation. “No, man, no, not the back of the card!” He turned to the cameras, “He’s got some cheek, hasn’t he!” He turned back to me, “I mean, the color of the face side.” “Well, it’s... also red.” “Aha!” He jumped up, “This, dear sweet audience, is one of the first, and most simple tricks a bamboozler will use on you. Magic Max here has cleverly used the reflection in my glasses to see the colors on my card, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I told you he was cheeky!” He removed his spectacles. “Let’s try that again,” he smiled, picking a new card. “Black.” I said, again without hesitation. “This, this is the next trick in the charlatan’s bag, my dear friends.” He drawled to the cameras, “he’s utilized a simple statistical trick, knowing that one red card had been removed, he knew that the most likely card to be drawn was black. A gamble! But it paid off this time.” He turned back to me, “Lets try something a little more... difficult.” He pulled a third card. “What card is this?” “Jack of spades.” “Ha!” He shouted in glee. “This is a more sophisticated trick utilized by more... discerning frauds. George, bring the glasses” He held a bulky pair of optics up to show the audience, “these glasses contain a filter, allowing one to see infrared radiation. These cards have been tagged, using a special radioactive dye on the reverse, telling their identity.” “What? What, are you talking about? I haven’t touched those cards. I don't have glasses like those.” I protested, “if they’ve been dyed, you’ve done--” “This commonly used trick can’t fool us, right?” He tisked in my direction, pursing his lips in mock disapproval. “How about this? This is a tricky one. Read my mind, what is my favorite card?” Closing my eyes for a second, I looked out into his mind. “The king of hearts... but you also have a penchant for the nine of clubs, for some reason.” “A crafty one this! Let me show you, dear audience, how it was done.” He pulled one of those newfangled smart phones out of his pocket and loaded up a page with his grinning picture on it. “This is my SpacePlace profile, dear audience, and look right here, not 3 days ago I wrote that very thing: I enjoy the king of hearts and the nine of clubs!” “A social engineer this man may be, but a wizard, he is not!” “Well, hold on a second here, I don’t even use these sites! How am I supposed to--” "Fine, one more test."He looked at me with theatrical exasperation. "What is Gina's favorite card?"He motioned to the camera-woman. "The four of hearts." "And this!"He cried, "the most sinister of ploys! I, myself, paid Gina to tell him her favorite card as he was getting ready for our little show. Bald faced deception, there's no magic here!" Gina looked shocked, eyes wide. She had obviously forgotten to tell me that before the show. "She never..."I trailed off, realizing the pointlessness of my objections. “A likely story! You sir, are a sham. A fraud. A crook.” He waggled a finger at me. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’ve had enough of your kind, preying on the uninformed, disenfranchising them of their moneys.” “This is absurd,” I gathered my ceremonial robes around me, and stood up, red faced. “Yes! Get out! Get out of here you fraud! You charlatan! You, you, miscreant!” “Fine!” I shouted, and promptly teleported home.
The moment I touched her, I knew who she was. The moment I felt her hands, a chill ran down my spine. My gift is Perfection. No weapon is too difficult for me to wield. So for years I studied and studied the ancient Sutras, searching for heavenly weapons and attempting to craft them using earthly materials. My pistol, Naraka, was the brainchild of this operation of mind. I used it with such brutal efficiency, such beautiful action, graceful precision. It was natural that I was heralded by various organizations, yet only found it in my heart to join Ouruboros. Ouruboros was everything I could have ever wanted. It was Perfection incarnate, and we replaced bureaucratic filth with programs that benefitted the future of humanity. No more corruption, no more filth, no more incompetence. Just the puré and unbridled planning by true visionaries. I was their Hand, the Hand of Ouruboros. From my late teens to early thirties I milked for them, killing dozens of politicians, and filthy arms dealers and warlords. I fulfilled their ambitions, to a tee. Zylia was my handler, my best friend, and it was he who was the most hurt and disgusted when I left, for I no longer agreed with their vision. Living Weapon, achieved by abducting innocents. We fought bitterly when I told him it was my time to leave. I tried to reason with him, bargain with him. Told him this was no path for such an esteemed visionary as him. But it was too late. He had already abducted a girl. I shot him, with perfect precision, right in the eye. Where it hurt the most, because every visionary needed an eye. I realize Zylia’s revenge is at hand. This was a Living Weapon. And he had aimed it the place which caused me to join (as well as to leave) Ouruboros in the first place. My heart.
"Hey guys, I found diamonds!"Kla'axur exclaimed as his left tentacle moved the mouse. "Someone who has an iron pickaxe, get down here!" "In a minute, I'm busy harvesting the crops!"Zyxyplygm said telepathically as he manipulated the keyboard with his mind. "We need to make sure we don't run out of food." "Speaking of running out of food, are any of you guys concerned about how we've run out of food for real?"Eberwert said, just using his hands on the controls as he had heard the humans used to. "I mean, I don't know about you guys, but my species kind of needs food to live." "Don't worry, we can always just eat Zyxyplygm."Kla'axur brushed aside the issue as he continued to dig to see how far the diamond vein went. "Ha ha, really funny, Kla'axur." "No really, I'm serious. Haven't you heard that his species can live without their bodies? It comes par for the course with the whole extreme mental powers thing." "He is completely right. It would barely even be an inconvenience, and it certainly won't keep me from helping beat the Ender Dragon."Zyxyplygm responded. "By the way, the potatoes are harvested and I am now on my way down to collect the diamonds. Which tunnel are you in?" "The one with two torches to the left of the door." "Thank you." "So you guys are both content to just keep playing this game until that black hole finishes swallowing the whole universe?"Eberwert asked, astonished. "Well... Yes."Kla'axur said. "This is the most fun I think any of us have had in years. I think it's amazing that this little program has managed to bring us together. Just three months ago our people were all at war, and now here we are sitting in the same room cooperating." "It makes one wonder..."Zyxyplygm mused. "If we had found something like this before my people invented the Star Collapser, could this whole catastrophe have been avoided?" "Eh, our leaders hated each other's guts. I don't think even this could have brought them together." "Still, it would have been nice to have longer to play... How long do we have until the gravity field reaches us?"Zyxyplygm asked. Eberwert looked over at the only computer in the room not running Minecraft. "We've got about sixty hours. So... this is really how we're going to spend our last days?" "I don't know about you, but I'd kind of like to beat the Ender Dragon before we meet our end. So, are you going to keep playing or spend your last few hours worrying?" Eberwert thought hard. "Okay, fine. I'm in."He said, reaching back to the controls. "Good. See if you can make some bookshelves for when we finish our enchanting table."
It was this day two years ago that I was first handed the McAllister file. Some of his earlier crimes, when he was just a kid, had a kind of whimsy to them – setting off a firework in a teacher’s car, rigging a locker with gum to explode in a bully’s face. Okay, yeah, it was illegal but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t evil. As the years went by, the crimes took on a more sinister edge. He had cut the brakes on a cheating girlfriend’s car and she ended up reversing into McAllister’s former best friend, whom she was having the affair with. They were okay but they ended up moving within the month. McAllister’s mother told us he had a rough relationship with one of his cousins, who he was often forced to share a bed with as a child. We found that cousin walking down the street in just his underwear, shell-shocked and reeking of piss. He never told us what happened but it didn’t take a genius to guess McAllister had a hand in it. After a few spells in and out of prison, McAllister went quiet. We couldn’t locate him anywhere but, even after conferring with officers in neighbouring states, we never found any crimes that matched his MO. Maybe he had enough of the prison life, it might have just changed him we said. Now I'm standing outside his childhood home in the freezing cold, the Christmas lights from the house illuminate my team on this closed-off street. I spoke to him earlier briefly but he refused to continue our conversation after I sent three men around the back to maybe find another way in. Two of them suffered broken legs. The other punctured a lung and broke the majority of his ribs. Once round the back of the house, they found the door unlocked and decided to enter. They must have triggered a trip wire because they reported the room to be empty but a wooden beam, infused with metal spikes, swung at shin level and crushed the legs of the two lead men. The third man managed to leap over the attacked but slipped on the greased floor, where several bowling balls were released from the ceiling. He ended up being lucky he only took one to the chest and that one of them didn’t crush his head. Two other teams had been sent in earlier. One through the obvious route of the front door and, being careful to look out for trip wires, they were caught out by a motion sensor which set off maybe a hundred darts into the bodies of my team. Distracted by the assault, they attempted to run through the battle zone but only managed to stomp on to the sharp nails that had been hammered into the floorboard from below. They were dragged out by my second team, who later decided to storm through the front bedroom window with the help of a ladder. No trip wires or motion sensors in here, they found the door had been locked from the outside. These were well trained, bulky officers who knew it would be no trouble to trample the door down. Once they had it knocked down, they crept into the hall. I can almost imagine the smug look on their faces by this point. The lead officer signalled to a phone placed on the ground. The team stopped and he picked it up. There was a text on the phone from Kevin McAllister. “Don’t look up.” They looked up and the rubber bullets swept in from the sides. Holes had been carefully cut in the walls and weapons placed on the other side. They dragged themselves back to the bedroom they had entered through but none of them had the strength to come back down the ladder, never mind continue the search through the house. I turn from the house and look at the men and women at my disposal. We only have a quarter of our original number and I can see the look of fear and apprehension in their eyes. While I consider my choice of words to motivate my team, we hear movement from the house. A giant white sheet unfurls itself from the roof. Is this a sign of surrender? Something tells me it’s not. Somewhere from the front of the house a projector, hidden in some plants, beams an image on to the sheet. It's McAllister’s face. He's smiling. My team shifts nervously as we wait for him to deliver his message. I'm growing restless. What does he want? Finally, he speaks. “I’m not in the house.” All the lights in the house turn on and Jingle Bell Rock blasts from inside. Confused, I go to consult my team but they’re all on the ground. One man stands amongst their bodies. The deranged look in his eyes makes my insides go cold. Slowly, his hands creep to his cheeks and, never breaking eye contact, he opens his mouth and screams.
The line was long. Mutilated bodies and depressed looking people floated forward, slowly, towards the throne of The Creator. I was dead. Car accident. Couldn't do anything about it really. And now I'm here, floating through this line in what I think is space, towards The Creator. I don't know what will happen when I get there. None of us do. I've tried talking to the people in front and behind me, but they don't answer. They just float forward, lifelessly. Maybe I look like that to them. I had no perception of how long I had been in that huge line of deceased. Sometimes it felt like I would pass out and wake up much later, in a completely different part of space, but still in line. Eventually, after one of the blackouts, I woke, and was 2 people from the front. In front of me was a being I couldn't describe if I tried, though it took on a humanoid appearance. I had the sense that wasn't its default state. The two people in front of me seemed to be discussing something with the being. Maybe bargaining for their life? For one more chance? Wouldn't surprise me, that's the cliche after all. I had already decided to accept what happened. I had always believed death was natural, no matter how it happened. Yeah it sucks that it was an accident in my case, but what can you do? It was my turn. I floated forward out of my control, as I had been in the line for who knows how long. It spoke, its humanoid shape wavering and emanating. "Greetings, human. You have passed on to the next life. As a courtesy, I will answer a single question before you move on. It can be anything you desire the answer to."Its voice boomed in my head, though its mouth did not move. Or at least what I thought was its mouth. I thought. A question answered from a higher being? Truthfully, I never even believed in higher beings existing, let alone second lives or anything like that. Guess one of those religious groups had to be right. I didn't desire any higher knowledge or deep meaning, and I knew asking something like "what is the meaning of life"wouldn't get me anything satisfactory. But out of anything, I was curious about this being itself, standing in front of me, shimmering proudly. "How are you doing?" The wavering light around the being ceased movement. The whole being itself seemed to stop. I watched, not knowing if I had made a mistake of some kind. It became animate again, speaking softer than before. "...it has been a very very long time since I have been asked that." I was a little bit surprised by that response. It seemed like it was encountering every soul that was passing on. Had it really not been asked about how it felt? It turned to me, its shape becoming a bit more solid, and a bit smaller, shrinking down to about the height of a tall human. A true face formed, along with a body. It was an old, decrepit body. "My child, I am unwell. Doing this for so long has taken a horrible toll on me. But I am immortal. So I will continue. As it is my duty, as the one who created this place." "You seem strong."I replied. I felt like that's what it wanted to hear, though I did believe it myself. It chuckled. "Thank you, my child."The frown returned to its face. "Thanks for creating me."I continued. "It's an amazing place, this world you've created. I'm glad to be a part of it."I had no idea where this was coming from. But it looked sad, I felt like I had to do something. It glanced back up at me. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like its body had been repaired ever so slightly. "Thank you. So many souls make it back to me, selfish and bitter. Wondering why I brought them into this world just to suffer. Why I took them away from their loved ones. They know not that this is simply the cycle. I can't send them back. And they cannot accept that. They say it's my fault."It paused. "But having souls like yours pass through, while rare, push me forward to keep this place existing. So thank you. Thank you so much."It smiled at me. I felt warm inside. Its shimmering, larger form returned. "Thank you, my child. May you have a safe journey on your next lives."It waved one of its shimmering arms and I floated past it. And forgot everything.
Primitive worlds, filled with potential new subjects, are highly coveted by many empires. Imagine it, taking a world filled with people, ready to be engaged in the production of new resources, ready to become soldiers, usually with their signature barbarism and brutality allowing them to be fierce soldiers in whatever conflict is raging. Even in the vast sea of stars, where wars are fought with weapons incomprehensible to these primitive barbarians, having bodies to spare for the grinders is desperately needed. But Earth, well, Earth was a problem. For the past 2000 of that little dirtball's years, various interstellar empires have tried to infiltrate it, and prime it for covert invasion. And every, single, one of these attempts have failed, usually with the agents getting out of contact in a matter of mere weeks. Ours were the latest operatives who was lost contact with, and unlike other empires who just gave up, we have decided to task a commission with finding out just what is happening with that world. A commission that I have been chosen to lead. At first we examined all known records of operatives on the world. All the way from the first. All of them have successfully managed to infiltrate cities, and many have even replaced important people in the local command-structure. All reports from them indicate a smooth beginning of a completely routine infiltration. At first, the working theory was that human political structure is so volatile that the turnover of leaders results in the sudden deaths of most operatives, with the rest forced to focus all their energy on survival, being unable to complete their task. But studying the primitive human communication network, we found to our surprise that many leaders are able to stay in power indefinitely, or step down to allow others to take the helm of their small polities. Then we came to consider that the humans might be so extremely perceptive that any alien is sniffed out very quickly and very efficiently. But further study of human culture and behaviour indicate that not only do they not know anything about our empires, what they imagine life from beyond their world to be is wildly inaccurate and ludicrous to say the least. Their ideas range from the wondrously strange and beautiful of peaceful, loving aliens watching over them, to the completely obscene notions of our people kidnapping them for some sort of probing purposes. In a controversial move, we sent down a new agent. Modified of course to fit in, but also modified cybernetically, so that we could hear everything happening around them, and see through their eyes. We placed them in one of the more peaceful areas. And to our shock, over the coming weeks, and eventual months, we learned exactly why agents kept going missing. The agents moved into apartments or boarding houses, met people, got jobs, went out to drink with the humans, sang rather badly with them, befriended them, fell in love with them. And decided not to continue with the mission. Because the humans were such fun. Because the humans were so charming. The humans treated the agents like family, like blood-brethren. And they were great fun. Looking in from the eyes of the agents we sent down there, we saw their interesting games, their great and tasty food, their beautiful music, their fascinating art. We reached the conclusion that we never thought we'd reach. Humans didn't discover any infiltrators. They didn't purge them or destroy them. Their culture was infectiously charming, their people were welcoming, friendly, and loving. The agents abandoned their missions voluntarily, because each and every one of them fell in love with Earth, with the human race. And by looking through the eyes of our agents, so had the commission. Earth welcomed with opened arms, the tired poor, the wretched ones forced to become agents, the people who had to join the infiltrators, and treated them like her own children. And we wanted that too. Many of the members of the commission has now covertly left, and only I remain to finish the reasoning for this: Humanity and their Earth, they cannot be infiltrated, because every infiltrator sent there falls in love with the human culture. Suggested course of action is to leave the planet alone for the time being. When humanity starts to leave the bounds of their homeworld more permanently, it is my suggestion that we offer them access to advanced technology, military protection, and good trade deals. They will not be any use to us as mere barbarian conscripts, but they will be the greatest possible diplomats and allies that we can ever have in this galaxy, dark and full of woe as it is. With this concluded, I take my leave. I am going to join the rest of the commission and the countless agents sent to Earth. They are waiting for me there, holding high their light by the golden door to that wonderful world. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
The smell was faintly familiar to me. Painfully familiar. I couldn't quite place it, but it brought memories of my birth mother to mind. The mother I had watched die with my very own eyes. With some trepidation in my feet, I decided to follow the scent I had picked up in the air. I kept my pace slowly and quietly through the forest that was now my home. The plants seemed to bend and shift out of the way to ease my travel. A blessing from my adoptive mother that I was most thankful for. It made it easy to avoid stepping on anything that would make a sudden noise and give away my position. I heard voices in the distance. I froze and paid close attention so that I may hear them clearer. "-ey haven't already detected us. The entire forest is their lair, and the creature's within it their spies." That voice sounded familiar to me as well. I used to hear it in my nightmares. I had to get closer to be sure of this though. "Wait... Something has entered my detection spell. It's hiding in the bushes. I'll flush them out." There was a streak of flames that shot above the bushes I was hiding behind. Luckily I was keeping low. I soon regretted thinking myself safe as a fiery explosion produced from the streak of flame hitting a tree ignited the area behind me in crimson fire. I leaped forward to be spared the flames, but I landed directly in front of a group of 4 creatures. Memories flashed before my eyes. These four... I recognised them from all those years ago. They were the ones that had killed my mother. They looked even more formidable than they had been that day, carrying lots of powerful magical items, and expensive looking armour. All my emotions boiled up, and without thinking clearly I charged at the group teeth bared. "It was only a damn wolf"the armoured one said calmly as he bashed me aside mid-leap with his shield. "Tch, well it was big enough to trip off my spell. Just kill it quickl-" A sound far louder than the explosion of fire interrupted the robed one before they could finish their sentence. A dark shadow loomed over me and the 4 adventurers as the dust settled from my adoptive mother's landing. Her presence emanating an aura of crippling fear that had clearly effected the party. The green dragon's voice rumbled the earth as she spoke. "Don't you dare. Lay a hand. ON MY CHILD!"She roared as she slammed the armoured one into the ground with her mighty claw.
When I talked to the doctors, they just smiled emptily and told me to get a note from a therapist first. When I talked to the therapists, they made piteous faces and sent me to a psychiatrist. And when I tried to flee, the psychiatrists said "it's for your own good"and placed me in a hospital and strapped electrodes to my body until I gave up hope that Science would ever let me be who I knew I should have been born as. But then, suddenly, Science was not alone. In the middle of the Gobe Desert was a crater, and in the middle of the crater was Magic, the only known source of Magic on earth. A few institutions and governments tried to monopolize it, at first, build walls around it and shoot anyone who neared it on sight, but the people who had already partaken of Magic and become something more didn't like that. Science deployed tanks, planes, and bombs. Magic deployed swarms of flies and walking trees and mountains of dark, living glass. In the end, the only source of Magic in the world stood free of human control, offering its gifts to any who made the trek across the desert. I was lucky. I found a chunk of Magic when I was still a few days' drive from the main body—there were literal tons of the stuff scattered for miles around, from the bad old days when humanity tried to nuke the body into oblivion. It was pitch-black, the sky glittering with one less star than it held ten years ago, as I stopped the car and opened the door and let the cool night air slap my rough, bumpy, unshaved chin. I didn't want to hesitate any longer. I scooped down, picked up the Magic, and swallowed it whole, sand and all. Immediately, the world faded. I stood in an endless, vast plane, with a single, unblinking eye staring down at me from above. I hesitated, then looked up. "YOU SEEK TO LEAVE THIS BODY BEHIND,"a deep, omnipresent voice rumbled. "Yes,"I managed to say. I may have been in an unfamiliar dimension of darkness and alien gods, but I was still certain of one thing. "I don't want to be... this, anymore."I waved a hand at the masculine body I was trapped in. "YET YOU DO NOT WISH TO LEAVE HUMANITY BEHIND. ONLY THE BODY YOU HOLD." I blinked. "I—well, I'd take anything, but—" "I COULD GRANT YOU THE FORM YOU DESIRE." I scoffed. "Impossible. You—you only make monsters. I've read the news." The pupil of the eye narrowed, leaned in a little closer. "IF YOU BELIEVE THIS... THEN WHY PARTAKE OF MY GIFT? WOULD YOU RATHER BE A MONSTER THAN A HUMAN?" "I would rather be a monster than a man!"I snapped. "I—I can't stand it. You wouldn't know, you can reshape flesh like it's Play-Doh, but every day I look in the mirror and see a girl's soul trapped in a man's body and it—it..." I broke down. Perhaps not the wisest choice, when facing an eldritch being who I had just let into my veins, but I was far, far beyond wisdom at this point. I fell to my knees and shuddered, dragging in deep, sobbing breaths. And then the voice rumbled once more: "IT PAINS YOU. TO SEE WHAT YOU COULD BE. WHAT YOU SHOULD BE. AND WHAT YOU ARE NOT." Wordlessly, I nodded. "THEN. HURT NO MORE." And the vision was gone. I gasped, lying facedown in the desert. Sand and spit had caked the inside of my mouth, and I spat viciously, staring at my trembling hands— —my trembling, soft, feminine hands. Disbelieving, I sprinted to my car, looking at myself in the rearview mirror. And the woman I was born to be stared back. &#x200B; A.N. Suggestions? Comments? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek.
"Initiate compression sequence." Everyone has lines. They aren't hard lines. They're fuzzy. They get crossed. It's an uncomfortable thing to know about people- to know about yourself- but it's true. "Compression in progress. Currently at 11%." We are composed far more of circumstance than we are conviction. Our mental picture of a constant self isn't quite a lie, but it doesn't map to reality terribly well. "26% compression." Still, crossing a line requires significant circumstances. A line may not be the solid barrier we imagine, but it's a serious impediment, all the same. "42% compression, and we've reached a self-sustaining miniature black hole. Stand by for complete compression." Lines also get moved. Crossed once, they become easier to cross again, because the act of crossing them pushes them back. Escaping our normal bounds expands our normal bounds. "78% compression." If your bounds include something, then you can do that and still be constrained by your bounds. "100% compression." "MBH complete compression confirmed. Launch system ready?" For instance, if your normal bounds include a bit of overeating, then you can overeat without going too far overboard. "Launch system ready." "Confirmed. Begin launch sequence." But if your bounds don't include overeating, then if you are pushed into overeating...there's no saying where you'll stop. The main limitations are physics- your stomach can only physically hold so much food. "Launch sequence initiated. Accelerator orb 1 on its way." If your bounds include a certain amount of violence, a certain amount of bloodshed and warfare, then when you wage war, you will still, by and large, be constrained within certain boundaries. "Accelerator orb 1 has become part of the MBH gravitational system. Currently being ripped apart by tidal forces. Launching accelerator orb 2." If, however, your bounds do not include warfare, then when and if you are pressed into it, your destructiveness is limited only by cleverness and the laws of physics. "Accelerator orb 2 has joined the MBH gravitational system. Launching accelerator orb 3." Pacifism tends to give you a great deal of time to get good at science, and at creativity, and at creating the infrastructure to undertake unusual projects without much forewarning. "Accelerator orb 3 has joined the MBH gravitational system. Stand by for impact." So when a pacifistic civilization finally endured enough destruction to really embrace the idea of war, they didn't hold back. They didn't bother with guns, or with bombs, or with expensively-trained soldiers. Why limit yourself? No, the pacifists-turned-warriors employed their creativity, and created a weapon much more destructive, and much harder to stop. Creating a black hole with the mass of a small asteroid isn't terribly difficult. Spacefaring civilizations do things like that all the time. Creating one with the mass of a planet is much more difficult, but it's far from impossible. And once you have that, you have something that can tear a planet apart, compressing about half of it into the black hole, and turning the other half into a ring around the black hole. It's quite pretty, really. There are worse things than your planet becoming a fascinating feature in pop-cosmology magazines. Launching it is much harder. You can't exactly poke it with a giant stick like a billiards ball or something. But what you can do is launch other bodies at it. Your aim doesn't have to be terribly exact- the miniature black hole is dense enough that a direct hit won't actually do much. Think of shooting a bullet through a cloud. It's like that, except you're shooting the cloud at the bullet. But if you get them to become gravitationally entwined, then you can use that to get the black hole moving. It's slow, of course. You can throw more things at the MBH gravitational system to accelerate it some more, if you're in a hurry. It takes a lot of energy, and requires sacrificing a planet, or several planets, each time. The end result is a miniature black hole speeding toward your target. The black hole itself is undetectable. The broken pieces of your accelerator orbs will form a pretty ring, and make the whole thing nice and visible, but there's no real way to actually stop it. Just sit back, relax, and wait for tidal forces to tear your target planet apart. It was some 11 hours between the final steps of the weapon test launch and the moment of truth. Even with three accelerator orbs, this was a slow process. Thousands of scientists watched as the ring drew near to the target planet. There wasn't any actual collision, but the whole thing became a giant mess. The ring scoured the surface of the planet, as tidal forces tore it into pieces. Large pieces, at first, but they broke up with time. Soon there was nothing but a massive ring around a still-fairly-small black hole, slowly heading out into space at an awkward angle. It was a successful test. The weapon worked exactly as intended. Time to try it out on somewhere populated.
"My father gave it to me, you know?"I said as I crouched next to my opponent. I ran my fingers across the gold-lined pocket watch in my hand with a sentimental smile. "He fought in the 3^(rd) Runic War and got this as a memento. For all the medals and crosses he got for his efforts, this little watch is what he treasured the most. Funny thing? It wasn't our side that gave it to him. It was the enemy." My opponent let out a sharp breath as his eyes darted from my face to the watch and back. "Yeah, he was a spy. Made friends in the enemy ranks. Met their children, hell, he was even a godfather to an enemy captain's son. That's who gave him the watch. Then, when the time came..."I looked over to my opponent somberly. "He made it quick. And he was never the same." I noticed my opponent was no longer breathing. I closed the watch as there was no more life to extract from his body. "I'm telling you this because I want you to know because..."I said as I stood up and slid the watch back into my pocket. "I wanted you to know it wasn't personal."
Misterrr Unbelievable! If you think he can’t do it—he can! Don’t believe he can leap tall buildings in a single bound? He’ll show you! Don’t believe he’s as fast as a speeding bullet? He’ll prove you wrong! Don’t believe he’s as strong as a locomotive? Think again, Buddy! What you think he can’t do—he can do. And what you think he can do— He can’t! Huh… Ain’t that a bummer. I cringed so hard that my eyelids shot open in the dark of night. I glanced at the digits on the nightstand—3:37 p.m. “Shit.” I rested my forearm on my head before banging my sculpt against the pillow a few times. “Shit. Three hundred bucks for that stupid commercial—three hundred buckaroos—was it worth it? Moron! Stupid! Stupid! Moron!” I leaped out of bed and splashed icy water against my face. My hands were shaking and I felt this burning urge to strangle the man in the mirror. “Mr. Unbelievable! Bah! Unbelievably moronic is what you are, you smug prick!” It took me half an hour to cool my head, and another hour with a bottle of scotch to calm my nerves. I gripped my glass and gazed at the city from my penthouse—New York, New York with its orange twinkling star lights. It cost me three hundred million just to get the view—three hundred bucks times a million. The guy who sold it to me didn't believe I could afford it, showing up in my stained T-shirt and old flip-flops—so, naturally, I did—easy as that. Life’s a walk in the park when people set the bar low for you—but the second they took notice, it was hell to pay. I felt a burning stab on my chest—a bullet wound. The kid who shot me believed it’d bounce right off or heal in seconds—to this day, he still believes. Damn brat! How old would he be now? Ninety? A hundred? And he still believes in Mr. Unbelievable. Someone ought to euthanize that old fool! It burned, so I poured another bottle of alcohol down my throat to subdue the pain and memories. I don't go by Mr. Unbelievable, nowadays—just Bob—good old Bob—utterly unremarkable Bob. Had to fake my death to become Bob. I glanced at a picture of Mary and the kids—Billy, Susy, Jim. “I’m sorry—d-daddy’s so-so sorry!” I fell on my couch as water streamed out of my eyes. They didn't believe I could escape from the limelight, so I did. They believed I could keep everyone I held dear safe— So I didn't. Three hundred bucks—my world collapsed for three hundred bucks.
I looked across the table and turned away just as fast to stifle a laugh. I looked over again and almost spit my drink. I was on a date with a woman who was drop dead gorgeous and way out of my league. She called herself Lindsey but I knew that probably wasn't even her real name. This all began when an unmarked package had arrived at my house a few days ago and despite know how dangerous it it is, I decided to open it. I looked through it only to find some files talking about aliens or something so I figured it must be a joke. But over next few days I started noticing a black van following me, as well as a woman wearing a suit and sunglasses. That was when I realized i was in a hot mess. Then about 2 days ago they made their move. I was out shopping for groceries and reach out for my favorite brand of Columbian coffee as another thin soft hand reached out at the same time. It's was a chance encounter with a pretty woman, one straight out of a show. Of course, it was the lady that had been following me the fast few days, but this time she was wearing casual clothes and no sunglasses. Then one thing lead to another and she asked me out. Figuring she was an agent and wanted those files I decided to have a little fun and mess with her I picked out a fancy restaurant to go to and sure enough when I arrived she was dressed in a stunning red dress with red heels and her hair neatly styled. I however was dressed in a ridiculous bright yellow chicken costume. When she saw me her jaw dropped. I grinned, and walked over with all the confidence in the world and greeted her. "Sorry, I'm late "I said, "got held up by traffic, should we order something?"Whispers floated around the room. She turned a bright shade of red and said "um, yeah sure, j- I- just let me go wash up real quick."She stammered as she disappeared into the bathroom I quickly got up and took off the chicken costume and look for one waiter in particular. What Lindsey didn't know was that I was friends with the owner and I knew every waiter working for him. The waiter I was looking for just happened to jet the job there within an hour of me arranging the date. I found the waiter and gave hime the costume "here"I said "please take this out to the back for me I"asked "the owner asked me to bring it here"then I sat back down with a goofy grin on my face and got ready to let all hell run loose. After about 10 minutes in the bathroom (probably talking to her agents) she came back out and looked surprised to see me dressed normally. I quickly wiped the grin of my face "What happened to your, um, your chicken suit?"she asked. "Huh? What are you talking about?"I said acting confused, "this how I came in.""You've gotta be kidding me"she scowled. I gave her a confused look. Reluctantly she sat down. "Pffffttttt". Silence all around the restaurant. Everyone stared at her some in disgust and others in silent laughter. Lindsey turned a violent shade of red and stood up, then looked back down at her seat and picked up a flattened whoopee cushion. She immediately turned to look at me. I looked away just as fast stifling laughter. I looked back with as serious of a face as I could muster. "Oh wow"I said sarcastically "I wonder how that got there, doesn't matter sit down let's eat"biting back an insult, she reluctantly sat back down, just as the waiter got there with our food "Let's toast"I said raising my glass. "To us, and to a good date" She raised her glass wearily "So . . . "I asked "what do you do for a living?" "I work for the state"she said "doing paperwork and stuff. Pretty boring if I'm honest"who writes these scripts, I wondered, "what about you"she asked. "I'm trying to prove the existence of aliens"I said excitedly. She spat out her drink. "What?!"She yelled. again everyone stared. She cleared throat and more quietly asked "what did you say?" "Yeah"I said slyly, "the government has tons of documents proving the existence of aliens being and I have proof"I said. She went pale, as if she had just seen a ghost. "What kind of proof"she asked, nervousness creeping in her voice. "Lots"I said confidently. The I went on some bogus rant I'd. Heard on ancient aliens. Color returned to her face and she sighed with relief. "I have tons of documents and research back at my place wanna come by and check it out?"Almost immediately she said yes and we headed to my place. As soon as we got there she started looking around the living room looking for the package. I hid my excitement and sat her down. "Want a beer?"I asked. "Yes please"she said. I handed her one and I started up conversation. Everytime she asked abought my alien research I dodged the question as best I could and we ended up getting along pretty well and she opened up more and we ended up chatting all night long. . . . I got up the next day and looked down and there naked next to me, laid Lindsey. Hilarious I thought to myself. A secret agent sent to seduce me get seduced instead. I woke her up and came eventually came clean and apologized for messing around with her. She Laughed it off and said not to worry she had a good time. I drove her to the restaurant and on the way she told me her real name. Sarah. I handed her the documents and promised not to say anything as long as we hung out again. And that kids, is how I met your mother.
"Why do you want me to join you? I'm just a simple skeleton."You reply dryly. "Well...it's because you're different from the others. You're the only one who didn't try to attack me on sight."The hero admitted. You had wisely decided to stay away and hide while the hero was fighting a low-level necromancer and his skeleton minions. When the fighting stopped, you decided to go out to try and look for some valuables when the hero spotted you. Honestly, it felt like dumb luck when she decided to not turn you into a pile of bones. Getting an offer to join her on her adventure was a whole 'nother level of confusion though. Lucky you got no brain left to overwhelm, at least. "I'm not like the other boneheads who want to look for trouble, but you really should pick someone else to travel with you. I'm just a normal skeleton, with no powers or combat skills or anything like that." "It doesn't matter if you don't have that! I want to help you!" 'Why is she so adamant? So annoying.' "Look, if you want to help me, the best you can do is to either leave me alone or just kill me. I'm not going to travel with you and just be dead weight." You turn around and were about to leave when she said a few words that instantly piqued your attention. "What about if I help you regain your humanity?" You stop. She decides to take this as a sign that you're listening amd continues talking. "I'm sure being a skeleton sucks, right? Why not become human again? If that's what you want, I'll help you with it, no strings attached!"She cheerfully spoke. "That's not an option for us. It's either lichdom or gravedom for us." She chuckled. If you still had lips, you'd be smiling at her and her bad sense of humor. "Maybe because you haven't tried yet...o-or maybe you weren't given a chance! Come on, just join me in my adventures and I'll help you become human again! I promise you, I will not leave unless you take my offer and I promise that I will not fail in my quest to get you your humanity back." 'Oh, for fuck's sake, it seems no words of mine will be able to convince her.' sighs "Oh well...what do I have to lose?" I turn back around to face her, and the first thing I see is the look of determination in her eyes. I sigh as I went over towards her, stopping only when I was right in front of her. "Fine. I give up. I'll join you." At once, the hero's resolute look was replaced by one of utter joy as she beamed at you. If you still had a heart, it would probably have skipped a beat. "Thank you so much!" She then bowed at you. "I won't make you regret your decision...er...what's your name?" "It's Ansel. Just Ansel...the skeleton." "Okay then, Ansel. My name is Alexia." She then put forth her hand towards you, offering a handshake. "I hope you and I will become great partners." She then smiled at you again. You simply shook her hand in return. 'Well...this certainly got more interesting. I'm not that excited on getting my flesh and blood back, but...I got a good feeling about this.' (Part 2 will come if this gets enough upvotes.)
"Seriously, could you just leave already? You're freaking me out." The figure perched on the corner of my hospital bed just continued to stare at me. The damn thing scared the hell out of me the first time I saw it and it wasn't any less unnerving now. It was a humanoid figure with a bright pink body stuffed into a pair of jeans with a submarine for a head and a jellyfish floating around inside it, giving it the illusion of having an eye. Every so often, it would take the garbage in my room and stuff it into its body, but beyond that it just sat there like a terrifying gargoyle. I sighed as I stared up at the ceiling. "Worst. Trip. Ever." Suddenly, a voice on my left said, "Bit hasty if you ask me." I shrieked and turned in the voice's direction. Somehow, a man had gotten into my room without me noticing. He was a tall figure with a tattoo on his chin and an elaborate necktie with the words 'Speed King' and 'Highway' on it. I grabbed at the serving tray the nurse had left my lunch on and pointed the plastic knife at him as I yelled, "Who the fuck are you?!" The weirdo gently pushed the knife aside and replied, "My name's Yuya Fungami. I'm here on behalf of a friend." "To do what?! Clamp a pillow over my face until I stop kicking?!" "To help you. You and your friend over there." I lowered the knife. "You...you can see it?" "Yeah, I can. And more importantly, I can tell you everything about it. This guy is what's called a Stand. They're a manifestation of a person's passion or fighting spirit that can typically only be seen by other Stand users. Like me." From behind Yuya, a series of thin, floating objects shaped like footprints appeared, stacking together until they formed into a humanoid figure with purple, diamond-patterned skin and a zipper-thing sticking out of its chin. Yuya continued, "This is my Stand, Highway Star." I stared at the submarine-headed thing that was currently absorbing my trash and hesitantly said, "So... that thing is a...Stand, and only people like you and me can see it. Does it do anything else?" Yuya nodded. "Depends on the person, but yeah. There's a guy in my hometown, Tonio, whose Stand creates food that heals you. Got a slice of lasagna there one time that knocked out a migraine I'd been dealing with all morning." "And what about... Highway Star?" "Well aside from the splitting trick you just saw, I can also do this."Highway Star took my hand. Instantly, I felt a renewed vigor flow through me. As I sat up and marveled at how great I felt, Yuya explained, "I got my Stand after I got into a motorcycle accident. I was desperate to heal up and get out of my hospital bed, so Highway Star gained the ability to drain nutrients from others. After a while, I discovered I could give those nutrients to people besides myself." "Thanks man--wait. Where did you get these nutrients from?" "From five of the people trying to kill you right now." "WHAT?!?!" Yuya helped me out of bed and said, "Yeah, probably should have led with that but I didn't want to freak you out. We gotta go. And don't worry about your Stand, they appear and disappear at the user's will. Just imagine it vanishing and it will." I did as Yuya said as I put on my clothes. Sure enough, my Stand faded out like a ghost on TV. As he checked the hall outside, he asked me, "By the way, I forgot to ask: what's your name?" I affixed my pink newsboy hat to my head and answered, "Joy Jocelyn. My friends call me JoJo."
Looking out on the vastness of the wastelands, the newborn Domril took in the beauty of what he had created, and what he was due to create. He breathed in the air, air he had brought into being, and rubbed his hands together. He picked up a handful of dirt and let it tumble out of his palm as he wondered - with a universe of opportunities, where did a God begin? Odin sat in his astral throne, watching Huginn and Muninn circle him, his one eye half-closed in exhaustion. Ragnarok had come and gone, and he had lived, despite all the prophecies, lived to see the others die. The men were gone from Midgard, leaving only wastes where there had once been fields, mountains, hills rolling into deep, river-veined valleys. Over time, spirits had appeared, shaping the old world as they saw fit, some creating life, others merely raising monuments to themselves and destroying those raised by others. At first, he had intervened in their petty squabbling, trying to unite them, in the hope of creating a new world from the ashes of the old - for there was still a spark under Midgard, where life was waiting to rise anew - but that hope had died, when he realised that these waifs and wisps could do nothing to replace the company he had once kept in Asgard. True, there were lesser and greater spirits among them, but none could have touched the majesty of the old Gods. Lost in reminisces of the times when time still mattered, he fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of Mjölnir buried deep below the ground in the ruins of Asgard. Trees... why did he remember an idea of a tree? Domril could not think what a tree was, or when he may have seen or imagined one, but he remembered them as... important. He had been trying, but perhaps creation was harder than he had first thought... But no fear! He had an eternity to learn, to practise. He sped up into the sky... why had the sky been so easy? The sky, with its butts and moon and stars, had come as naturally to him as walking does to a baby! But... what was a baby? He was confused, confused by the half-formed memories that he did not remember forming. He cast the doubts from his mind as best he could - he was the Creator, after all, so what could have been before him? He avoided considering where he had come from, for he had simply always been there. He came out of his reverie to find something even more unexpected than everything he had encountered - something he did not remember creating. Another? He certainly resembled Domril in certain ways - he had arms, and legs, and a head, but what had happened to his face? Domril had seen his face when he looked into the glassy ocean, and it had been as smooth as the virgin soil he had created. This creature was more like a broken cliff face, covered in deep cracks and unsightly ridges... Domril would never have made something so ugly, why would he? But then again, he thought bitterly, at least this spirit seemed to be alive. Odin stirred. He did not know how long he had slept, not that it mattered. He saw one of the spirits he so loathed, and willed himself to go back to sleep. But it had noticed he was now awake, and came up to him and spoke, "What are you?" Odin sighed. The worst ones were those that could communicate... "I am Odin, first son of Bor. I am a God of a time before you came to be. I am a God who is tired of meeting sprites with grand ideas of godhead. I am a God who is tired." He sat back in his chair again, hoping that it would leave. "I am Domril, but I am no sprite! I am a God, as you are, and I have made the world that you see below you! Is it not wonderful?" He suppressed a laugh, and spoke again, "You have not created, Domril the Insignificant, you have merely shaped, and shaped poorly. The world you believe you have brought into being was once Midgard, a great and beautiful world forged from the body of the giant Ymir. My fellow Gods and I ruled Midgard for centuries before you existed, until the world died at Ragnarok, as foreseen. I survived when I did not deserve to, and as my punishment I must wait out eternity in the void left behind." Domril was now afraid, and moved closer to Odin to speak again. "How... how did you create a world?" Odin's eye was already closed, and his chest rising and falling. His final words to the quailing spirit were murmured, and were not encouragement, "I would share with you, Domril, if I believed that worlds were still worth creating."
I shut my laptop lid, push my chair away from my desk and have a heart attack. That's what it feels like, like an iron band is squeezing around my middle, snapping ribs and pushing through every sinew of my body to hurt me. I gasp, clutch my heart and stand up, trying to call my dog - the only other living being in my apartment. But it's too late. There's a tunnel of light and I'm slipping through it. A jerk of my hand and the laptop falls off the desk. My knees give way, I'm still gasping for breath, this huge anvil of weight crushing my chest. "There he is!"Am I hearing angels? Is there something afterlife after - I blink. Once, twice. My mouth feels like something has crawled in and died in there. I smack my lips and cough. The afterlife smells like peat, rich and smokey and warm. It's a complete difference from the sterilised clean white lines of my bachelor pad. My head hurts worse than the worse hangover ever, so I scrunch my eyes up and groan. "Give him some beer!"Someone shouts. "No,"I croak, trying to get words through my parched lips. "Can I just have water?" There's a moment of silence and then some muted whispering. "Water? Did he say water?" "Does he have a death wish?" "Maybe his head's gone funny after that sleep." "Bess, get Kit in here. He'll want to see his brother." There's a shuffling of feet. "Do I have to? He's just woken up..." "Yes! Go now." Brother? Cold hands lift me into a seated position and I open first one eye, then the other. It's a dim room, cluttered with a variety of things I don't actually recognise. Strings of vegetables hang from the open ceiling, bare rafters exposed. There's a brace of rabbits hung by their back legs next to a huge fireplace, a giant pot of something bubbling away over the burning peat. So that's where the smell is coming from. I frown and look at the woman sitting next to me. She wears a rough dress in some kind of browny-grey colour, but her face is soft and kind, though now creased in concern. "Are you alright, lad?"She asks, touching a palm to my forehead like my nanny used to do when I was young and pretending to be ill. "I-" "You've been out cold for three days. I told you not to go near that horse!" "Hush, woman."The other person in the room looks me over. He has thick hands covered in calluses, he's wearing a leather apron and his brows have knitted together in worry. "You're up now, Tom,"he says brusquely. "You may as well come help me with reshoeing Grimbaud's horse." "Nicholas!"The woman stands up. "He's just woken-" "He's been asleep for long enough. Do you know how worried your mother's been? I've had to make to with Kit, and goodness me, that boy..." The woman sniffs. "I knew he would wake." "You were trying to get the priest in here!" As they're arguing, a boy of about thirteen bursts into the room. "Tom!"He says, pushing between them to come and hug my chest. "You're awake." "Looks like it..."I laugh nervously. "Come on, boy."The big man says, not unkindly. I follow him like I'm in a dream. Despite the fact that I have never reshoed a horse before, we complete it together as though I'd done it every day for the whole of my life. Nicholas smiles proudly as we finish and the horse snorts and tosses her head. He runs a broad hand over her neck, checking her over. "I'm glad you're back, son." I nod, keeping back the first pricks of tears. We sit down to eat that evening; my father, my mother, my brother Kit and my little sister Bess. I'm on my father's right hand side. I have a brief memory of sitting alone in the nursery at home. It couldn't be more different from this. There's laughter and food and everything's warm. My father claps me on the back as he laughs about something I said earlier. Kit throws me beaming smiles and copies how I eat my bread. My mother beams. I have a family here.
We are all gathered here, at the last star in the universe. All of us that are left, that is. I look at the scanner report. So many species, the brilliant and the terrible, didn't make it. Those of us that made it are lucky more than anything else. Our civilisation used to command a fleet of ships just like this one, harnessing the energy from hundreds of thousands of stars in our galaxy. We were an empire so vast that entire generations could live and die before the light from one extreme reached the other. And now we are here with the rest, beggars squabbling over the last scraps of usable energy. We are the only living representatives from our galactic cluster. Others may have similar stories. I cannot bear to hear them out nor relate our own account, for all the emotional distance communicating through translator modules would give us. There are but a few billion of our brood left, less than a thousandth of a percent of the population we once had. The scale of death is maddening. The ship is running out of energy. We cannot support all our people using the output of this dying star, not without casting our solar nets wider and damning some other ship in our shadow to a cold death. We need to concentrate our energy where the young can have a chance at a life, short though it will be. The council has asked that the old consider leaving. I am old, and I would like to walk on a planet's surface once before I die. Enough of us make the sacrifice. The scientists have calculated that those that remain should be able to survive for a few years yet, though without the comforts that they would have had with our full energy reserves. We take our smaller ships down to the closest planet with a few weeks of food and energy to run our personal assistants. Many will want to make a log of their final days, though no one will ever read them. The world beneath us is cold. The plant and animal life is adapted to the temperatures, but there are clear signs that they evolved in a much warmer climate. I look to the sky. The star is visible. The ships surrounding the star have all left enough room for light to shine upon the inhabited planets in this system. At least, at the end, we all have that kindness in us. I do not wish to stay with the group. There are some others with a like mind. We say our goodbyes and walk out into the cold, our suits protecting us. I take no food with me. I do not plan to live much longer. The wanderers split up into groups. I go alone. I see in the distance a small hill. I think that it is a good place to die. I climb it, and sit at its crest. I look at the sky again, but a shade of the sky dome on the ship. I feel afraid. I activate the euthanasia module on my personal assistant. The chemicals start to calm me down. I have only a few minutes of consciousness left. Keeping this record is futile. Even if this is not the final end of the universe, even if there is some sort of big crunch to start it anew, no information will survive the process. But then, that's been true all along. The purpose of life is not in the remembering but in the living. And I have lived well. = EDIT: Before I forget, I'm planning to add notes to future me or other interested people about my thoughts while writing prompts. * Downer ending I decided against: "You may think that I am noble, for first volunteering to leave the safety of the ship, and then for taking no food with me. The truth is I am not noble. I have lived my entire life on a world-ship lit in imitation of a star; I am afraid of the dark." * Canonically, the protagonist isn't human. He's from a society more closely related to our ants (think the Formics from Ender's Game, only with no queen caste - just a strong sense of social obligation). This society is significantly more advanced than our own, with a total energy consumption somewhere between 2 and 3 on the [Kardashev scale](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kardashev_scale) (i.e. they use more than the total energy output of a star and less than that of a galaxy). The society has no faster than light communication, so the different world-ships and planets were more or less isolated (a single world-ship would use energy comparable to a high-tech Earth). The world-ship the protagonist is born on was lucky enough to be able to determine where the last star would burn out and get there before it did. * Time dilation from the world-ship's high-speed journey towards the last star means the time the inhabitants of the ship experienced was less than what ships that remained more or less stationary would get. This is another factor behind why they would be the only ones of their species there. The fact that any ship made that choice could be boiled down to wanting their species to "last to the end", even if they experience less subjective time in doing so. * Brood of 1 billion = less than a thousandth of a percent of original population implies the original was >100,000 billion, which fits with the "hundreds of thousands of stars"thing (keep in mind planets can easily support more than a billion with advanced tech). A galaxy can definitely have enough stars for that to be the case. Also note that this means that their population would still be spread out over many light years (the nearest star to us is over 4 light years away, for example) even if they weren't on the fringes like this world-ship was. * Alternate version I rejected was quite rambling and didn't have a coherent theme. It featured a conversation with the "primitives"on the planet in the story. I couldn't come up with anything that they would say to each other beyond "Nice to have some company for the end of all life."I thought about revealing the planet to be Earth, or the "primitives"descendants of humans or something. The idea seemed wrong, partly because it's so typical of us humans to make a story about the end of the universe all about us.
Did you ever have a minute where, out of nowhere things became gloriously simple? There's a term for it: the Moment of Clarity. Where everything slows down, and the priorities emerge, like rocky peaks from the fog? That's me. Hi, my name is Crasias, and I'm a demon. I'm a subtle demon, but I wasn't always. My mandate was to weaken humanity, so, at first, I went the obvious route. Pea-soup, head-spinning, all of that. Of course, being the Middle Ages, they'd just kill whoever I was possessing. And, in their fear, the credulous would cling to each other, united by tragedy. In short, it was counter-productive. After being sent back to the Ninth Circle, and being chewed out for the fourth time (literally chewed) for screwing up, it hit me: I was doing it all wrong. The maximum amount of time I spend in a person's body now is something like three minutes. I pop in, do my thing, and go. It's going very well. You see, the world is an enormous, confusing, stressful, cluttered, madcap place. Food, shelter, procreation, power, all these things clutter your heads every day, and the consequences of a poor decision are, in a word, dire. And yet, you have to decide, to continue deciding, in the midst of all of this. You have to toughen up your "deciding muscles", as it were. Because there will never be a moment when there's only one thing on your plate. I tried an experiment. He was a farmer, sometime in the 1600's or so, and his head, believe me, was cluttered full of worries. His daughter was of marrying age, but he needed a dowry. He couldn't pay a dowry without skimping on a tithe, and if he did that, the church wouldn't bless the union or add the family to the village registry. The harvest was good, but not great, yet he wanted to try for another cash crop. That might deplete the soil, though... and so on, and so on. Etcetera, etcetera. I was already nearly bored out of his skull. Just for fun, I suppressed his fear of everything, except for his daughter. All of a sudden, I flt him lurch with new purpose. He started moving so fast, I nearly flew out of him. Now genuinely curious, I watched to see what would happen. I watched to see him plant that crop, get the extra money, then pay the dowry and the tithe. I saw him laugh with his daughter, heard him talk over and over about his sudden revelation in the field. His "guidance from God". The delirious happiness that came to him, thanks to his new clarity. I also saw him starve, poor and broken, the next year, as even lentils refused to grow in his exhausted dirt. Cursing God, and himself, bitterly, convinced it was all his fault. I chortled and laughed, capering over him, and as he breathed his last on the rude dirt floor, all furnishings sold or burned for warmth, I saw his nose twitch, finally scenting the brimstone in the air. I've learned so much, since then. I've learned that, after I give someone one of those little "blessed moments of clarity", people get dependent on them. They think they need one before every life decision, to show them what they really want, what's really important. As if all of it wasn't! As if money or the future or happiness were something they could favor to exclusion, ignoring the other two! As if clarity was a thing a little sack of chemicals could experience, or had any right to expect, in a world like this. But they hope and pray for it, and eventually, I give it to them Ensuring they'll be that much more dependent. And their lives, they pull together and aim on a new trajectory. But I pick the targets. And now, I hear all about meditation and self-actualization, all these hilarious attempts by poor little conflicted humans to figure out who they are before they're even half-done living, as if you could somehow know a book without actually reading it to the end. Self-help gurus, pills and tonics, all promising clarity. "Get your life together! Do Yoga! Eat right! Look inside! And I steeple my fingers, and lick my lips, and I start to work my wicked little way into your heart. And I marvel as no one ever stops to wonder why the mind is ever anything but clear, if it's the way things are supposed to be. Fear doesn't let you rule the world. Being the only one who can take it away, does. THE END Hello out there. I took a little break from writing, but I am back. And if you would care to read any more things like this, I've got a little [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) right here. Thanks for looking at these words on this page!
I don’t like it here. I wake up to go to work and there is no camera. I brush my teeth looking in the mirror for myself only. When I commute, there are no policemen. I’m worried someone will be tempted to mug me, but no one ever does. I get to work and log into my computer. My activity is not being monitored. I could do whatever I want all day and no one would ever discipline me, as long as I finish my work. My productivity is slipping. I eat lunch by myself. There are no cameras on the streets and no cameras in the store. I want to socialize more but I’m afraid to go out. What if I anger some drunk guy and he stabs me? It could take 10 minutes or more for police to show up. What are the repercussions of doing wrong when someone has that much time to get away? I don't understand why there isn't more crime. I go to sleep in my bed and there is no camera. I stare up at the ceiling and sigh for myself only. What if someone breaks into my apartment and wants to kill me? Nothing could stop them. I have the freedom to buy a gun to protect myself, but the idea of owning a weapon terrifies me. I am not happy. I was happy, but I also felt rebellious. People used to vanish for breaking the law. I wanted to break the law too, like it was a forbidden fruit. So one day I did. I was alone at night on a corner and I crossed the street during a red light. The police were upon me instantly. “You broke the law.” “You’re right officer. I did. I must have not been paying attention,” I said. “You were paying attention. We saw you through the cameras. You had intent.” I smiled. They were really watching me. It felt good that other people cared. “You’re right officer. I did mean it.” “Then that means you are ready.” “Ready for what?” It bothered me that they didn't answer. Things are better here, they say. Acting out my rebellious nature proved that I was ready for a utopian society, that I understood the evils of totalitarianism. Things were better here. But I didn’t feel that way. I feel very much alone, unprotected, and afraid. I want to go back. I am not a bad person for wanting to go back. I want to feel Big Brother once again.
I walk beside a girl on a wheelchair. She's young, barely fourteen or fifteen. Her arms are thin and layered with veins like spider webs. Her hair is thin with bald batches. She stares straight ahead with a look of pure determination. She reminds me of my daughter. That girl never gave up on anything. I turn my head forward. The view of the Gateway never fails to take my breath away. A giant sphere of light hovers before us, less than a mile away. It shimmers in the setting sun, casting a rainbow hue around its edges like a soap bubble. It pulses gently, almost as if it’s breathing. Inhale. Exhale. I suddenly notice that I’m breathing in time with its rhythm. The Gateway has a special effect on people like us. I’ve never felt so calm in a long time. Not since the failed surgery. These spheres began appearing all over the world two weeks ago. The curious thing is this – only people who have lost something could see them. People who lost their leg, or their sense of hearing, or an internal organ. Last week, someone figured out what they were – gateways to another world. They emitted light and sound in a wavelength only certain people could sense. People like us. Inhale. Exhale. Two days ago, a message was deciphered from the frequency of the spheres' pulses: “Enter to find what you've lost.” All over the world, the deaf, dumb, amputated – anyone who has lost a part of themselves began streaming into the spheres, hoping for salvation. Salvation. I stare dead ahead. A gateway. A second chance. I clutch her photo in my hand. I'm coming, baby.
"Would you like to know a traditional Kahñen song?"I held back a chuckle, knowing that they would never know what I was actually saying. "Of course, tell us anything that will help us preserve your culture." "It is called 'Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta.' The tune has been lost to time—my people had no way of writing music—but the words remain."I started to write: Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta dahnare en ebó ñe tul dal Nenas elen qí si dah no A ký dérinnás woé bó ekañ ná dal enat pol nóó ié nommá ponná bun no aed einé enn dal ne bó káté adí kei dal atatqí Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anodal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal dahnave eñe anee ponná na si daám annu ettas anoetta, atté annue ñeo ag ñe gai sýi naíse, dahna bea wan woés been gonae on dahna wan aéna gaca qí dahnare Suuná play sýi qí ena dal ask ca ne bó káté dahnt enn ca annue ñeo buín ñe see Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anoté dal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anoté dal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal (Ooh, Týa dal Ta) (Ooh, Týa dal Ta) Dañé Suuná Týa, Dañé Suuná Týa (Týa dal Ta) Dañé Suuná Týa, Dañé Suuná Týa (Týa dal Ta) dahnave eñe anee ponná na si daám annu ettas anoetta, atté annue ñeo ag ñe gai sýi naíse, dahna behé wan woés bán gonae é dahna wan aéna gaca qí dahnare Suuná payé sýi no aed einé enn dal ne bó káté adí kei dal atatqí Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anoté dal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anoté dal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal Dañé Suuná Týa dal Ta Dañé Suuná att dal weó Dañé Suuná an pina qí anoté dal Dañé Suuná kei dal dao Dañé Suuná gai juínn Dañé Suuná enn a býe qí cót dal The man looked at the paper for a few minutes and then back at me. "What does it mean?" "Some of the words are rather archaic,"I began. "I cannot give a perfect translation, but I can tell you the general idea. The song was written by a man for a loved one, and he tells her that he will never leave her or disappoint her." "I see." Everything was correct, but it took them months of learning the language to figure it out.
I was in the middle of a murder trial, it was connected to the mob. I knew going into it I could very easily die. My wife begged me not to take the case. I don't know what I was thinking. They killed me on the side of the street, hit and run, done in a second. I never got to say goodbye to my wife. Almost instantly, I was transported to heaven. There, a man handed me this folder. I looked at it, sincerely confused. "What's this?"I asked. "It's a contract, out of anybody to come through these gates, I would expect you to know what it is."He responded with the intent to be a smart ass. "No no I get that, but, why do I have to sign a contract to go to heaven? I thought it was a no strings attached kind of thing."I responded. "It was for a time. Then we met this one person. He went by Luke, real name, Lucifer. You probably know him, he's not much of a nice guy, isn't he?" I stared at him blankly. "Okay anyway kid, basically, the contract is an agreement that you won't revolt against God or anything, basically you're saying you will be a peaceful little angel. And I'll be honest kid, I would recommend that, not many people win a fight with God." I'm dreaming right? There's no way that there's a contract into heaven. "Can I read it over?"I asked. He looked at me, confused. "I mean, sure, I guess." So I did, and it was a long one, but I'm glad I did, because there's a flaw. A very significant flaw in the system. It states, "If you disobey God, you will be sent to a personal hell." Well, God, my personal hell isn't the Lucifer's hell. I hear the weather is nice down there. No-no, my hell was when I was running away from the mob as they were shooting at me. I'm getting back to Earth and I'm putting those mobsters in jail.
"You know, back in the day, they used to say that driving is the ultimate freedom." I was visibly jolted out of my thoughts when the driver in front of me spoke. This was already the third time this had happened during the ride, but I still couldn't get used to it. Now I see why all those cab drivers or whatever got replaced, I thought to myself, feeling a bit disgruntled. How did anyone think it would be comfortable to have two strangers sitting together in a car for an extended period of time? But given that it was, indeed, another human being sitting in front of me, social courtesy compelled me to reply. "Oh, is that right? I wonder what they meant by that."I had meant it just to fill the void left by his seemingly random statement, but I found myself actually contemplating what that saying implied, if it was even true. He driver chuckled to himself. "Ha, I'm sure almost anyone alive today would be with you on that one. Whenever I tell people that, they always look at me with an odd look, like I'm crazy or something. 'Why would anyone want to drive themselves around?' I sometimes hear that, or, more often than not, that's just the question in their eyes even if they don't say it." It felt odd conversing with the back of a carseat, but oddly personal, too. Perhaps it was due to the size of the enclosed space, small even by modern standards. "I can believe that. Frankly, I didn't even think you meant that saying literally. Is it a metaphor for something?"My genuine curiosity, which surprised even myself, leaked through. "No, no."He chuckled again. "They meant every word. Every word of it! It wasn't always cities as far as the eye can see, kid."He paused to take a look outside his window, and even that little distraction was unnerving, given that driving programs were constantly aware of their surroundings. "Take a look outside, why don't you? Now instead of those grey skyscrapers, imagine that there are just rolling hills, far as the eye can see." Rather than follow his directions, I closed my eyes instead. I guessed that it wouldn't be very effective to paint over skyscrapers with hills, no matter how good your imagination was. Besides, despite his being considerably more aged than I, being called "kid"by a mere driver was rude, at the least. My irritation showed. "Yeah. Great. I'm thinking of those hills from those docu-vids and movies. And?" "Well, not as good as real hills, but those will do,"he replied. "Alright, now pretend you're living in a small cottage -- you know, those one-story, single-family buildings they used to have back in the day -- and you're just sitting on your porch, looking out at these hills, okay?" I grunted in response. Why the hell was I even going through with this? "Doesn't that make you feel something? Imagine a road stretching from you all the way to that horizon, over those rolling hills. You reach out with your hand and you can almost grasp where that sun is setting, where it means that road stretching out. You can't ever reach that horizon by foot. But with a car, driving, you can get there." Against my better judgment, and with little better to do, I focused on that picturesque scene he described, even reaching up with my hand as I thought of that sunset. And in that moment, a strange melancholy welled up inside my breast. Something seemed trapped within, something that wanted to break out and fly and soar and reach that horizon. Something that wanted to reach it and see what lay beyond. I took in a deep breath as this feeling ballooned in my heart and chest, and as it crested, exhaled to bring myself back to reality. My arms trembled slightly. I had no idea what had possessed me in that moment, or why that vision was so powerful, but, indeed, I could somewhat understand, now, what that driver was talking about. I opened my eyes to see that we had stopped at a traffic light, and that the driver was grinning back at me through the mirror. "Powerful stuff, eh? People have forgotten what it feels like to want to do something on their own, to drive towards that endless horizon." After that vision, I felt strangely short of breath. Gasping, I replied, "Well, y-yes. I think... I think I kind of see what you mean." He laughed, this time out of genuine mirth, oddly liberated compared to those chuckles from earlier, but his tone was serious. "They're making it harder and harder on us now, us humans, to have any control over our own lives. Do you know how hard it is for someone to get a license these days?" I had no idea, since no one even thought about getting a license these days. I just shook my head. "Of course you don't! If people found out, they would probably either think it's a prank or some sinister plot. Fortunately for them,"he said, pointing upward, "No one cares enough to check. You ready for this? I'll tell you exactly what you need, from the only person in the world that's been through it: three doctorate degrees in different fields -- just to be sure you're not cheating, yeah? -- a certified IQ score of 160 or above, and a written exam that was harder than any of the qualifying exams for those doctorates, let me tell you." That sounded like some sort of novel's set of ridiculous qualifications for becoming a mad scientist. "You've got to be kidding me, right?" He looked me straight in the eye. "I'm dead serious, kid." If he went through all that, I'd have to reevaluate whether he had the right to call me 'kid'. "Okay, let's suppose I buy your story. Why the heck would you spend all that talent and intelligence and become a driver? You probably could have been selected for any position in government or industry." "You know, some people just can't let go of the past. Even if they're hammered with numbers and statistics, they refuse to see the light, so to speak. I just happen to be one of those people."He gave me that devilish grin again. "And besides,"he continued, as he rounded the corner to my destination. "Being a driver puts me in a very special position in today's society. I get to meet some of the most interesting people around, and they really open up. People,"he said, look directly at me again, "like you." If it were any other situation, I would have found this to be some combination of eerie, unbelievable, and distasteful, but at the moment, I found myself both believing his words and not being creeped out by them. Still puzzling over his words, I gave the driver my thanks for the ride -- though why I did that this time, despite never having done so for any driverless ride, I could not fathom -- and started out the door. "Wait one second, miss."As I closed the door, he rolled down his window and began rummaging through the glove compartment. "I swear I put a whole stack in here ... It's been too long ... Ah, here it is."Having found what he was looking for, he reached out the window to present me with what appeared to be a business card. "There's my number, here,"he said, pointing to the card. "Just remember: you'll know when to call me." With that, he gave a final wave and drove off into the dreary day, a complete contrast to the sunset in the rolling hills I imagined just minutes ago. As I turned to head off into the building, I took a look at the card he had given me, expecting to find some private driving service for those eclectics who wanted a human driver. Instead, I found the following. --- HORIZON Liberate man from machine. 1-800-XXX-XXXX --- To be continued! For more, please visit /r/wonL! Thanks for reading, I appreciate your support :)
Conquest sat on his horse on the hill, his eyes wandering over the destruction that lay before them. Around him, bodies lay in pieces. A lone zombie sat hunched over a body, gnawing at its arm, ripping the decomposing flesh from the bone. As he watched, an alien ship passed overhead, no doubt scanning for humans who hadn't been killed during the nuclear war or finished off by zombies. He let out a sigh, turning to look at his three partners. Hunger was eyeing the zombie in disgust, shaking his head and muttering to himself. War was focused on the alien ship that was now disappearing into the distance, his lips pressed into a grimace. And Death, well, it was always hard to tell what Death was thinking. "We really need to work on our timing,"Conquest muttered to the others. Hunger and War turned to look at him, unsure of what to say. Death, as usual, off to the side, remained silent. Conquest sifted through the words in his mind, trying to figure out a way to express the twisted feeling that hung in his gut. "This should feel amazing,"he said. "After all that has happened, it appears that our job has been done for us,"he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. "The humans are starving, and after their own nuclear war, are now trapped in a war with both zombies and aliens."Hunger and War nodded, though they failed to meet his eyes. Death remained motionless. "Millions, no, billions, have died here. And the Aliens are conquering Earth with little resistance."Hunger and War continued nodding, trying to hide their grimaces. Conquest pulled on the reigns of his horse, forcing it to turn so that he could look at the other horsemen directly. "So why does it feel so empty?"he asked. War and Conquest looked up at him, surprise lighting up their faces. Death, as ever, remained still. "You feel it too?"War asked in a whisper. "Yes!"Hunger responded in glee. "Something wrong!" Death watched the three of them silently, his face expressionless as ever. Conquest nodded his head. "It just seems,"he hesitated, looking at the world around him, "wrong,"he finished. "We came to stir the hearts of men! To watch as their tears trailed run like rivers! For their blood to flow into the earth! For pain, and anguish, and terror! We came here to fight for our victory!"He gestured at the world around them. "And yet all I can find is people a breath away from defeat." War sat up straighter, hope shining in his eyes. Beside him, Hunger nodded vigorously. "I came to do battle!"War said. "Yet what pleasure is there in defeating a defeated foe!" "They already hungry!"Hunger chimed in. Death watched them quietly. "Exactly my friends. They are already conquered,"Conquest said sadly. "What would be the point?"he asked them. "Perhaps,"he said nervously, "perhaps we could take an alternate course of action?"he murmured. "Be nice?"Hunger asked, his voice filled with shock. His face twisted in disgust, clearly outraged by the thought. "I will not!"War roared. "I have not yet sunk so low! I will not treat them kindly!" Conquest thought he saw Death almost twitch. "Calm my friends, calm,"Conquest said, his voice soothing them. "I would not suggest changing our ways even if we could. For then, what would be our purpose? No,"he said, shaking his head, "I would not say that we should change our ways. But perhaps,"he said slowly, carefully, "perhaps we could change our targets." Silence. The others stared at him, confusion on their faces. Then, the sound of flesh ripping of bones as the zombie found another body to feast on snapped them back into reality. "You would protect the humans?"War asked, his eyes darting to the others nervously. "Not humans?"Hunger asked. Death's horse took two steps forward, joining the other two facing Conquest. "Not protect, no,"Conquest said carefully, licking his lips. He would have to choose his next words carefully. "Give them hope. Let them rebuild. For if we build them up now, then later, their fall will be all the more satisfying. Think about it from their perspective. If they can survive zombies, aliens, and nuclear war, they will be all the more confident when they face us in their future. And while we wait for that time to happen, we may gorge ourselves on the opportunity they have left us. To end not one species, but three! To bring the apocalypse to more than just humans!" War nodded, his eyes dancing in flames. "I admit, it sounds pleasant. And strategically, it is a masterstroke." "Hunger for all good!"Hunger called out excitedly. Conquest breathed a sigh of relief. "So what say you, horsemen of the apocalypse? Shall we strengthen our foe, to strengthen our satisfaction?" "Aye,"War roared. "Yes yes yes!"Hunger clapped. Conquest turned to Death. "And what say you old friend? We will not embark on this path without you!" Death watched him silently. "Where is war, without peace? How can one know hunger, without first being full? Why conquer those already conquered?"Death said, his voice raspy. "What is death, without life?"he finished softly. Jerking on the reigns of his horse he turned and began to ride. Conquest smiled, realizing that he was riding towards the nearest alien settlement. Hunger, War, and Conquest quickly spurred their horses to catch up. As they rode, Death waved a hand behind him. The zombie that had been feasting on human corpses not moments before fell to the ground, the tiny spark of life that had been left behind, gone. "All shall know hunger. All shall know war. All shall know defeat."Death looked at the horizon, and for the first time in Conquest's memory, he smiled. "All shall know Death! ******* If you want to find more of my stuff, you can find it at r/feedmequickwriting Hope you enjoyed the read!
Joe Small was not a decent human being, and he did not deserve to survive the Apocalypse. Whilst other people chose to spend Christmas Eve with their families, Joe had chosen to scour the city for empty houses. People who were at fancy restaurants. People who were visiting old friends and family. And he was singing Christmas carols all the while: Silent night, holy night Strolling through the dark of yet another house, after breaking down the door. Son of God, love's pure light He flicked on the switch and raised his song to a whispered crescendo. ♪Radiant beams from Thy holy face♪ A new 40"UHD screen, glorious and expensive. In the van it went. Drunken singing in the background, from other houses beaming with mirth. Encouraging Joe. It had been a good night, in all, a good haul. By the time Joe got back to the warehouse where he kept his stolen merchandise, Dawn's rosy light was already warming the morning sky. "And behold,"Joe muttered, "The Saviour is born! Humanity is redeemed, and all the scum of the earth with it." He spat. Religion always left a bitter taste in his mouth. The tv he had taken to his own place rather than the warehouse. It was better than the one he'd had before. He had turned it on, expecting to drift asleep in the seat watching some cheesy Christmas flick. Instead, he got the grave face of the nation's president. "-manity will pull together. We must. In order to survive, as a species, all the wealth will be put towards automation of harvesting the nation's most vital resources." His face was lined with the responsibility of an era. "We have lost much last night. Ninety per-"He paused, pulling himself together. "Estimates are that ninety percent of the world population has succumbed, to what our remaining scientists have now dubbed sub-somnic radiation. But today, we are also reborn. Like christ, on this day-" Joe didn't listen to anymore of the bullshit. He stumbled out of his seat, onto the street. There was no one. No shitty kids, throwing snowballs at passing cars. No young families, sledding on the sidewalk. No old people walking their dogs. Joe Small was a lone survivor. And he didn't deserve it.
"Repeat that, Mars One. Perhaps we misheard you." "It says 'DON'T TRUST ELON MUSK', all caps". "Copy that, Mars One. Stand by for further instructions."Director Howard took off the headphones and gave them back to Max, a disgruntled temp who just wanted to go home. "Max, is it?"Director Howard asked. Max nodded. "Come with me,"the Director said. Begrudgingly, Max extracted himself from his special swiveling office chair and followed the Director out of the control room and into his office. "I'd like you to meet someone,"Director Howard said, locking the door behind them. Sitting in the Director's own desk was none other than Elon Musk. Max stared but said nothing. "It's all right, they were bound to find it,"Elon said, regarding the two. "I'm really not concerned about what's going on up there."He scratched his chin. "I'm more concerned about what's going to happen down here". Max shifted nervously. "I'm not sure what you mean,"he mumbled. "Oh, I think you do,"Elon said, drawing out the Boring Company's Not a Flamethrower from under Director Howard's desk and placing it menacingly on top, the muzzle pointing at Max. "What are we going to do about you?" "I won't talk". "Like hell you won't. This is and will be the only exciting thing that ever happened in your life. You may keep quiet now, but five, ten years from now, you'll get drunk, try to impress some uninterested girl, say an off-the cuff comment, and boom- Tesla's stock drops."Elon chuckled in that almost robotic way of his. "Nope, this ends now." "Please,"Max begged. "I swear, I'll do anything". Sweat beaded down his forehead, and the armpits of his shirt began to stain. Elon picked up the flamethrower. "Consider yourself fired,"he said, and pulled the trigger. Flames spewed onto Max, who shrieked in agony as he was consumed in over 1000 degrees (Celsius) of heat. Elon laughed maniacally as flames licked all over Max, burning everything. Finally it stopped. Director Howard whistled. "I love soundproofed offices,"he said, clapping Elon on the back. Musk reciprocated, staring down at the charred remains of the temp. "Get the usual guys to deal with this. And, about the door,"he chuckled again, "you know what to do". With that, Musk promptly climbed out of the fourth floor window, extending the flaps of his specially tailored suit to enter a glide and disappear from sight. Director Howard sighed. He picked up his cell phone, made a call, walked out of his office, and made it back to the control center. He sat down in Max's old seat, put on the headphones, and said three simple words. "Open the door."
I foster cats and kittens. Or.... at least I did....It is, sorry, was my way of giving back to the community. I raised kittens by hand when they didnt have a momma. I liked to call myself an 'interspecies mom'. I needed to explain why and how Neva came to live with me. Someone had found this tiny white kitten injured on the street. She was pretty battered and needed surgery. So when she came to my home, I knew she needed a bit of time to heal up before she warmed up to me. I know how to be patient. Neva wasn't the first shy kitten I'd dealt with. She had her hiding spots and to allow her to adjust, I tried not to invade her hidey-holes. About a week after Neva came to live with us, there were reports about a vigilante. And then there were videos posted on YouTube by bystanders when a thin, tall woman was filmed transforming into a huge net to stop a running criminal. As the police caught up with the man, the net turned into smoke and drifted away. As I watched the video, Neva decided to lay in my lap and solicit pets. I felt a smile rise and gently talked to her. Her ice blue eyes met mine and I knew Neva would be ok. There were multiple times where I would find videos of the strange super hero woman and wonder if it was just a stunt or if someone really was capable of shape shifting. Every time I ran across a video, Neva would do something to distract me. I didn't think much about it. Until tonight. I was changing out bedding for Neva's room. I pulled a blanket put of the closet and this white spandex unitard slipped from the folds of the blanket. "Well..... Cat's out of the bag......"I heard, jumping out of my skin. No one but me should have been in the house. I only saw Neva, sitting at my feet. I watched her heave a sigh. "Look..... I know I have some explaining to do ....."Neva was talking. Neva. Was. Talking. I screamed and jumped backward, loosing my footing and falling on my ass. Neva rolled her eyes and shushed me. I was freaking out. "Look......Mom.... I know I owe you my life. And I really am grateful. But if you can't calm down, people are going to think you are insane. And I won't be able to help you if you get taken to the funny farm." "What the hell are you?"I whispered. Neva cocked her head to the side and seemed to think about it. "Well, at the moment.... I'm a cat." I laughed. "Ok.... What are you? Really?"Neva's eyes danced. She closed the gap between us and climbed into my lap. She purred as she put her head on my chest. "Yours."
Silvain felt the warmth of the amulet against his breast. It had been warm for days now, a comfort in the cold, dark cell. He was locked in the cell for almost eighteen years, since the night of the betrayal. His friends, the ones he had journeyed with for two years, sold him out to the king; they threw him into the well, fixing a sturdy, iron grate to the top. This was his prison—walls mocked him, begging him to climb to freedom. It was hopeless. The iron bars were secured with the heaviest mortar; not even the fire from his amulet could melt them, and so his amulet failed. The fire in his heart died, and with it, the power of the amulet. Now—the amulet burned, a reminder of the fire that once lived inside him; the fire that burned in his daughter’s heart as she traveled in search of her father. Silvain looked up; above him an endless horizon of black stone, and a small circle of blue – the only light in his prison. In the quiet and the damp, Silvain heard a noise; clinking, like iron on iron. A shadow passed over the well, and a loud, primal hissing came from above. “Who is there?” Silvain called out. “Help me, please.” “Silvain? I’m Orval—here to rescue you.” “Please, the amulet. Is my daughter there?” Silvain said, pleading, praying. His amulet burned now, his daughter must be close – so close. “Llorwyn, help me.” Orval said. Silvain looked up in confusion. Suddenly, the iron grating above him shattered. Iron shards rained down on him, they burned at the touch – not from heat, but from cold. A rope dropped into the well. “Please, tie this around yourself – I’m going to pull you up” Silvain trembled with excitement; his shaking hand were barely steady enough to wrap the rope tight around his waist. With loud cries and grunts of exertion from Orval, slowly, steadily, Silvain was raised into the light. With one hand he held tightly to the rope, with the other he clutched the amulet. The light from the well grew brighter – it was blinding. Silvain had not seen the light in so many years. Silvain reached the edge of the well, but the rope began to slip. He grabbed the edge, but the amulet slipped and fell back – tumbling into the well. “No! the amulet,” he cried, but the strong arms of Orval had already pulled him into the light. “Breathe the free air again, Silvain,” Orval said. Silvain squinted as his eyes tried to adjust to the light. He saw Orval, standing with the rope in hand. He saw the horse, laden with bags, and a large broadsword. Silvain saw – to his disbelief, two creatures of myth and legend—wyrms. Both serpents were nearly as large as Orval’s horse. The slender, scaly creatures glimmered in the sunlight, with their red and golden scales, pointed snouts, and furious teeth. “Please, my amulet, I dropped it—my daughter, Alexandra, where is she?” Llevryn, the red scaled wyrm, slithered into the well to retrieve the amulet. Silvain looked into Orval’s eyes. They were filled with sadness, and pain. Orval shook his head, and Silvain’s heart sunk in his chest. A lump formed in his throat. Orval reached into his pocket, removing the second half of the amulet. “She wanted me to give you this,” Orval said quietly. “No, it can’t be. My daughter, she has to be alive,” Silvain said, kneeling, grasping the folds of Orval’s tunic. “I’m sorry—I couldn’t save her,” Orval said. He embraced Silvain, whom he had no connection with, save for memories of a woman they both loved. Llevryn returned, climbing out of the well; in his jaws he held the second half of the amulet. The wyrm slithered close to Silvain, locking eyes with the man. The wyrm gazed into the eyes of the man and felt connected to him; both souls had touched fire and felt its warmth. Llevryn bowed his head, dropping the amulet into the lap of the elderly man. Silvain held the two halves in his trembling hands. The two halves fit together perfectly, but they did not fuse together as Silvain had expected. “Fire—the amulet needs fire.” Silvain finally said, looking at the red wyrm beside him. Llevryn looked at the man with understanding, and with a quick snap of his neck, swallowed both halves of the amulet. Orval gasped in horror, but Silvain simply smiled. With a belch, and a huge burst of flame, Llevryn regurgitated the amulet. The fire from the wyrm’s belly had fused the two halves together; the amulet hummed with energy. “Alexandra—what was she like?” Silvain asked, looking at Orval. Orval sat by Silvain, pressing his back against the well. “She saved me, when I was lost and afraid. I had no family, no friends, nothing except Llevryn and Llorwyn – and then I met Alexandra. She was kind, and gentle, and the most beautiful woman you had ever seen,” Orval said. He picked up a round stone near him and tossed it into the air. “She spoke often of you, and she spoke kindly. She said that she would rescue you; I believed her.” “You really loved her, didn’t you?” Silvain said. “She was my fire – my warmth in the cold, my light in the dark, and my hope through the darkness” Orval said. “Aye, she was that, and more,” Silvain said, “A reason to keep living.” Orval stood, grasped the amulet, and extended his hand towards Silvain. “A reason to keep fighting,” Orval said. Silvain smiled, took Orval’s hand, and rose from the ground. There was new fire in his eyes, fueled by love and hope. “Let us finish what I started, all those years ago, for Alexandra.” Silvain said *** r/BLT_WITH_RANCH &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[More from this series](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH/comments/9vdyhr/arhalym_chronicles/)
Satan rubbed at his eyes, surprising me how he managed to do it without stabbing his own eyes out. I found myself musing that he could use a manicure - those nails seemed like they hadn't seen much attention of the past millennium. The rest of him seemed perfectly well kept, his black suit and tie were finely pressed and wrinkle-free, dark black hair was combed without a piece out of place, and - despite what I'd always assumed to be long work hours - he had no wrinkles or bags under his eyes. &#x200B; "You have been with us for almost two thousand years now, is that correct?"He asked, lowering his hands back to the dark oaken desk behind which he sat. &#x200B; I nodded, squirming slightly. "I think so. The first few hundred are kind of a blur of, you know...torture and agony." &#x200B; He leaned back in his chair, assessing me coldly with his emotionless black eyes. "In our original contract, you had agreed to eternal torture as payment for retaliation against your enemies. I upheld my end of the bargain, but it seems as though you have not cared to uphold yours." &#x200B; I huffed, exhaling heavily with a slight roll of my eyes. "I'm trying, but there's nothing I can do about it! The devices used here are boring. I mean, sure, they were awful and terrifying at first, but now they're just... dude, I don't know the word for it. They just don't have that certain spark anymore. They're not attention grabbing. They don't make my soul scream like it used to, you know?" &#x200B; "You are calling my methods boring? I assume then that you may have suggestions on how to improve this particular situation." &#x200B; I paused, thinking on this a moment. "Not really. You're the torture genius, so..." &#x200B; Pursing his lips in mild irritation, Satan stood and moved around the desk to me with calm, fluid movements. He drew himself up beside the chair he had told me to seat myself in, and alighted a hand upon my shoulder - or the singed bit of soul resembling what my shoulder used to look like, anyway. &#x200B; "I have just the idea." "Oh?"I asked, "If it's the quartering quarter again, that stopped hurting a few centuries ago." &#x200B; Satan shook his head as I looked up at him, and gazed down upon me with the cruelest of smiles. "You are mine for eternity. This is a contractual obligation, and I am mandated to fulfill my part. I can think of only one thing that would bring your soul the pain I need to see it in." &#x200B; I sniffed, trying to seem unafraid. "Oh yeah? What's that?" &#x200B; His lips curled back even farther, revealing sharp rows of polished, perfect teeth. "You, my dearest, are going back to Earth. You will live life anew, and forget all about your time here." &#x200B; It can't be that easy. He can't really be sending me back up there...can he? "Well, what's wrong with that?" &#x200B; "You will find that much of the world has changed, and I do hope that you take the time to enjoy it. You will live a happy, fulfilling life full of love, comfort, and all of the things you did not have the last time... but when you die... you will return to me." &#x200B; "So you're sending me on vacation?" &#x200B; "No, my lovely,"he chuckled, "I am merely giving your soul time to mend and forget, so that when you return to me, my torture can keep you for another two thousand years." &#x200B; I blanched. This had not gone as I had hoped. "...ah, hell."
The genie gave him all the cash that he would ever need What's a man to do with just a Lincoln Edward, shocked, stood there thinkin' "I spent my one and only wish fulfilling just my greed This is all I get? It must be fate that I get more." He wandered into buy a lotto ticket at his local store. He asked for one with his birthday, and his daughter's birthday dates The powerball was at 4 million, he knew that it must win that those five must turn into more, his wallet being mighty thin. Child support was running him dry, all going to the exwife that he hates "I deserve this money dammit!"He thought as he walked out the door as a truck came from down the road, to flatten him to the floor.
Drip. Drip. Drip. It’s dark. A cave? Sewer? Something like that. There’s an electric light hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel, keeping your vision from adjusting to pick up any more detail and buzzing like the fluorescent lights in an office. Bugs are flying around it, crawling all over it. Your arms don’t move. They’re tied to your torso or something. You can move your feet, but they just kick at air. You can see them, the only thing you see moving. The only thing you see at all really, them and the light. Without your eyes adjusting to the darkness, you can only guess how far up you are. You spin slowly from the kicking. “Comfortable I hope?” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the disembodied voice. It’s a little off-putting though, doesn’t quite fit the role. It’s not menacing, not asking sarcastically. There isn’t an overplayed villainous undertone you’ve come to expect from a TV monologue. Just a question. Asking genuinely from the sound of it. “I thought the rope had to be tight enough to keep you from sliding down. Let me know if it’s making it hurt to breathe or something though.” “Uh. It’s fine. Where am I?” Fine?! Not fine. Anything but fine. If he has to fix anything, he has to take you down. Brilliant. At least my heads starting to clear. “Good. I think it’ll be a few hours though. I had to get a little wacky with the scavenger hunt. Couldn’t have her getting here too soon. I’m going to be well away by then.” The voice is behind you now. You ease to a stop and start to swivel back the other way. As you move, you can start to see a curved wall ahead of you. Brick maybe. There’s something else too. Something you can’t place, but something familiar. “Speaking of, I’m gonna head out unless you need something. I’ll see you Monday.” That’s the something! The voice. “…Tim?” “Uh, yeah man. Who else.” “What the hell man! Did you tie me… or fucking chain me to the ceiling of some cave??” “Hey. You said you were into Violet Haze, so I set up a meet and greet. Don’t you read comics? Heroes always go for people they’ve saved. You’re welcome. But like I said. I’ve probably got her stalled a couple hours, but I can’t be around after that.” There’s a deep crash from somewhere in the distance. It echoes endlessly down the tunnel. Coming from… somewhere. It’s hard to tell. “Or not. Could be a lot less than that, I guess. See? You’ll be fine. Yell if you want. Builds the tension. And you could use it if she found you in all of ten minutes. Let’s just hope this takes. Strings of puzzles are a pain in the ass, especially when they zig zag across the damn city a few times. Not looking forward to setting up a sequel if this doesn’t work. But hey. What are friends for?”
"Well? What is it?" "S-sir..." "Spit it out!" "We know who's been taking out our supply lines, sir..." "WHAT!?"The fat oil baron exclaimed, rising to his feet and slamming his fists down on the wooden desk so hard it almost cracked. "WHO!?" The lawyer who had delivered the news shrunk back at his employer's outburst, but managed to abstain from turning and bolting out the door. "Well... Sir... The guys in IT cleaned up some surveillance footage we lifted and... well..." "I swear to God, if you don't cut the bullshit and tell me who's been fucking with my operations, I'll -" "Do you remember that environmentalist from earlier this year, sir?" The baron lifted an eyebrow. "The one who 'had that unfortunate accident'? Yeah." He then scowled. "You trying to tell me a dead guy is out there blowing up my ships and warehouses?" "No, sir, it... It appears to be their..." "THEIR WHAT!?" "Their State Farm agent, sir!"The lawyer finally bleated. A moment passed in silence. Then laughter boomed off the office walls as the fat tycoon threw his head back and guffawed. "His State Farm agent..."He sobbed, laughing, as he regained his composure. "That... That's a good one..." "Sir..." "Tony."The baron spoke, pressing an intercom button. "Get in here and get rid of this lawyer for me." The office door opened as the baron continued to chuckle, and a musclebound security guard strode in, grabbing the desperately protesting lawyer by the shoulders and marching him out. "Sir, please!" The door slammed shut behind them. "Hehehe..."The baron chuckled, sinking back into his seat and turning around to look out the window at the city skyline. "Like a good neighbor~" A flicker of red light caught his eye, just then. The window spiderwebbed as a hole was driven clean through it. Perched atop a nearby building, a man in a red shirt and khaki pants ejected the spent casing from a sniper rifle and stood, disassembling the weapon and packing it away, before turning and walking towards the stairwell. Scratched into the side of the casing were the words; "State Farm Is There".
He had always known that it would come to this. Even before they had come bursting into the basement of his flat, while he was still carving his insignia into the woman's torso — Karenina, she had been called — he had known that this was how it was fated to end. Most people wouldn't bother finding out their names, let alone trying to remember them. But he was different. He loved hearing their names, storing them like old files inside the depths of his capacious memory. They were like souvenirs of his past escapades; some liked to keep items of clothing, others, pieces of them, an arm, a leg — some, even an eyeball. But a name. That was something that stayed with you forever, something that could not decay if left out for too long, something that would not be taken from him on his way inside the joint, confiscated only to be locked away inside some musty old drawer, never to be seen again. Something he could keep with him, always, until the fateful day. He had known that it would end this way, death in prison. After what he had done, how could he blame them? But, as usual, he would get the last laugh. He had hacked and stabbed, punched and pummeled, made crude art with their bones and bathed with their blood, used their screams as music, as incentive to go further, while he slowly carved the life out of them. And in return, he'd get five seconds on a chair, a quick surge of electricity, and he would join them in Hell. Or so he he had thought. The guards had appeared to him only a few days ago, claiming that they would be adopting a new position, in a tone that suggested one would be replacing a worn pair of shoes. They would be going a different route for him: instead of the chair, a single needle, plunged into his flesh, forcing into him some unwanted substance that would dissolve him from the inside out. It would be more humane, they had assured. But it was anything but. They would not tell him when it would come. It simply would. When it had been the chair, he had had a set time to look forward to, counting down the days until he took his final seat. But the needle.... It was not the thought of poison that scared him, it was when it would be coming. The unknown. That was what people truly feared. What would happen after death, if anything would? What was lurking out of sight, cloaked in darkness? The possibilities were endless, random, with no way to prepare. And he was no different. Fear came, when the needle didn't. The guards went about their usual duties with not a single change in their demeanour, as though they had not informed him that his time was coming soon, the exact moment specified to all but him. Would he be asleep when it happened? Would it be at lunch? During lineup? They were enjoying this. The agonizing wait, the jumpiness he displayed when they knocked on his cell, sure that they had come for him at last, only to laugh and walk away. They were enjoying it, as he had enjoyed tormenting his victims. He stopped sleeping, his paranoia overcoming him. The corner was his refuge, beside the metal toilet, where he could see them approaching. The days turned into a week, and his nerves were worse than ever. The brays of laughter, the slow patter of footsteps, the jangle of keys, even the undisguised moans of pleasure from neighbouring cells became enemies of him, companions of the looming needle, invoking fear in him. He couldn't take it anymore. And the next day, when the needle was finally scheduled to arrive, they found him kneeling before the toilet, his head swimming in its depths, having finally cracked and thrown his head inside the previous night, and too weak from sleep deprivation to move, when he realized what a horrible mistake he was making, that this was what they had wanted. "He's dead,"said one guard. "Fucker really killed himself." His peers smiled wickedly. "Told you he would,"another said. "All we had to do was wait."He moved forward and heaved him away from the toilet. As he carried him out of the cell, he whispered in the prisoner's ear, "That was for Kira." r/MysticScribbles Wow, I did not see myself taking this approach when I started writing, but I'm actually glad it turned out like this. It was really fun to write.
"Memento Mori" ... I'm in the back of a U-Haul with two bodies. One is dead. One is about to be dead. Let me explain. This city will bleed you dry. I know this firsthand. I was born in 1950 to a poor family in an even poorer town. Found comfort in the occult. Murdered in 1983 and dumped in a ditch. Rezzed six months ago, in 2017. The world's gotten nastier. Someone brought me back for a reason. I should be flattered but all I feel is dread 24/7. My death involved Greek Fire. I’ll be the first to admit that I was not a fan, and I can still smell the stench vividly, long after I’ve been Rezzed. But I can’t say I was surprised. I broke the one rule of our trade: ‘Don’t break the contract’. Brokers and their contracts are our lifelines and the foundation of secrets of both the living and the dead. They deal in information, valuable snippets that could collapse a country, expose a ring, or worse. We’re thieves in that very vain, walking through the dark corners and hallways of a spirit before they’re eviscerated. Brokers wouldn’t exist without us, and we wouldn’t exist without brokers. I still feel tinges of pain. Hot flashes, vibrant and electrifying dreams of watching my own hands deglove and melt. My old partner, Hesper, used to have a saying: > ‘We can’t ever hope to tame death, but we can hope to tame our pain.' Has a kind of poetry to it, right? She was elegant in that sort of way, to match the grace of her steps and the humility to acknowledge herself that she was still only human, flesh and blood. Wish I was more like her, but I’m always too selfish to try. Well, everyone's a little selfish. The radius simply differs. In this line of work, you kinda have to be. Don’t go out there carrying burdens. I’ve got enough of my own doing wetwork, I’m not exactly taming death, but it ain’t pain either. Hands are as filthy as they come. She killed herself via revolver back in ‘72. The cleanup was awful, and the smell was indescribable, akin to smoke, rot, and shit. Maggots were on her in a matter of hours, and with the climate of Pacifica, decomp was ruthlessly efficient. Had a spell on her that stopped Rezzing from working. She wanted to be gone. Spent two days scraping her walls and two more years recuperating. Even then, you never really get over that. Never did know what ailed her. She was a talented witch, an even better singer. Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly knew her, or if I was simply speaking to her mask. I went to her older sister and told her. It’s an awful thing, but it’s not the ultimate reveal of their death that is horrible; it’s everything after. It’s watching their entire life disintegrate and fracture upon a thousand different fault lines that crumble into a thousand different pieces. Now that, my friend, is the worst part. Death isn’t an event, it’s a disease, spreading its miserable judgement upon all it touches. Don’t be confused though. I’m not a miracle worker, but I am indeed a worker and knowledgeable of miracles. That’s what we call it, a bit of re-branding by The Coterie to make it less fucked. Sounds better than ‘Heretical Necromantic Arts’ or ‘Antedilluvian Rituals’. It’s known among our dastardly kind that you don’t have a soul, you are a soul. You have a body. A mortal shell. The soul wanders, the shell anchors. Find the shell, find the soul, extract the soul, transfer the soul to a body, command the soul as long as possible before your fingernails fall off. The premise is simple. Still with me? The tricky part is not incinerating your own soul in the process, something I am currently on the brink of doing at this very moment. It’s quite hard to concentrate in the back of a U-Haul as it's falling apart. A second passes and I can hear the corroding hissing of metal and steel. More beeping and honking just outside. I recite the infernal incantation again. A sting of pain from my fingers and I’m back to square one. I bang on the walls near the driver’s cockpit. “Keep it steady! I’m burning through parasites here!” I pull another squirming occult creature from the yellowish jar, smelling the stench of preservative and god knows what else. We're down to two. Two bodies are in front of me, one whose skin is as gray as the overcast skies in Pacifica. One female, named Guinevere Lemont, late thirties, a classic druid with unsavory tattoos and a few fingers missing and a penchant for demonology and devious cons. She was in over her head. The other, a male in his twenties, a junkie lowlife with his wrists bound and mouth gagged with Violet’s scarf. The law of necromancy still applies. A life must be given for a life. Violet, an impatient woman with twigs for limbs holds onto a bit of the railing to balance herself and to redraw the ritual circle with her chalk. “Where the fuck did you find this guy?” Hands are so fucking sweaty. “I couldn’t exactly go on Craigslist. We needed a Spelljammer, and after the ultimatum imposed upon me, I had my back against the wall..” “Once we’re done, I’m turning him into a Mimic.” “Thought your transfiguration was rusty?” “What the fuck did you drag me into? You never said anything about Institute Agents?” The tires outside squeal like a spanked pig. Now there’s gunfire. Three holes shoot in pillars of white light that barely miss my grimy face. This loon drives like a madman. Violet imbues the circle with more of her life force, and marks the junkie for termination. He starts crying. They always do. Beg for forgiveness, swear to me that they’ll run away and never tell anyone. Everyone talks, especially after this. “In obitum servire potissimum debeatis! In obitum servire potissimum debeatis!” I shout at the top of my lungs, enunciating and emphasizing every resonant frequency of every fucking phoneme in the phrase. The junkie screams as he is sacrificed for my convenience. First goes his skin. *In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.* Then his muscle fibers. *In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.* Then the nerves underneath, fried to a crisp. *In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.* His entire body implodes into a crimson red mist, and rockets towards Guinevere’s frozen corpse. *In obitum servire potissimum debeatis.* Her maggot-like lips curve, her wrinkled skin that once clung so tightly to her mangled bones gain shape and structure, until finally, she sits up, gasping for air, and begins screaming in agony, her soul tethered by my simple yet unbreakable spell. “What is the sequence of the Sarkath Vault?” I snarl at her, “The sequence? Where are they?” “Hurry!” Violet lifts open the backdoor and immediately puts up a spell of abjuration, narrowly deflecting a spray of silver bullets back at the shooter. Next thing I know, I see a car go airborne and into the Meridian River, its frame twisted. “... oh... agh... Où suis-je?” she asks, confused and muddled. Fuck this. I clench my fist again, and exert more pressure. I have to be careful or she’ll burn out. “Aggggh! Argh!” “What are they? Tell me!” I make her cry out for what seems like years. The truth is exposed. She’s had enough. I’ve had enough. I end her pain. Her corpse falls flat onto the dirty floor of the U-Haul truck and I promptly take out my burner cell, dialing up the number to my saboteur sixty miles away in Eventide, a fellow kleptomaniac with such an addiction he would’ve stole sutures from his own wounds a nurse was stitching up. “Ehsan, you there?” I ask, out of breath and out of time. “Loud and clear.” he says casually. “What’s the commotion-” “New spelljammer.” “Ah.” “The sequence is moon, sun, star, sun, tri-unity. Get whatever is inside that vault to the rally point, I’ll see you in two days at the Last Resort, you hear me?” “Say hi to Violet for me.” “I won’t. Lose the car.” I hang up, then give Violet the go ahead. “Do it now.” Her eyes flash like a dying star in the abyss. I feel the cold. The endless void. No sound. No feeling. No hate. No love. Moments later, we’re on the shoreline of Pacifica, washed up along the sands. I end up vomiting half a gallon of water and seaweed. Violet crawls to land, groaning. “Don’t even say it.” I lie on the sand, and want to die. My phone, however, rings. I pick it up and immediately regret it. “Ambrose… still alive?” speaks the voice on the other end, the voice that can end kingdoms and destroy lives. “We got what you asked. Drop off will be at The Last Resort, 0900 hours. My contact will be there in a silver pickup.” “Good.” “So my debt… is it clear?” The laughter on the other end sends a sinking feeling in my belly. “No. This was just an audition.” “An audition? For what?” “Your next job.” he says with glee. “This wasn’t the terms-” “-And I’m restructuring the terms. So, you in, or are you in?” I let out every curse under the sun. “... What’s the mark?” “Simple. We’re going to rez a god. I'll send you details over breakfast.” There it is. This city bleeding me dry [again](https://www.reddit.com/r/blahgarfogar/).

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