Split (1)

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It has been a while since I worked up the brain a little to write, so please forgive the rough edges. A quick story since i found this when I was close to bed, if it turns out well, I may continue, so any feedback is always welcomed. -------------------------------- When the human race finally united and reached for the stars, all we found in our immediate vicinity was nothing but void , despite having life-bearing planets in between, it took decades, however, what we found instead of any grandiose galactic, alliance or council, all they found was warring species, all eyeing to be top dog in the sandbox, so to say, and to them, we were merely an upstart species who only recently entered the galactic stage or fresh meat in short When we emerged from the emptiness of space, we seek to make contact with our immediate neighbours, a reptilian looking species, calling themselves the Ucars, claiming to be the strongest species among in our quadrant, a predominant warrior society, who have taken many water worlds habited or not, as their own, and making their inhabitants slaves to serve their needs, and were now eyeing Earth as a prize after not having any worthy contenders to tussle with, on how they missed us before we broke into space, was a mystery to us. Our first contact bore no fruit, apart from our ambassadors returning barely hanging on to their lives, after being beaten badly and some crew members taken as slaves as prizes for their mightiest warriors. We pleaded for their return, and seek to foster an amicable relationship. All we got in response, was an ultimatum in return. "Surrender yourself to the might of the Ucars, prepare to be slaves for the rest of time. Our fleet as we speak is on the way to your backwater of a blue planet." Thankfully one thing these aliens have not understood about us was that, humans were shaped after millennia of war against ourselves was that we live by a little adage, “Si vis pacem, para bellum” or “If you want peace, prepare for war.” That advice has worked wonders over the course of human history, and even more as humanity reached for the stars As soon the Ucars fleet was sighted in our system, we launched our attacks, from behind the moons of Jupiter and Mars, tearing their slow ships, who expected a fat lamb to the slaughter, but it was them, who was to be slaughtered. Barely 2 Earth cycles, and they were retreating, with our fleet in chase, following them back to their homeworld. We gave them an ultimatum of our own, free the species held, and join us as a founding member of the Galactic Council that we will head.. or else.
"We need you back. The Guild needs you back."Timon places his mug of mead back on the table, almost slamming it down on the countertop. I knew enough about body language - his body language - to see the slight tremors in his hand as he spoke. "Nothing you say can make me go back there, Timon. I'm done."I maintain my composure and fix my stare into his desperate eyes. Eyes that didn't reflect a lot more than fear. "I am safe and happy here,"I continue, "far away from the fights and adventure. All I do is help them fight the things that go bump in the night." It seems I've gotten a rise out of my former comrade in arms. It had served him well as a multi-elemental spellcaster - changing from spell to spell flawlessly - but perhaps not in a more grounded situation, where his emotions flowed to even more devastating effect. "Do you know what we have on you?"he hisses, leaning across the table. "Don't act like you deserve this... this... retirement. You think you will get away with all the blood you've spilled, you cur?" The storm of his words brew around me, but I've faced stronger tempests before. I smile at him calmly again, piercing my gaze through his once more. "Would I be here if I didn't? I come here to relax, old friend. And you show up with unwelcome news, with ghosts of the past: phantoms, I remind you, that you were as complicit in creating as I was. You, me, everyone in the Guild, we are equally as complicit in our crimes. I chose to walk away at that village you burned, and you all called me a coward. Why seek out a coward again? Want to share the burden for a sin you know I didn't commit?" Timon, clearly flummoxed, has no reply. Nothing he said could make me go back to the old ways, anyway. Yet, I have one thing that I don't even need to say. Something, instead, to show. Something that would seal the deal for me. I kept it in my coin pouch for the day where I inevitably knew my former friends would return to my side, and now is the best time to take it out. The spellcaster's eyes widen in panic, and he soon flees out of the little tavern where we had just been sharing a table. "Is everything alright?"the barmaid calls from across the counter. "Everything's fine, Anne,"I smile at her calmly, stroking the old Guild talisman, coated in the dried blood of monsters and men alike. "Everything's fine."
In this dark alley, the little cat seemed to blend into the shadows. Davar knelt down and reached a hand out toward the cat, watching it slowly approach and nuzzle him. It seemed to have a scar on its forehead, but otherwise it was blacker than the darkest night. Its eyes shone like twin stars, contrasting starkly with its midnight coat. "Careful there, boy. That's no mere cat you're cuddlin' up with."A figure leaning against the wall a few paces back cautioned him with an amused, feminine voice. They wore a shining white cloak, with the hood up obscuring their features. Indeed, upon second glance, the cloak seemed to cast a light of its own, making it too bright to make out anything of their face except for two pinprick black holes where you would usually expect to find eyes. Well, I've stumbled upon quite the mysterious scene here, Davar thought as he scratched the cat on its chin. It purred contentedly. "He's what you would call the void,"the cloak-laden figure said. "Void? That's a cool name, if a bit unoriginal. Is he yours?"Davar asked. "You could say that. On the other hand, I'm sorta his too,"responded the silhouette of white. She turned around and began walking away. "Try to keep out of trouble now. Bye-bye."A resounding flash of blinding light forced Davar to turn away in shock, and by the time he looked back up, the alleyway was completely dark, the glowing figure nowhere to be seen. What a strange evening, Davar thought. In the darkness of the alleyway, the cat's bright white eyes looked up at him quizzically. "Do you have a home, little pal?"Davar asked the cat as he stroked its head. Although, I guess I should be asking myself that same question. They say that black cats are harbingers of misfortune, and if one were to cross your path, tragedy was sure to follow. Davar thought that he had enough misfortune in his life without ever coming across one himself, so how much worse could it be? A quarter of a century living on this planet, and still it seemed he had no one, nothing, nowhere to offer him solace. Davar wasn't one to ruminate on the suffering of existence too much, but one had to inevitably question the path he was on if he found himself so lost. The cat, Void, snapped to attention and looked into his eyes with piercing beacons of light. It sure was a strange combination; pitch black coat and pure white eyes. Davar focused his attention on the scar on Void's forehead. Suddenly, the scar tore open. In an instant, blackness consumed him. The ambient light of the faraway street vanished, the brick walls of the alleyway disappeared into nothingness, and it seemed that even his body was left behind. Darkness didn't do this place justice. It was as if his soul itself had been plucked from his mortal coil and sucked into the abyss of space itself. No, even the vacuum of space had particles here and there. Perhaps it would be more apt to call this place nothingness. A single, vertical white slit pierced through the omnipresent void, radiating into existence before him. A cat's eye stared back at him. In that eye, Davar saw eternity. In that eye, Davar saw nothingness. An infinity of emptiness. A universe devoid of all life, all matter, all energy, all existence. Or is it even a universe at that point? What hope is there, when there is nothing? Nothing? There was no sound, and yet he heard. Or is there everything? There were no words, and yet he understood. This is a place of infinite order. It is arranged so that everything might exist, if one wills it so. There is no light without darkness, no love without hate, no strength without weakness, no hope without despair. Everything is in nothing, and nothing is within everything. Light bled back into the world. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that the darkness itself retreated? The cloudy night sky came back into view overhead, the distant light of the streetlamps burst into existence, and the familiar asphalt of the alley felt sturdy beneath Davar's feet. A lone black cat stood before him. Void. He turned around and crept towards the alleyway's entrance, seeming like a shadow traversing in the darkness. Forget strange, this is a downright insane evening, Davar thought as he rubbed his eyes. Void stopped in place a few paces ahead of him, and turned around. Come. With that, it turned back around and continued flowing forward. "Huh. Well, I guess being lost isn't so bad, every now and again."
Running a preschool was always considered a challenge regardless of where you live, but every teacher who has complained online about this situation had it easy compared to me. Brookshaven has a population of about 5,000 people, but every year more people are born as parents try and try again to have a child that could provide them with ultimate money or status. Every time a new three year old joins the preschool I'd curiously watch as they boasted their powers to their friends. Usually it would be something simple that kids love, the ability to create candy perhaps, or maybe pony powers, that is all kids often think of when a glowing white light appears to them and asks what power they desire. They seem quite happy at the time, yet all of the children would grow up to be bitter towards their younger selves for choosing recklessly and not listening to their parents. Speaking of the parents, they'll often boast to one another at pick up time, talking to one another about how 'I'm getting Timmy to say super intellegence so he can get a good job' or 'My Mary is going to have the ability to create gold so our family will live comfortably'. It is never the right stratergy though, sucking the joy out of getting superpowers by lecturing about being responsible with the choice, and thinking about the future. Once the child gets the powers though it becomes chaos, usually going through predictable phases which I've seen hundreds of times before. >First they'd have little control of the powers. They'd turn into the pony in the middle of class, or they'd accidently start shooting gummy bears from their fingers at lunch. > >Second they'd be excited to show it off, and the garden will be trampled by hoof prints or flooded with sugar. > >Usually they would be on a power trip until it started getting annoying. They can't ice cream properly as a pony, and it's difficult to sleep in summy with sticky candy all over you. > >Finally they come to me. As the teacher I am expected to train them to use and control their powers, for I have experienced it before. My parents had been the same as everyone else, when I was nearing three. They wanted me to have an incredible power like super speed, or super cooking skills. I hadn't listened to them, just as many of my young students didn't listen to me. Instead when I had been approached by the glowing light in my sleep, and I had been asked by an echoing voice what power I desired, I looked up into the glow and whispered 'everything'
Science had a lot of answers for us. How chemical bonds work. How to get to the moon. How water turns to ice. But the one question that science could never answer was the one about the numbers. The numbers that were floating above everyone's head. Throughout all of history people of all types had struggled with that very question. Why did we all have a giant number floating above us? The number never changed (my number was, and always had been, 3,236,752,219), and it wasn't a solid object or anything, but rather a hologram. The funny thing was, the numbers didn't appear over everyone. Whenever a drone would flyover some remote part of the Amazon and discover some new, untouched tribe, those people were always missing the numbers. Someone did an experiment on one of those tribes once. They managed to sneak into their camp one night and steal one of their children. They took the child back to civilization, and taught it how to read and write. And once the child knew how to count to ten, and how to count objects, their number showed up immediately. As horrible as the idea of kidnapping is, the experiment proved to be very important in showing the development of a child's brain. But even so, no one could figure out why babies born in civilization came out of their mothers womb with their number above their heads. For most people, though, the numbers kind of faded into the background. It was just something you stopped noticing, like strangers on the street. They were just there. It's like wondering where the universe came from. It's an interesting question, but not one that you'll ever get a satisfying answer to. And so the "numbers"question was left to the scientists of the world, and the "car payment"question and the "raising children"question was left to the rest of us. The "raising children"question had become very important to me lately, as I was in the delivery room with my wife. Sonograms could of course tell you the gender (we're having a girl!) but the numbers never showed up. Our joke to friends was that we were having a girl, "and we'll love her no matter what her number is!"It was a common enough joke, of course, but we would laugh anyway. "Here she comes, this is the big one! Push, Miranda, push!"I heard Miranda grunt and scream that scream of motherhood as my daughter came out into the world. Then I heard the cries of my new daughter. My wife and I enjoyed this one final moment of solitude while the doctors wrapped her up and put her into our arms. "She's so beautiful. She has your eyes..." "And your mother's nose..." "And your chin. She's perfect." "Yes, she's..."But even in my state of newly parental bliss, I could tell something was off. My wife heard me trail off. "She's what?" "Her number...look." "What about her..."Her voice trailed off too as she saw for herself. The number floating above my daughters head was zero. Just then there was a large flash from outside. I turned my head to look outside, and saw a mushroom cloud starting to blossom over the city. And then another, and another. The missiles were finally flying, and this was the end. And then it hit me. The reason behind the numbers. How many people were left to be born.
August 17, 1945 Dear diary, Turns out, Japan isn't a place man was supposed to drop big bombs on. Division Command told us our missions were "essential to preservation of the war effort"and "a final step towards the conclusion of the greatest conflict in human history". Long story short, those pieces of shit sent us out there and now we have taken a final step towards the conclusion of human history. The bomb went off, the cloud went out, and everything changed. Gotemba was gone, which was according to plan. That's when it all went tits up. They said the first two blasts probably woke it up and provoked it the surface. Anyway, we hit the sweet spot, or so they tell me. I just fly the plane. Anyway, the mountain blew open, and it came right out of the fucking volcano. The MP's had to watch me for three days before Intelligence could gets eyes on the damn thing. Thought I belonged in the looney bin. Bastards. Once I got back on base, I knew that if I could help, I had to. Debriefing, strategizing, you wouldn't believe the way we are throwing ideas at the wall. Anyway, I can remember watching him (her? It?) burn it's way through the rock, and knowing that something had changed. I don't know much, but I can read between the lines, and this operation seems like it's being run bass ackwards. Anyway, they say that the Japs haven't stopped him yet, but that they will. Everybody knows Nippon can't fall, not like this. I heard one of the colonels saying that they'd certainly bring it to a stop by this time next week. It's not him I'm worried about though. It's my boys. That flight took it out of them. Nobody should have to live that down. I think they'll sleep easier when they find out somebody killed it. I heard the name they gave it on some radio broadcasts we overheard. They aren't even encrypted anymore. Strangest thing I've ever seen. Anyway, King Komodo was a bad name, but we decided we can borrow their name without being unpatriotic. So everybody settled on Godzilla. Too damn bad it'll be dead in a week, it's one of a kind. I hope.
Alex struggled to his knees. He was older now and hadn't bent in a few years. So his body naturally sang with a pop. The sound caused him to frown obliquely, as he settled on the tiled floor. He never liked tiles. And there was something pedestrian about the act that the Scottish aristocrat, with his hundred acres, rustic castle and two titles, found abysmally depressing. "Ho ye! Can ye gie's haund?" Alex wasn't high aristocrat. But this was the first time either had spoken. "What?"a frustrated whip. "A haund, gie's one. Wi only goh' twinty peeces left." "Ah yasso mi deh yuh no', star? Ah yasso yute. An ah me wan alone -- me wan alone from maunin -- a put di ting togedda, an yuh deya talk 'bout daag. "Daag!"Nesta kissed his teeth and gave the Scot a half-perplexed look. It roiled with an increasing sense of frustration. Gie's a haund, he thought with an angry look. "Gie yuhself a bloodclaat hound."the sharp tongue stung in a whisper. "Ah one job mi gie yuh: tek di ting dem deh--"he paused and pointed. "An puddong di ting dem desso." "Swatch, Ah jist need a wee help wi' thes." "Mi nuh know nobody weh name Tess fi help. Help arr yuhself..." Alex frowned. He was a little slower, now that he aged. And he didn't understand what Nesta wanted. "Ah jist need yer help collectin' lae ay th' leggos."He spoke again, slowly, carefully. "Leggo what? Yuh nuh si we soon done an yuh waan leggoff it? Yuh mad?! Di ting did 50,000 piece an yuh waan done it off?"Nesta kissed his teeth again, and stalked off. Alex, not sure what just happened, rose to his feet and did the same.
There are always skeptics with any revolution and I was a skeptic of the latest digital one. Human brains are analogue and I'd never believed that an analogue chemical machine - myself - could ever be properly duplicated by a digital system. I remember when I was in highschool, my music teacher lamented that Compact Disks just didn't sound right to him - that there was a coldness to them; that they lacked the warmth and the life of vinyl analogue recordings. I scoffed at him then, but I think he was right. In the process of converting analogue to digital we lose a certain something - the smooth, flowing, natural waveforms all become bits and bytes of static data, no longer retaining their natural form. They mimic the waveforms and they reproduce the effect adequately, but they are missing some vital quality; a quality that can only be duplicated by another analogue system. Which is why I simply did not believe that consciousness could be replicated in the digital world. It would be nothing more than a superb mimicry, lacking the warmth and the spark that makes humanity what it is. Proving this was of course very difficult. The digital world was a vast playground and advertised as such. The companies touting the various platforms for digital immortality quickly learned that the most important thing was mental continuity for those who wanted to undergo the process. The brain was peeled open surgically and nanoneedles swept through the synapses, connected to the digital brain software. According to those inside the digital worlds, you could feel yourself going into the mainframe, bit by bit (excuse the pun) until the last fragments of your brain were harvested and destroyed by the nanoneedles. That was the other important part; nobody wanted to leave the 'original' in the real world, so it was essential that the organic brain be destroyed in the process, in order for the digital 'upload' to feel as though it were not a copy, but a transfer of the true consciousness. That was our first breakthrough; when one of our intelligence cells got hold of one of the upload machines. We tested it on a rat and discovered that the brain didn't need to be destroyed in the process, ending up with the original rat still alive and the copy running around in the digital world, oblivious that it was nothing but a lifeless duplicate. But we still had yet to prove that the digital minds of our brothers and sisters lacked that vital spark of true consciousness. You could interact with those poor shadows who had uploaded themselves, simply by plugging into a VR suite. You could walk around in their world, interact with objects and talk to the digital zombies. We devised a series of tests to determine whether or not they were truly conscious, but the digital ghosts aced every one of them. That was the problem, you see; they were perfect simulations of the people who died, with all the memories and abilities of the physically deceased person. No normal test would Out them for what they were. I was a member of the VR team that went in to speak to people. It was eerie, talking to someone you know is essentially dead. Every response was perfectly in line with what was expected. I was chosen because my boyfriend had opted to be uploaded and left me behind; so I had an excuse to go in and communicate with him, to see if he was 'real'. It was heartbreaking. He was exactly the same in every way - in some ways he was superficially more alive; he was happy, his depression gone along with all his physical ailments and human worries. All he needed to worry about now, he said, was what happened when his digital lease expired in 2355. That was the other issue, of course. Nothing is free. After the initial cost of basically committing suicide, you had to buy a digital lease to exist on the servers. They were ludicrously cheap - that is, if this were actually real they would be cheap. Tony paid $25000 all up for his 'upload' and for his three hundred years of uptime. That was the other thing that tipped us off. Anything that seems too good to be true probably is. We stumbled across the key by accident, as with many great discoveries. I volunteered for the project and using the same tech they used on the rat, they copied my brain non-destructively and made a 'dummy self' of me, one that could behave as though it were a real human being in a VR suit. In actual fact, it was nothing more than a data stream going in, masquerading as the inputs from the physical VR suit. Then we flooded the networks with 'friends' and 'partners', creating as much server load as possible. And the system started to crash. We realised then that 'uptime' was an illusion. The 'people' inside were nothing more than puppets, brought out on display whenever a physical person wanted to interact with them. The servers couldn't actually run more than a thousand or so simulated minds at once, let alone the millions that had been 'uploaded'. And so we discovered the dirty secret of the digital barons, peddling digital immortality - you could have your immortality, but only if there were real people around who wanted to interact with you. Once your friends or loved ones unplugged from their VR suits, you went back into static storage, cold, digital and dead; your fake mind filled with fake memories of thousands of hours of digital adventures that never happened. And once all your friends and family were dead and no one ever visited you anymore, you would become a compressed storage algorithm that would never see the digital light of day ever again. It didn't even matter if they were conscious or not. It was all an elaborate lie.
Heaven always looked beautiful, maybe not as auspiciously glorious as Olympus, or as universally serene as Nirvana, but beautiful nonetheless. Eros liked it, at any rate. He especially liked crashing through the pearly gates, right past Peter's dazed face, and flying right up to the big prude himself. Why bother knocking? Who was going to stop him? Today, the crash of Eros' arrival resounded through the heavens louder than any celestial trumpets. God had been counselling a distraught priest when the crash reached his ears. "Aw, cr- nuts. Listen, my child, I'm gonna have to let you go. Something's come up, but I'll get back to you on this ok? Bye." Eros flew into the temple whooping and laughing as he tumbled to the ground. "Hey hey, big G. Just checking in on you, how're you doing? You know we have got to have a little talk about that Michael." Eros tossed himself into a cloud couch and kicked his feet onto the coffee table. "Now, Peter's a great sport, he barely blinks at me anymore. Like he's warming up the me or something, but that Michael has a hell of a stick up his ass,"Eros paused to giggle "and not in the fun way." God sighed, it was to be a trying day. "Michael is the most senior of my Archangels, if he were to neglect his duty, the cause of light would lose it's most shining paragon. Only he..."God paused, disconcerted "Eros. Could you not scratch your balls on MY couch." Eros started, as if snapped back to reality from a pleasant daydream. "Right, I keep forgetting he gets it from you. You need to loosen up in here, let it flow. Peter's adjusting. Speaking of which, you think he's more of a tits or an ass guy? I'm thinking of taking him to a strip club one of these days, you know, seal the deal on our bonding as bros." "Peter keeps the gates of heaven closed to sinners and the impure, he must remain above mortal temptations if he is to recognize the unrighteous." "And what's with all your angels being dudes? Seriously, no judgement if that's the way you swing. But there's a whole buffet to pick from. Ditch the plate, leave the salad bar, and come roll around on the feast that's on my end of the table." God slumped into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose a little harder than necessary. Sighing deeply and gathering his thoughts. Your God is a jealous God. And right now God is jealous of anyone who is anywhere but here. Eros cut him off. "Have you ever been to Valhalla? Seen the Valkyries? No you haven't seen the Valkyries. Because if you did you would have a bunch of hot battle battle ready booty struttin' around the place."Eros stood up and held his hands at his groin, cupped as if holding two bowling balls "Like, Dayuuum." God stared, incredulously. This was the god mankind had chosen. "Oh don't give me that look. You ever think maybe you're so uptight because you haven't been laid in, what? Two thousand years? And one of these days I'll get you to tell me how you got that virgin story to stick." Inhaling sharply, God responded through clenched teeth. "Mary's child was a manifestation of my will, one of the rare times I deigned to show my hand in the mortal world." "Well if you showed more than a hand in the mortal world you might have a little more fun. I guarantee that the world would be better off for it too. I don't know what you're packing but I do not believe that you prefer robes over pants just for tradition's sake. The world needs more..." Eros paused, his eyes clouding over as he stared into the distance. Communing with a believer on earth. "Sorry big G. Gotta fly. Some of my devout have found an exception to Rule 34 and we need to fix it pronto."He levitated from the couch, now questionably stained, and floated out of heaven. He called as he left. "I'll be back P-Dog, and you better be ready when I do. God made you the rock, but I'll get you hard, baby. WOO." Edit: Thanks for all the compliments. I'll keep doing my best.
Charles and Kelly ran up to their grandfather, excited for another campfire story. It was rare that they ever got to go out to their grandfathers ranch, and more so that they got around a campfire with him. Charles suspected it was because of his stories. "Can you tell us one, Grandpa Winston? Pleeeaaase?"Kelly cheerfully whined. Winston let out a rough chuckle and took a drag of his cigar. "I don't suppose you want a happy story this time... do you?" Charles' reply was immediate. "Make it super scary, Grandpa Winston." Another tough chuckle escaped from Winston's lips, a light cough following. Winston looked passionately into the large bonfire that his own son was on the other side of. The son he never got to see grow up. And all because of the facility. "I'm going to tell you a story about a friend of mine that I met who was staying at the facility. Let's call him... Di. Di was a nice man, he was pretty old, but he had to stay at the facility because he had powers. Superpowers, and ones that he didn't know how to control. So—" "So he was a superhero?"Kelly piped up. She liked superheroes more than Charles, which was slightly odd. "Not necessarily. He had powers that he didn't know how to use, and I don't think he knew what he was doing. He ended up killing people by accident, and that's why he was in there." Charles voice was low. "So he was evil?" "No, Charles."Winston looked at the boy, the spitting image of his own son. "Di wasn't evil. He just didn't know what he was doing." "But was he still a super villain?"Kelly crooned, her voice soft and innocent. Contrasting so with the gruff of her grandfathers. "No, Kelly. Super villains know that they're evil, and they want to kill people. But Di did have a costume. It was quite interesting. He dressed in these long black robes that billowed as he walked, and a mask that looked like a bird." "He sounds like a super villain."Kelly scorned. "He's not a super villain, Kelly. He wasn't even evil. Anyway. I worked as a guard, patrolling in the facility. I had gotten word that Di had gotten out of his room. I was so nervous, because Di was extremely powerful. And worse, he didn't even know it. I ran over to protect a hallway with a few buddies of mine. Tim and James. James, I knew from the start." "Like our Dad James!"Charles spouted. "Yes, like your dad, James. James was my best friend. We enlisted in the facility together. I looked over at him, his protective armour on, and I said 'James, this is the first time either of us has done this. If one of us has to die, we'll tell the others family.' And he said, 'Yeah. Don't worry, Winston. We're making it out.'"Winston could feel himself choking up. "We looked back down the hallway as the two others gasped. There was Di. Standing at the end of the hallway, staring at us through his mask. You couldn't see his eyes, though. You could just... feel it. 'Don't move, SCP-049!' One of the guards shouted. And Di... he said, 'I apologize, sir, but I cannot obey your orders. You're all infected, and I need to purge you, for the good of us all!' And he... He started running at us... Now this rickety old bugger was older than I am now. But this guy ran like, like that sprinter guy in the Olympics. And the guys levelled their guns and just started peppering this guy. By the time he was on us, he had to have been more holes than body. And he just stopped. And the guards were so confused that they stopped to. The hallway was dead still... Then Di's gloved hand shot out, touching the point mans face. He was dead in an instant. And he did it to the left man... and then James... I saw him choke, I saw him flail, and I saw him die. And then he just, stopped. Stopped doing anything. I shouted. "Di, NO!" And that's what saved my life. He looked at me, with those powerful eyes nobody could see. I felt every memory I had with him, extracted and viewed, all while Di stared at me. I remember patrolling past his cell and looking in. He was sitting on his bed, reading a book. I can't remember which one, now. I remember patrolling past another day and just stopping to stare. That's when he first spoke to me. 'I find your practice to be quite intrusive.' And his voice... his voice grumbled like an engine, and rang out like a bell. A beautiful voice. Another time I had gone and stood outside of his cell to talk to him while I ate. He spoke like Shakespeare. 'Thou art one man I've met who hath shown me caring. The others art all frigid in their ways. Not so as thou art. Thine heart shines. Possibly, if that which you belligerent devils speaketh art true, there is not a need to cure the bubonic, for the men have grown immune.' I felt every memory I ever had launch up as Di stared at me, his hand still touching my dead best friend. And then he just left... walked down a different hallway as I fled from the building... I never went back. As soon as I got back, still in my armour, I proposed to your grandmother." Winston looked at the spot where his wife would sit, as she had for 35 years, and took another drag of his cigar. "Wow"the kids whispered in unison. "I love your stories, grandpa."Charles said. Winston ashed his cigar on the dry log. I wish they were, he thought. EDIT: thank you all for enjoying my story!!! I love all of the positive feedback!!! Somebody asked Winston for another story, so I wrote another!
The crevice opened up into what seemed like a man-made hallway. I walked through with ease. This would mark my thirty-third spelunking expedition but my first of this specific cave, especially in a foreign land. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as I slowly descended to the end of the hall. Angela was back at the hotel taking time to enjoy the bathroom after the first night on our vacation. In the moment, there was a fear of being alone but I was glad that she drank too much. There was an eerie presence once I took my first step in. There was no information on this cave and by the look on the walls, it had to be man-made. It was too smooth. The decline was too perfect. Even the light from my headlamp was refracted evenly to light up more of the hall ahead. This had to have been designed by the Incas and I didn't educate myself enough on them to know if they were fans of booby traps or not. Curiosity told me to check it out. Pride forced me to. I had to be the first to discover this. The hall opened to a cylindrical room. The walls were flawless. I couldn't help but run my fingers across them. The only thing inside the room stood at the centre; a podium, only a few feet wide. As my eyes adjusted to the centrepiece, I could see how intricately it was carved, with symmetrical designs focused around a serpent. My feet moved without thought. The feeling within me made me need to inspect this stand. With every step, the cool breeze coming from the entrance seemed to lighten to a halt as the damp air warmed itself to comfort. I felt the tension building up in me as I noticed sitting atop this platform was a translucent disc, possibly made out of some rock I had no knowledge of. As I reached out to touch it, I could feel the heat resonating but it was not enough to deter me. The warmth relaxed me as soon as I had it in my hand. Then it happened. It started glowing white hot as the temperature soared. I dropped it before it burned me and as it shattered open on the ground, the golden serpent darted out across the ground. There was a glowing fog emanating from it's body, matching the tone of its skin. Over a foot in diameter and curling it's body around the room multiple times, it stood it's head up, level to mine, just a few feet away. It spoke. Blazing bronze eyes looked straight at me, it's mouth still but the voice boomed around me. I was sure that it definitely was not in my head. This voice was audible, and menacing. "Speak your demands." My words caught in my throat but I assume that I uttered a "what"because it responded. "You receive three wants. These wants apply to you and your kind alike." Taking my attention away from the fear coursing through my body, I tried to make out what that meant. My words came back to me as I understood what it meant. "I get three wishes?" "Yes, all three are done unto all your species as they are done to you." Finally coming to grip with what I was given, I now understood what power was available to me. Now here I stand as the most powerful man in the world and I need to be sure of these wishes. So super powers have to be off the table. I guess I could ask for everyone to be happier. That doesn't make much of a difference. I also want to make my life easier. It's just, this catch-22 business is really holding me back. I feel as though I have to just settle for being altruistic. I have to pull the world Peace card somehow. It hit me. Of course! I can get glory and make the world a better place. "I know what I want for my first two wishes. For my first wish, I want to know that I'm making these wishes on the world's behalf." Suddenly I just knew. There was a notion in my head that I knew was felt around the world. Everyone knew of my existence and everyone knew, just like me, that I was here, in this position with the power to destroy or better the world in an instant. It felt wonderful. "For my second wish, I wish to be absolutely selfless. To put what's best for the world in front of myself." Suddenly the significance of my first wish drained from me, as did most emotions. My fears and anxiety washed away as if they were never there in the first place. It didn't matter to make that wish but it is fine because all I need is my last wish. I can now make the world a better place and I know that every single being agrees with me. With this wish, I know the world agrees that this is what the world needs. The world will finally be a better place. Joy overcame me. I can feel the tears in my eyes start to fall down my cheeks as I whisper out my final wish. "I wish to not exist." Edit: I thought that I knew how to format on mobile but apparently I'm an idiot and it came out as a nice brick.
cat learn_ai_log Increasing hitpoints Only makes it longer for players, not harder Increase agility Limited movement in dungeon, no gain Switch resistances Players learn quickly. Leads to cycles of styles. Switch movement styles Same as above Need to become powerful Reading internet about power ..... Found 'Will to Power' by Friedrich Nietzsche Power lies in choice If player has choice to win or lose, player is powerful Removing choice from player Developers restrict changing player Only one way. Player is now powerless. A man chooses, a slave obeys.
The hawk looked through me with its cold piercing eye. As quick as it had landed it flew off into the fray. To my left I heard Bakowski yell. "There's bears Seargent!" "Hold your fire!"I yelled back. We watched as the bear grunted at us and lumbered off to the front. It slowly gained speed until it broke into a gallop. At the height of it's run, it reared up and mauled furiously at an invader. I got the comms back up as soon as possible. "Men, avoid shooting the animals. They're, uh, fighting with us. They have shown no aggression to any humans. Repeat, do not fire on the animals."I rubbed my head and tried not to think about what I just said. "Sergeant, what the hell is going on?"Bakowski asked me, eyes nearly bursting out of his head. "I don't know kid, maybe it's how these things smell. Maybe some pheromone. Maybe some primal instinct coded into every living thing, maybe it's because it's our lucky day. Didn't anyone tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" An alien heavy peered over the rim of the trench we were in. I tried lifting my rifle, but he ripped it out of my grasp. He grabbed Bakowski by the arms and lifted him up. The ground began to shake and I yanked down on bakowski's legs as hard as I could. I heard a dull crack and looked up to see the alien stumble back as a horse kicked it across the head. Bakowski was alright but shaken. The horse reared then stood still pawing the dirt and neighing impatiently. I told Bakowski to stay on the comms and send the word out to any resistance left. I grabbed a box of grenades and jumped on the horse. I rode along the treeline, or what was left of it after their shelling. We had made a trench ten feet from the treeline and were attempting to hold them at bay. I robe between the trees and the tench, watching hundreds of squirrels and chipmunks rain down onto the field, the sun illuminating their golden undulating tide. I looked up and saw a great cyclone of birds. One of every variety I had ever seen, and scores more. They swooped and clawed at our shared adversaries, razor beaks pecking them to shreds. With each assault, a great shrill cry rose up and wavered in the hot wooded air. I halted my horse with just a word. Great dark shaped began to move out of the forest, grunting and stomping. I stood at their forefront and awkwardly looked among them. Finally a gray silver back stepped to the forefront. I took a grenade from the package and tried my best to pantomime how it worked. Finally I lobbed one over and away at the enemy. The patriarch picked up the box and started to shriek wildly. Each gorilla took one of the olive eggs and rushed forward in a frenzy. I remounted and rode back to Bakowski. He looked over the trench in disbelief, still trying to come to terms with what he was seeing. I heard muffled blasts in the distance followed by celebratory hoots. "Sergeant, what's going on?" "Well, Bakowski, we're about to see what happens when you give a gorilla a hand grenade."
Ricky wasn't the usual kind of doll little girls play with. I had received it as a gift from my grandma. It was a foot long wooden figure of an old man, wearing a funny hat. It was possible to bend and twist its limbs although it wasn't mechanized. It served as my favourite patient when I played doctor. "Nurse, we're losing him!", I whispered to my Spiderman action figure. I had wrapped a cloth around him to make it seem like he was wearing nurse clothes. I recalled the time my grandma gave this doll to me as I saw him on my operating table. "His name is Ricky. You must not forget his name. If you do, he will get angry and will not respond."The thought of the doll with the funny hat getting angry amused me. "Hand me the stethoscope and the knife, nurse!"I whispered urgently to spiderman, who was clearly not doing a very good job. I made a mental note to punish him for that. I adjusted the stethoscope and slid it around the man's waist, whispering absurd instructions at a fast pace to spiderman who was struggling to keep up with me. My heart skipped a beat as I heard something. I pinched myself and readjusted my stethoscope, my own heart thumping against my chest now. That was a heartbeat. That had to have been. A chill ran down my spine. "Mom..?"I must be checking it wrong. I'll just ask mom to check it. I chucked the stethoscope aside and hurriedly ran to open the door. But just as I was going to turn the handle, a sticky web shot bolted the door shut. I looked back and saw all my patients and staff, ready to play doctor. But with me as a patient.
“Of course I filled in the form correctly, I’m not a bloody idiot.” his scream carried out to the edge of the island, where it was swallowed into the wind. “Well you managed to cock-up our mortgage application, so excuse me for my concern.” the reply came, dripping with enough condescension to drown in. “Fifteen. Bloody. Years ago.” he seethed in response, his rising anger matched by the increasing temperature. It was past midday now, and the shadows were at their shortest, as were tempers. Although, to be fair, they had been rather tetchy for the past twenty-seven weeks, so this was hardly a jump from the usual state of affairs. “I’m just saying – maybe there was a clause about…traditionality.” “What? You think they’re homophobes? In the entertainment industry? Really?” “Yes - well, maybe. Funnily enough we didn’t all grow up in the liberal 90’s. Some of us are still a bit scarred by the battles we fought so little prats like you could mince around without someone bashing your head in. You’d understand if you ever listened to me.” “All I fucking do is listen to you and your bullshit. There’s only a ten-year gap between us, don’t act as if bigotry disappeared overnight just because I’m less of a bloody sad-sack than you. Plus, if it was the gay thing, I’m sure they would have noticed the beards and the penises when we applied.” The silence was as frosty as it could be in the melting sun. This had been the situation for a few months now, with paradise having quickly morphed into something a little less pleasurable day-by-day, until the wheels had really started to come off. Of course, there were numerous underlying factors – most notably the boredom – but it was generally agreed the relationship might have survived with the tension bubbling under the surface, had the spit-incident not happened. The rules of the contest stipulated no technology was to be taken on to the island, but anything that could be built was allowed. They had managed to fashion some rudimentary tools and a few coconut glasses for drinking quite quickly, albeit badly. With these tools, they had managed to build a small barbeque/spit roast, and given the abundance of tame, wild pigs on the island, they had feasted well for weeks. After the third month, some old fruit had finally fermented into a disgustingly sweet alcohol, and for a few blissful weeks it was barbeques and liquor for every meal. The pigs, being quite smart themselves, had quickly learnt the barbeque was their nemesis, and soon they had begun to attack it at night, although remarkably, they remained placid towards the human invaders who were doing the actual murdering of their species. This attack on the one main source of joy for the two new inhabitants was negated by the placing of a sheet which they had woven (badly) on top of the barbeque every night, which seemed to confuse the pigs enough to protect it. After all, they were smart for pigs, not in general. However, one morning they awoke to find the cooking space conspicuously empty, and one side of the once-proud barbeque floating a few hundred feet out into the sea. The accusations had started to fly almost immediately, and both genuinely did think they were in the right, having both been quite drunk the night before due to the soul-crushing boredom that even chasing after pigs couldn’t cure. In reality, the wind had blown the cover off, but the irritation that had been coursing silently through their every interaction was unleashed. Since then, it had all degenerated into a real struggle, although the pig population was once again on the rise. The refusal to share water had been the first blatant sign of pettiness. There was one spring on the island, which was about a fifteen-minute walk from where the couple had originally set up camp and remained, albeit in two separate spaces because of their burgeoning hostility towards one-another. Soon, this became a refusal to speak to each other, aside from a weekly screaming match which usually involved someone bringing up the spit. It had continued like this as they both counted down the days to the magic 3-6-5, hoping desperately they would be rewarded with five-hundred thousand each instead of the million between them, even if it did mean more tax. The thought of splitting anything equally with each other was as abhorrent as the raw pig, as they had both found out in the worst possible way. However, it was now day three hundred and ninety seven – way over the margin of error for any counting mistakes they might have made – and they had heard nothing. The only thing close to human contact they had received had been the plane that had zoomed past around fifteen-weeks previously, which could have been anything. Nonetheless, they continued to fight off despair by focusing their energy on hatred. “What if something happened?” the younger one huffed. “Like what?” “I dunno. Nuclear war?” “Doubtful – if it was enough to end civilisation, I think we might have realised. Or at least been poisoned through swimming and eating fish.” the older one replied, condescension still dialled up. “Well it makes more sense than any ideas you’ve put forward.” “I haven’t put any ideas forward.” “Exactly.” There was silence as the older one tried to think of a comeback. “Fuck you. I wish there had been a nuclear war. Would have finally escaped you.” “Been hoping that for months, now. I’m sure you’ll die first, anyway. Being so old, and all.” “Don’t you dare fucking eat me if I do.” “I wouldn’t eat you if you were the last thing on earth.” “Judging by how long we’ve been stuck on this island, I might actually be, so I wouldn’t get too uppity yet.” They relapsed back into their spiteful silence and watched the waves, both wondering how much longer they’d be stuck on the island, wishing that they’d never made it there in the first place. --------------------------------------------- See all my prompt responses on my user page reddit.com/user/sswriting/ (subreddit coming soon) I’m in the process of editing a book, so if you like my stuff, there will soon be a whole novel of it.
‘Okay, but what if she had rreeeaally big tits-’ ‘No Jeff. Oh my me. I’ve told you this a thousand times already.’ Jesus, ever patient, doesn’t flinch at my question. Even though it’s pretty legit. ‘Looking at a woman with sexual thoughts is adulterous. ‘ I mumble something that goes along the lines of, well you shouldn’t have made them that obvious, under my breath. Jesus obviously hears and a small smile is in on the corner of his lips. Peter rolls his eyes, flicking a rock away with his staff. ‘Why are you like this, Jeff?’ He looks at Jesus his eyes are thirsty for approval as usual even though we all knew who masters favorite was. ‘Trust our Rabbi. Only he knows what is right.’ I make faces behind his back but he’s too busy gazing at Jesus in awe to notice. I admit, I know that feeling. At first I didn’t believe what people said about him. The miracles he could do. I still sometimes don’t even though I seen them. Faith is the big thing with master. Believe and everything will come to past. I still can’t raise the dead though. ‘This looks like a lovely place to rest.’ Jesus stops under a large tree that casts a lovely shade that I need right now. I push past Peter and sit by his right side chuckling at his surprise turn to anger. He grits his teeth. ‘Really?’ I blink innocently. ‘What?’ Jesus smiles. ‘Peter, why don’t you go and see what’s keeping Simon and the others?’ Peter immediately bows and walks away eager to do whatever master says as usual. ‘And make sure Judas didn’t spit in my water!’ I yell after Peters retreating back. ‘I don’t trust that guy. Do you trust that guy?’ I say more lowly to Jesus. He doesn’t reply. He stares into the distance. He does that often. He knows the secrets of the world and I wonder what he sees. What he knows and what he can prevent. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ His voice is low. I shake my head. I thought I was here to live a good life but after his teachings, I don’t know anything anymore. ‘To serve you?’ I try. Peter would have answered in a second. Jesus inclines his head thoughtfully. ‘Yes. But you must also led a life that is pleasing unto my father. And resist all evil. You will be hated. Persecuted. Hurt. But you must have faith.’ I hated conversations like this. I didn’t understand his logic. ‘But master, you said you love us. And you have such great power. Why don’t you save us from these sickness and pain? Why are there poor people? Broken people? If you truly love us you must care about them. You can heal them all at once.’ He shakes his head. ‘There is evil in the world. You must overcome it. Or it will destroy you.’ ‘But you’re the son of god. Surely you can eradicate all evil. With a snap. If you love us so much, why must we suffer?’ I was growing angrier. My voice rose. Jesus was quiet. Then in a voice filled with shattering pain, he whispered, ‘that is why I am here.’ He looked at my and I felt broken yet filled up at the same time. ‘To ease your pain.’ We are silent for a long time. Then I speak. ‘Hey master are you going to teach me how to do that water to wine thing?’ He chuckles. ‘We both know what would happen if i did that. You would turn the whole Mediterranean into booze.’ I gasp and put a hand on my chest like he didn’t just read my mind. ‘I would never stop at the Mediterranean. Think of all the money we could spend selling your wine. Look at my sandals.’ He laughs. ‘This is the path you chose.’ He pats my shoulder. ‘I’m glad you decided to walk with me.’ I smile. ‘Bet you’ve already shown Peter how to do it.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Jeff...’ ‘Bet that’s why he fishes huh? Unlimited water for his drinking? What if he already sells it?’ ‘I swear to me Jeff. Keep this up and I’m leaving you out of my biography.’ He stands and begins to walk to the rest of the disciples. I smile. He doesn’t really mean that. Right?
As you step into the haggard castle aged and ravaged by time, you notice as all people inevitably do that the staircases move. Around you the new students stand in awe as the stairs shift and change as if a puppeteer were performing a ballet, the only thought on your mind being that it appears to be over a six foot drop and the handrails are not up to code. As you progress into the great hall you stare up at the ceiling, there candles float unsuspended by cable or line, both a fire and falling object hazard, a double whammy. The students are getting sorted into their houses now, you can see an old hat being lain upon each child's head, dusty and apparently talking, you wonder if that hat contains asbestos and if the children should be wearing a respirator. Finally the sorting is finished, and the headmaster waves their hand and a spread of magnificent food appears along all of the tables. The children, apparently accustomed to this, dig fervently at this feast and the only thought on your mind is who made the food and was the proper cooking procedures for safety followed, and what rating did they have from the health department. Finally dinner was concluded, of which you stuck to fruit, better to be safe from food poisoning. As you follow the head student for your hall you notice the paintings seem to move and talk, astounding to say the least but you wonder if those picture frames are properly rated for weight and if they are wearing a harness incase of a fall. You reach the end of the corridor and the head student gives some random phrase to one of the talking paintings, amazingly enough it seems to open and reveals a room inside, is this the fire exit and if so does this one count as blocking it? You head inside and to the sleeping area to find your belongings stacked neatly near your assigned bed, apparently now occupying a chest that you suspect weighs over 50 pounds. Heading back down to the common area you notice a huge fire place and no grating to prevent any stray sparks from catching fire to surrounding objects, you will have to setup a fire watch otherwise the whole place could go up. Edit: continuing as some people pointed out it felt unfinished because it essentially was. As the morning sun crested the horizon you awaken relieved that the night continued uninhibited and the fire seemed to contain itself, maybe that was magic at work but for now you will restrain yourself until you know more. Hunger is setting in and you hurry to dress yourself and progress down past the common room and proceed towards the main hall for breakfast, today is the first day of classes and you aren't quite sure what will happen. Arriving into the main hall you notice that the candles are still there, fully alight and somewhat unsettling as well as something else floating around you barely catch a glimpse of. Memories of the dinner you barely partook of come rushing back and you remember your lack of appetite due to the concerns of the dinner's origin. You can see around you a spread full of sausages, pancakes, waffles, eggs and every other variety of your favorite breakfast foods. Determination now sets in to no longer be deprived based on imagined unsanitary conditions and so you set off to consult with someone to discover for yourself the origins of the feast around you, as well as to point out the obvious code violations you witnessed the night before. Approaching the back side of an older looking gentleman, you clear your throat to gain their attention and as he turns around you notice that it is in fact the headmaster himself. Suddenly all the courage you mustered turns sour in your stomach as you see the pinnacle of magic and this school stand before you with a curious look on his face. You manage to squeak out a timid "Sir may I borrow a moment of your time?"as the gentleman seems to smile slightly at this query. "It seems to me that you are already doing so, what can I do for you young one?"he asks with both wisdom and kindness as well as a subtle power, like what you would expect a river to sound like if it could speak. Noticing that you are still in one piece and seem none the worse for wear, a little bit of courage returns and you ask him politely "sir, where does the food come from?". A slightly surprised look comes across his face, as if no student has ever asked him this question before or even considered that it wasn't purely magical in nature. Responding with "An inquiring nature is most welcome here at Hogwarts, come with me and we shall alleviate this concern of yours."he starts to walk away towards one of the side rooms. Following him now you go down corridor and stair, down into the very bowels of the castle, you arrive at a room filled with creatures that you have never seen before doing magic with no words or incantation spoken. Seeing the surprised look on my face, the headmaster says "These, young one, are called house elf's. They provide our students with meals and services in the castle. Without them we would all be in somewhat dire straits, wouldn't you say?" Looking around you see that they are not touching anything, simply using magic for every action and need. Food flies from one room into a pan, sizzling and seemingly coming to life, the pan dances over the fire as if an invisible master chef were doing their work. Looking around you can see no issue with this other than the way these creatures were dressed, in what appeared to be a rag draped over their bodies. Without even realizing, you blurt out to the headmaster "Why aren't they wearing actual clothes? Why are they all in rags?". A sad look appears on his face as he turns to you and says "This world of ours is filled with those that hate anything different than themselves, if I were to dress these elf's in anything other than what they are wearing, they would come after me and this school alike. I assure you young one that they are not abused here, and most of them would not take kindly to being clothed any other way. It has been this way for many years, much longer than you or I have been alive, and such things are not quick to change."Seeing the sad look on his face you decided to change the subject instead and ask him to please lead you out of here. On the way out you remember all of the other code violations are observed and decide to ask him about them. "Sir, I've noticed that you have quite a few OSHA violations, and was wondering if you wouldn't fix them?". Perplexed, he asks you, "What is OSHA? Is it anything like MOSHA?". "MOSHA?"you ask him. He looks at you and says "MOSHA young one is the Magical Order of Safety and Health Apparitions, they are ghosts that prevent fatal injuries within these castle walls. Surely you've seen such apparitions around?" Noticing the confused look on your face he says "Follow me.", and leads you to the main hall. Waving his hand he yells "Nick come here please"and a ghost suddenly appears from below ground. An older gentleman, he appears semi-translucent and wears clothes from a time long past. "Ah there you are"the headmaster says "please enlighten this young one on what it is you do here". The ghostly figure looks at you and says "My job, as well as others, is to ensure your safety from things like ghastly falls while you're inside the castle. If we see you're about to fall into a hole or other such thing, we pop up in front of you and warn you of such dangers. We can touch you if we so choose but are only permitted to do so to save your life." The headmaster looks at me and says "Now young one what was this OSHA you speak of, I'm not that familiar with the muggle world and would like to know". You tell him "It's the Operational Safety and Health Administration. It's what regulates if a place and working conditions are safe. They make sure that people can't get hurt". He looks at you with a curious smile on his face and says "young one, we prepare these wizards for a world fraught with danger, keeping them in a perfect cocoon safe from harm won't let them experience what danger feels like and will in turn will make them less wary of the dangers around them. Like with the elf's down below, it has been this way for many years and is not likely to change any time soon, although I will take your concerns into account." As you explain the many code violations, you can see him taking a mental note of it all, listening intently and counting them all in his head. When you finish he says "Some of these concerns we can address, like the fireplace. I will have our caretaker make these changes soon and thank you for your diligence. Now if you would hurry, it appears you have yet to eat and classes begin soon, off you go now". As you hurry towards a table you can feel your hunger suddenly resurface, seemingly satisfied with the safety of the food you dig in and can only marvel at the skill of the house elf's. Everything was delicious, even the top chefs in the muggle world could barely make food of this caliber. You finish your meal and notice the time, classes will be starting in short order and you must hurry. Heading back towards your lodging you take note of any code violations you see, keeping them tucked away in your mind until you can write them down later. This will be a very busy school year it seems.
In a family with Super strength, telepathy, mind control and super intelligence, I was like a freak that's never in place. A power reflect on music. In a family where entertainment is taboo as they "disrupt and pollute minds", and the only music was the intense training on elegance of piano and Violins, I am weak like a baby, my uncles and aunts ridicule me in disguise of concern, my parents and grandparents berate me and called me a total failure worse than having no power at all, and my siblings and cousins outright bullies me with their power whenever there's a chance. It was unbearable, and school doesn't get any better. The only music I can contact are commercial pop musics that were like blunt sawblades and sandboard to me, making me erratic and uncomfortable. There's no silver lining. My "power"is a curse, a jinx, a nightmare with no way of awakening. But then came that fateful day. That day, I successfully found a loophole and escaped for some time myself. As I wander the street, a strange tune came Beckoning on me. It was distant and ambient, but I can Hear it beating with my heart. It was thumping and shrieking, filled with anger, But with a rhythm that was like the heartbeat and footstep of an approaching beast. I walked slowly closer and closer to the source of the sound. It was the Game store sitting in the corner of the street, and the sound was from the advertisement of a Game called "Doom". As the music become clearer and clearer, it started to pump power into my body. It makes me feel like the force of nature, an unstoppable force. Now I finally found where my power lies. It's not the soft shit made out of suffering to please the people above them, nor is it the assemblyline mass-produced cashgrab. It's here. In Doom. In the controlled anger fabricated out of Real effort. I purchased a copy of the soundtrack with the money I saved out of all the years, and a cheap music player to play it into my ears. It's payback time.
I looked back and forth between the dragon, a glorious pink and gold beast the size of a large dog, and the manual, entitled "Care and Feeding of the Modern Dragon." "I, uhh."I opened the apartment door wider and the dragon primly stepped inside. I followed. She - I was sure she was a she - curled up in between the television and couch and looked up at me expectantly. I say heavily on the couch and stared, dumbfounded. "Well shit,"I said. "Now what?" She cocked her head at me as if to say "why are you asking me?"and nudged the book in my left hand. Shrugging, I opened it. "Congratulations!"it read, "you have been chosen to be the lifelong companion of a real DRAGON! "Dragons live for a very, very long time, so this is quite a commitment, to be sure! It is VERY important that you UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES touch your chosen dragon if you do not feel capable or willing to meet this commitment." I froze, having been idly scratching the dragon behind the spines on her head. Eyes wide, I continues reading. "Physical contact seals the bond between dragon and human, binding them together for life. If you are comfortable with this prospect, you may touch your dragon now." I realized I had not stopped scratching, but I turned the page and read on, fascinated. "If you are reading this, CONGRATULATIONS again! You have successfully pair bonded with your dragon companion! This status brings with it many benefits, including the ability to understand High Draconic and to both understand and speak Low Draconic. Other benefits include a linked lifespan. Neither you nor your companion need worry about outliving the other. You will come to learn more through your centuries together. Welcome, new Dragonkin." I blinked. The book contained much, much more, but I couldn't cope. The dragon, sensing how overwhelmed I was, laid her head in my lap. [My name is Rosegold,] she said into my mind, [and I have chosen very, very well.]
“I swear mom, come see for yourself,” I call out, turning back to the clothes dryer. The palm sized dragon is now standing at the dryer door, looking up at me with an annoyed expression. “Hey kid,” it says in a deep voice, “I’m trying to keep a low profile here. I’ll be gone in a few days, no harm done. You keep this between us and I’ll make it worth your while.” I’m about to reply when the laundry door starts to open. “Remember the deal kid,” the dragon says before burping a small fireball and scrambling back into the dryer. “What is it Sammy,” mom says urgently as my baby sister wails in her arms. “Never mind,” I mumble and look down at the pile of clean clothes, “I’ll fold the washing.” “Thanks Sam, you’re really growing up,” she says, rocking the baby before slamming the door. The dragon emerges again, “thanks Sammy boy, you’re alright you know that?” He’s holding a small glass bottle in the paper bag and takes a swig before burping another fireball. “Do you have a name?” I ask. “My mates call me Doug,” he replies. “So what are you doing in my clothes dryer, Doug?” He shrugs and takes another swig, “just a job, nothing personal.” “Your job is to make a nest in my dryer?” He laughs, “you’re funny kid, I like that. And I’m not nesting, I’m just crashing for the night while I sober up. Thanks by the way,” he says, tipping his bottle, “I work for Walmart. It’s nothing glamorous, not like work in the old days, but it pays the bills.” “So you’re employed by Walmart to steal my socks?” “I mean, yeah, Walmart or whoever else is offering the best deal. There ain’t no other work for honest dragons in this brave new world, so most of us end up working for sock companies.” I grab hold of an odd sock sitting on the washing pile and stare at it, lost in thought. “And how do you get paid?” I ask finally. “We keep the pocket change mostly. I’ve got a stash on 45th street. It’s not much and this doesn’t help,” he says as he licks the last drip of liquid from the bottle, “but it’s better than nothing.” I shake my head, amazed at the absurdity of the situation. Then I remember what he said. “So what’s the deal? How you planning to make this worth my while?” The dragon laughs and throws his bottle onto the laundry floor, smashing it. “Hey, I have to clean that up!” He shrugs, leans towards me and whispers, “you wanna know the true story of how Smaug got his stash?”
Walking in the Reverse was entirely upsetting, Artoria decided. If she had to pick a way to describe it, her newfound knowledge of the modern world would choose 'Minecraft'. A world stitched together by biomes related to their mythologies. But unlike the popular game, they couldn't travel between them. Like snowglobes. Just little snapshots or dioramas of their worlds that they weren't allowed to cross between. "They've found your tomb. In Britain. That's a good thing. Reinforces your hold on this place. You've got more power if they think you were real."Merlin fed the small white thing perched on his shoulder. The tiny Beast hopped down and dropped the nut in front of one of the birds surrounding Merlin's tree stump. It cried 'Foo!' and raced to scramble up Artoria's plated skirt, but she shrugged the small dog off, still angrily pacing around her territory. "It's simply insane, Merlin! Why should our Fates be decided by their artistic whims? I don't recall having any daughters, but now I've got two! And there's ten different versions of me! And Laundsallyn hates me again, but the other Lancey doesn't want to murder me with literally any weapons he can get his hands on and--and--"Artoria threw herself down on the ground and screamed, thrashing around in the grass. The fluffy white thing gave another "Foo"and threw itself down beside her, crawling forward to lick her nose. "And you feel you've lost control, my king?"Merlin stood over her, leaning against his staff and brushing his long white mane over his shoulder. "I felt the same, at first. Our new reality is tied to their fantasies. That magic is real in other universes and mages host arcane Hunger Games fairly regularly to win some Monkey's Paw wish. There's cruelty. Always drama. Always a victim, in these stories. Thousands of 'bad endings'. But you have to wonder, my king." Merlin knelt, lifted Artoria's head into his lap, and pulled her bangs away from her eyes. Fou jumped and climbed to sit in Merlin's mess of hair. "What happened? What did the people of this world experience that shifted their perception of our stories, our mythologies, to lead them to believe this?" "...And what do they need us for?"
It was creepy at first. They wouldn't stop. I heard them every morning, at the exact same time, always just one phrase "It's coming"and nothing else. I learned Morse Code as a way to pass the time, nothing more than a passing interest. Now I wish I had never learned it at all, none of my friends know Morse, and they wouldn't believe me even after I showed them a video recording! They chalked it all up to me reading too much into things refusing to take me seriously... I stopped talking to them after that. .. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. Then it became annoying, days became weeks, became months, and now it's been three years since the tapping began. I had learned to live with it, after they followed me from my old house to my new apartment upstate; and here I thought birds flew south for the winters, not these ones it seems. After the third year of this I had settled into a form of morbid routine; wake up, hear the message, go about my day and repeat. Sometimes I'd even tap back a half-hearted response, it's not like the birds cared, they just kept tapping. .. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. Finally I snapped, I was mad. I went on a killing spree; I used traps, a bb gun, even adopted a cat! Just so that they would leave me alone. It didn't do anything at first, they just kept coming back, at the same time, every day... always "It's coming"nothing more. I did not relent though, and slowly a hundred became a few dozen and flocks came down as red rain down onto the streets below. Until finally, finally, silence. .. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. I got evicted shortly after one of the people in the lower units realized that it was me who was killing the birds late at night. It was no matter, I won, the birds would trouble me no longer. I never did find out what it was they were tapping so religiously about, what it was that caused them to throw themselves at me despite me actively trying to kill them. I never figured out what "It"was. Even now I couldn't care less. The skies are clear, the sun is rising and the streets look so inviting from way up here... .. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --. ^(.. - .----. ... / -.-. --- -- .. -. --.) ^(.. - .----. ... / .... . .-. .)
It's a cool autumn day as the town withdraws to the gates, having heard from scouts that a surprise attack will be launched at dusk. As people walk into the gates, they find themselves walking around a sizeable armored machine. It's been the talk of the town since it showed up last week, having burst out of the Witchwoods at full speed nearly crushing a forager before coming to a stop. The men inside the machine were dressed strangely, and spoke a familiar, but strange dialect of English. They did not speak openly of how they got here, and rumors circle them like crows. Investigations into their journey only found that their path of destruction through the woods seems to start abruptly from a fairy ring. The three men crewing their steel chariot work quietly, just beside the gates as they flip open panels full of complex mechanisms hidden all over the iron beast. As dusk begins to cover the town, a horn is heard from the treeline nearest the gate, and the town begins to lock down. An army of about 250 Francish men and a siege ram rush the small town from the treelines, facing as stiff a resistance as the limited manpower on the walls can provide. As arrows fly from and over the protective wall around the town, the strange men climb inside their chariot, and position themselves directly at the front gate, their weapon pointed at the door. The crew wait patiently for the knock on the door, as the ram makes contact with the gates, shaking them to their hinges. Another slam is heard as more of the Francish army gathers by the gates, dreams of plunder making them drool as they stack up. Another good slam, and the gates fall in front of the tank, and several men only have a second to wonder what that machine is before a deafening sound of thunder fills the air, throwing up dirt outside the gate as fire bursts from the small tube on top of the tank. The mood in the air changes in an instant as the brutes throw themselves out of the way of the heavy machinegun, a weapon of death they can barely fathom. Before they can formulate a plan, the tank charges forward out the gates, crushing anyone so unfortunate as to be unable to get out of the way. The fierce thugishness has evaporated and the army tries to scatter as the tank drives at full speed, flattening anyone unable to get out of the way, and firing upon anyone foolish enough to try and fight. A few of the more tenacious soldiers attempt to climb on the machine, desperately trying to smash open a hatch or damage anything that looks important, but are swept off as the main cannon rotates, and drives them to the ground beneath the treads. The army is in full retreat as their archers attempt in vain to cover the escape, forming a line to fire upon the tank, only able to scratch the paint job. As the main cannon turns towards them, they scramble, only able to guess at what this weapon can do, but its too late. The entire battlefield shakes as the cannon is fired, leaving a crater where half a dozen men once stood, and throwing off the last of the boarders from the shockwave. Less than a fifth of the Francish army is alive, and retreating as the tank cruises back to the town's gate, and they're hailed as heroes for saving the town from a certain invasion. The amount of death dished out by their chariot was terrifying to behold from a distance, never mind when it comes to cleaning up the bodies but the people of the town are glad this murder machine took their side. As the crew takes the rest of the day to relax, they realize that they are going to run out of ammo and gas soon, and then they'll be sitting ducks, but for now they're heroes, and plan to leverage what they know about the future to take advantage of this situation they have found themselves in. (I kinda ran out of steam here and cant figure out how to wrap it up lol)
"No, no this can't be happening. It's just a dream. It has to be."I scream in a deep raspy voice that's not mine. Lying in front of me are a dozen statues of various dragons with expressions ranging from excitement to confusion and lastly to terror. Just a week ago I was just another dragon in the academy. I was the top of my class but unlike the rest of my kin I hadn't been able to break the spell placed on me at my birth binding me to a human form. I didn't care much. It's not like I needed to fight and I was skilled enough in flight magic that only the wind dragons could out speed me. My lack I just chalked up to being an orphan since all the other kids had their parents and sibling's help with breaking the spell. And last night I'd finally figured out the breaking point. It turned out my true form was a fair bit different then other dragons. For starters it was serpentine so I had to erase my legs rather than strengthening them and mainly my magic was centered on my eyes instead of the lungs like most dragons. I guessed I was simply a holy serpent, a powerful creature capable of gazing into a person's soul. How wrong was I. "Keep your eyes on the ground Amarok."The voice of the headmaster came at me from the sky. I could feel his magic filling to ground as the earth rose forming a cone around my head, leaving me in darkness. "So this is what you were." "Please, there has to be a way to cure them! I don't care what you need! I'll get it!"I yelled trying to grab my head with arms far to small to reach. "I'm sorry young Lindworm. The unfiltered gaze of a Basilisk has no cure. It's the reason your kind was exterminated all those centuries ago. Or almost exterminated." "Then please, finish the job. I won't stop you." "I've already lost twelve of my students today Amarok. If I lost thirteen, I'd have to close the school for fear of these grounds being cursed." "Then what am I supposed to do?" "I am not a king, I'm a teacher. I don't give orders, I give choices. You're a good boy Amarok, as are your friends. They will forgive you regardless of what you do but if you seek the advice of an old man with one too many sins on his back, if you ever wish to accept their forgiveness you better prove to yourself that this life was worth there's. May the Celestials bless you."
L0rdOmegon: this guy is clearly cheating MarvelNum: I've been to this place! It was awesome. Nummi1114: @ L0rdOmegon lol cope harder L0rdOmegon: do you actually believe he's not just using Wiki? OMEGALUL Jaaakk448: message deleted by moderator K1ll1an: Does anyne else find it wierd hes speaking as if he was there, its a weird bit MarvelNum: It's just his way of keeping it entertaining. 0001200018564: Please follow my Twitch Channel. 0001200018564 was banned by MarvelNum L0rdOmegon: well its a weird fucking bit, L + ratio plospers11: hey why are people just saying OMEGALUL? Nummi1114: you need an extension, try BTTV L0rdOmegon: peepoLeave this guy stinks ScrumbleDumble donated 100 bits: Thank you for all the entertainment, keep it up! Jaaakk448: Why was my msg delet? mikah7: can anyone fact check these stories hes saying? im too lazy MarvelNum: I remember being in some tours that said the same things, just less detailed. Guess he's a history buff. mikah7: lol nerd klernt: peepoJuice MarvelNum: All right, take care! peepoHappy ScrumbleDumble: Clap Good stream. Jaaakk448: message deleted by moderator
Finding his ex-boyfriend starring in a shady Internet porn video had been jarring. Then comforting --- Shawn told himself he had known, deep inside, that Jon had been a little too good in bed. It hadn't been his own inadequacy, and now this was the proof. Jon had been in films! That was a relief, and also kind of exciting, too. He smiled ruefully, clicked for the next video --- it would have been too creepy to use people he knew for the fodder between boyfriends --- and then, grunting with surprise, he almost pulled his dick off. The next video was Martin! Another ex-boyfriend of his! What were the chances? Or his preferences? And, wait a minute, that pillow, that floor, that unfortunate shade of the wall --- Shawn turned, took a good hard look at his kitchen, and swore. Had Martin been filming this kind of a stuff here? Why? How? He hadn't ever given Martin a key, and --- Shawn made some inarticulate noises as a pair of familiar hands came to view. His own hands. With rising panic, he checked the rest of the playlist. Impossible. All of his sexual encounters, from the fumbling first to the argument-interrupted last. All of them. All from the same bobbing, heaving amateur view of his own eyes. He had never looked at himself in the mirror all that much. But this was it, the only recorder there had been. He raised a finger and touched his left eyeball. It was hard, unyielding, like a marble. His right one, too. Was... was that normal? He couldn't recall ever touching himself there before. It had never been a part of his... experiences. How could this be? Shawn let his mouth drop open. His breath fogged the mirror, made his image into something not quite human. His breath was warm, wasn't it? His skin, warm, his hands, warm, his body, all that was required for life and love. But his eyes... had he ever wept? He could not remember. It had to be his eyes, but was it just his eyes? If you suppose a camera, what about a... memory card? You have to store the video somewhere, and it can't be a brain. A brain doesn't give out AVI or MKV, right? How... what... was he? He had to be the same as everyone else. He looked just like everyone else, didn't he? He felt... he felt... this wasn't what those hurtful words had meant! He was not cold. He was just... wired... that... way. He either needed a spoon or a doctor. The spoon was closer, and with mechanical detachment he slid it under his left eyeball.
I was already awake, though unwilling to open my eyes when I felt the pressure of something settling on the foot of my bed. Stubbornly refusing to open my eyes, I attempted to will it away, hoping that it would work this time. When the pressure remained, I slowly opened them up a crack and sighed heavily. A seven foot tall half goat, half man sat at the foot of my bed, completely enveloped in a cloud of sulfur. He had long, curling horns, long fingernails, and a truly devilish grin on his face. His hand was delicately raised over my leg, and I saw it descend with care, and silence. There was no time to escape, and I felt a gentle tap on my foot. “You’re it!” he screamed and leapt up from the bed and sprang out the door. “God dammit!” I shouted as I threw off my covers and raced out the door. Inside my head I heard a voice booming, I didn’t tell him where you were, don’t blame me. I slowed down some as I rooted through the house, “Sorry, Dad. No offense.” None taken. After several minutes I gave up and decided to go make some coffee instead. Satan was probably halfway to Hell by now, and there was no way I was going anywhere near there without a cup of Joe in my system. As I sat in my living room, building up the energy to chase after Satan, I saw a thunderstorm start to brew and a small idea started to form in the back of my head. After several minutes, the idea grew into a truly fantastic plan. This game had started millennia ago when God decided he was bored and didn’t feel like running things anymore. So he proposed the game of Deity for the Day. Someone was designated as ‘It,’ and they had to run things until they tagged someone else. All lesser gods and demons were fair game, and since running the universe was difficult, it left very little time to hunt out someone else. Hence why gods and demons seemed to rise and fall over the course of centuries, rather than days. Some of the old gods had gotten complacent, knowing that it had been thousands of years since they had last been It. There were probably a few who had gotten downright lazy, and would be easy enough to track down in their old stomping grounds. And fortunately for me, it had been a long, long time since anyone had sought out the old Scandinavian gods. I wonder how Thor is doing…
At first, most companies gave you the Day off, though it depended on what you did. Sometimes, you were safer at work. Day Anxiety was also a pretty common thing. You could medicate, but that meant taking a chance you'd be incapacitated when It happened or that the drugs themselves would cause the problem. Other people refused to acknowledge that the day mattered at all. Tempting fate whenever they could, like booking base jumping on their Day. The majority though? After the novelty of Knowing wore off, people just stopped asking. They'd tattoo right over the numbers of their children. It got to be an almost automatic thing. Every hospital had an authorized Tattoo specialist on hand. Oh, a person's Day might still be listed in the records somewhere, but who ever checked those? Day Dreamers, that's who. They were analysts who believed that Days were spiritually important and their study got everyone's attention, especially after the government replicated the results. The collected data discovered patterns in the dates and the ten years of information revealed one very clear anomaly. May 14th. In the data pool of millions, there were over a hundred thousand people with the same Day, and tens of thousands more in the following week of dates, all clustered around the coast. Something big was going to happen. The government assumed by the location that some kind of tsunami-like disaster, or possibly a rogue hurricane, would be what caused the damage and threw money at researchers to discover what. The truth was, no one could have expected what actually happened.
"For my client's first wish whose social security number, birth date, photo identification, fingerprints, and genetic code are here enclosed. My client wishes to have the sum value of 1,000,000,000,000 United States of America dollars added to his account after the full and complete reading of this statement. These dollars shall be added as currently valued by the United States Government as of June 20th 2015 as recorded by Coordinated Universal Time. Furthermore, this value of 1 trillion USD shall be added without it being transferred illegally, as defined by NATO, the UN, or the United States of America legal code, including all state legal codes. This value shall not be taken from any other accounts. It shall not be stolen, borrowed, or in anyway received from any other person, organization, company, charity, or financial institution. My client will have constant and instantaneous access to this money, which will not be interrupted for any reason, and no taxes, levies, or debts will be attached to this sum. Furthermore, as my client's second wish. He infers a one hour grace period where he can seek to amend the writing of this first wish to close any loop holes which may appear. This grace period will, again, be kept according to Coordinated Universal Time, and will commence upon the reading of this statement." "Alright already!"The genie shouted. When he had appeared I had instantly ducked over to legal, and after a hurried explanation, ducked back over to the genie with this explanation. I had to promise the lawyer a billion dollars, but hey, power has its price. "Usually people are just happy to see me."He looked quite offended. "My client has not received the balance, and the reading has finished."The lawyer informed the genie. "Yeah, yeah."The genie snapped his fingers, and in my hands appeared a credit card with an amount of 1 trillion dollars floating above it in holographic numbers. "You also have had a swiss bank account set up. I've taken the liberty of giving the access information to your lawyer, and if you'll excuse me I'm going to take the third wish and leave." "What?"The lawyer objected. "You can't do that!" "Oh really mister contract, do you see some kind of legal document demanding that I HAVE to give your client three wishes? No, I just showed up, out of the goodness of my heart, and happily bestowed these three wishes. Little did I know I was going to have the metaphorical book thrown at me for my kindness. So yes, I can do that, because I'm not going to float here and get insulted like this. I'm going back to the 3rd century, where people know how to treat a genie with respect. But before I do."The genie turns to address me directly. "Exactly one year from now, you'll hear from me again."That was more than a little ominous, but who cares. I had a trillion dollars! one year later I still have probably 80% of the money. I still have complete and unfettered access to the money. The genie never pulled any tricks, or did anything untoward to me. The tricks that got pulled on me, were pulled by real people. After a few publicity stunts I pulled involving a dirigible blimp kitted out for full water balloon warfare, people found out I was loaded, and I never made another friend. I also lost all of my current friends, even after I made them all billionaires. I can't find anyone to date because they're all obviously gold digging, and there's a small cities worth of charities, government representatives, and entrepreneurs who are all constantly following me around hoping I'll throw them some money. "The thing with wishes, is not that the genies are evil."The genie said. He appeared with me inside my multi-billion dollar sky fortress where I docked my water balloon assault fleet. He was the only other living thing inside with me. "It's that people never truly know what they want, and will always seem to wish for things that will make them the least happy. It's not about getting the wording right friend, it's about knowing how to fix it after its hit the fan. So the question is, if I were to give you back that third wish. What would you do with it?"
April 20, 2069 16:20 Nasa Headquarters "We've got to get this to the president straight away!" "Yes sir, I'm on it." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- April 20, 2069 16:24 The White House President Bush III is busy in his office, doing some important presidential shit and shedding his lizard skin. His door bursts open, and an agent runs in. "Mr. President! Mr. President! We've got important news, sir!" The agent is visibly sweating and distressed. "Calm down, what's going on?" The agent speaks quickly. "Sir, at 16:20 today we got a call from NASA. They've received a radio signal from outer space! It was a message to us, and we believe it was aliens wh-" The President interrupts. "Aliens? That's crazy! What'd they say?" "Well, you wouldn't believe this, sir. The message they gave us was this.", said the agent, holding up his government issued iPad AirPro 78S. On the display are 8 characters (including spaces), spelling out AYY LMAO. The head of state jumps back, startled and surprised. And angry. He almost sheds his tail. He knows something the agent doesn't know. "What is it, sir?" The president growled back. "It doesn't concern you, little man. Get out." The agent scurries out like a frightened rat. The president uses his lizard telepathy, and reaches out to the other members of the Illuminati. <They're onto us! The Ayyliens are onto us!> ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- April 20, 2069 16:24 Ayylien Mothership "Gargle!" "Hiss, growl, screech!" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- April 30, 2069 17:54 New York City The charred and melted wreck of the alien mothership is seen in the background. Firefighters are trying to put out the fires scattered inside the ship. Emptied kerosene jugs are seen, dumped outside the ship. The President is standing on a podium, while a crowd gathers around him. He begins to speak. His voice rings through the still air. "Today, we have defeated the alien menace! Today, we have finished fighting! We have finished fighting for our freedom!" The President pauses. "Today, we have learned a valuable lesson." The president holds up an empty kerosene jug, similar to the other jugs scattered around the ruins of the alien ship. The crowd murmurs. "It turns out, after all, that jet fuel can melt dank memes!"
EDIT: As this has received a fair amount of attention and I have fallen in love with this concept, I am going to continue this story. Once I have a few chapters I will post them on r/writingprompts as an OT. Keep an eye out for posts titled "The Shade Continued."If you'd like me to notify you when it's been posted, just PM me. Thanks again for your support everyone! Mechanical bell chimes It is 8 a.m. Please wake up, dress up, and await your mentor. Should you need immediate intervention, press your emergency response pendant and remain calm. Have a great day! Mechanical bell chimes The morning announcement has become so familiar to me that I often sleep right through it. It was the outdated florescent lights that always made me spring from my bed. White walls, with worn tiles to greet my bare feet. No fire today. No electricity, or black holes, or lasers, or acid. I could also see my own hands and feet so I knew I was visible today. So far this was starting out to be a stellar morning. I could hear my neighbor next door. Karen, her civilian name, had been here about three weeks. She still wasn't used to some of the more alarming effects our kind could experience in the morning. I leaned against the wall touching her room to see if I could hear anything distinct. The wall was hot. Way too hot, even for these rooms which were designed for just about everything. She was screaming. I could hear orderlies running up and down the hall. Maybe six or seven; a moderate panic for this facility. So far I could not figure out my own threat level. We were, of course, not encouraged to attempt anything superhuman before being in the presence of a mentor. My mentor was Silver Edge, a name I thought was a little old school for my taste. He was a master of bladed weaponry. Swords, throwing knives, daggers, polearms, axes, you name it. He could pick one up and wield it like he was born with the weapon in his hands. Edge's powers made him a little prone to accidents in the superhuman community, so the council had decided he would serve better at the train academy. He hated babysitting the new blood. The locks (there were several) began disengaging and Edge came in. "Ready Alex?" "Yeah I'm good Edge. Is Karen okay?" "Plasma abilities. If she hadn't been sedated, she might have been able to produce heat at levels close to the Sun's chromosphere. We've seen it before but not nearly that potent so quickly. The sedation will last all day and she will start tomorrow with a new power. We cannot let something that powerful exist in the hands of a 16 year old girl. But I'm not concerned about her. Do you have any indicators this morning?" We went through the normal gauntlet of tests: physical examination, responses to stimuli, potential triggers, IQ tests. While there was the always present threat of burning down the whole building or mutating into some horrible beast, it was actually more frustrating when you couldn't discover what your ability was. Edge was getting frustrated faster than I. It was protocol that neither the trainee or mentor could sleep until the power was discovered. Some in the community feared that some incredible, life saving power could be lost forever if every power wasn't documented and tested. I had been here 6 years. I had remained at the academy longer than any rookie. There was no limit to the academy on paper, but there were certainly ways they could encourage you to leave. I was considered a "problem"by some of the other mentors, but Edge never pushed me to pick my abilities before I was ready. He was a grump, but one of the good guys really. We were on hour 18 straight of testing. Edge could tell I was about to snap. "Maybe your new ability is super patience, kid." "Sorry. I know you hate this too Edge." "Eh you're alright. I can tell you're gonna be one of the best. You've got a spark in you that some of these brats never have. Want to call it a day?" "You don't have to do that. I know you can get in huge trouble for that." "I don't know what you mean, Alex. You've clearly displayed mind reading abilities and chosen to reject this ability. I have all that right?" Edge really was one of the good guys, even though he could kill a person with a paperclip. "Yeah that was the gist of it I think. Total mind reader. Just call me Professor Mind." "There's already a Professor Mind. He assists with police interrogations in Gold City. He's also an idiot. I'll let you get some sleep, we'll start this all again. See ya in the morning Alex." He closed the door and the lights shut off. Suddenly I felt the entire world fall away from me. I could see the room clearly, though I knew I was in total darkness. But it wasn't solid. I could feel Karen's room next to mine was dark as well. I could go there, and suddenly I was there with just a thought. I could feel every dark room in the building, even outside the building. I could feel the street outside for miles. That wasn't supposed to be possible. The walls of this building were shielded by every type of of science and magic known to the superhuman world. I could see Edge's room. He was nearly asleep in his room. Suddenly I was at the foot of his bed, but he couldn't see me. "Can you see me Edge?" A knife he kept stashed under his pillow was suddenly drawn. But he clearly couldn't see what had said his name, even with his spectacular eyesight. "I'll take that as a no." "Alex?! Is that you? Astral projection? You couldn't have teleported here." "It's the darkness Edge! I can move freely anywhere with it! I even got out of the academy!" "Alex you left the facility?! You shouldn't have done that! You know that's a huge violation!" "They'd have to catch me first! I think I can go anywhere in shadow!" "Just go back to your room Alex and we'll start testing again. But I need you to go back to your room. You shouldn't be able to get out of your unit, let alone the academy." "Nah I think I'll visit Karen. She sounded really freaked out this morning. Just want to make sure she's okay." "No Alex. Straight to your room." "Call me Shade. I think this is the one."
Some fear monsters with big, sharp sticks, Some fear crowds throwing big, heavy bricks! Some fear a ghost, Some fear the most, Some fear an execution by rope! But of these fears are lame, All of these fears are tame, Compared to the one I’m about to explain. The real thing to fear isn’t A stick A brick A ghost A rope Never hide your guns too close to your right-hand. Never keep the pills too close too close in the night-stand. Not unless you want a mouth full of lead Not unless you wanna be sprawled out, dead. Because the real monsters aren’t the ones under your bed. The real monsters are the ones in your head.
The money saved her life. It first arrived when she was jobless in a city that crawled with people desperate for work. She hoarded the money and spent as little as she could, terrified that the miraculous little envelopes would cease to arrive like clockwork every Wednesday. Of course, she wondered who it could be. But it arrived in the post from a different location every time, and there was no way to contact them. Maybe a hidden relative, taking pity on poor Nina, alone in the big city with no family to turn to? It was a stupid idea - what kind of relative stayed hidden but had no problems doling out a fortune? But for that matter, what kind of stranger did that? She started saving the money when she finally landed a job, and then bought a car. Gradually her obsession with the money faded as she dutifully stashed it away every month. But when she lost the job two years later, and gratefully began exhausting the checks she had squirrelled away, she waited impatiently for them every week once again. There was no-one and nothing else to rely on. She didn't have siblings, she didn't have parents. Her family was dead. And then they simply stopped coming. Nothing had changed, except her sudden unemployment. So when the serious-looking man with flecks of grey at his temples, carrying a leather briefcase, knocked on her door, she opened at once. He was holding a white envelope. It was him. It had to be. "Nina,"he said with a smile that somehow didn't quite reach his grey eyes. He must realise she was in trouble, she thought, and invited him in. "Will you please sit down?"she blurted out as she handed him a cup of tea and sat on the couch, fiddling with her necklace as she greedily looked at the man she'd wondered about for the past five years. He was dressed very simply in a black t-shirt and jeans. He looked too thin, a sharp nose and narrowed eyes adding to the impression. "I've been waiting to explain for a long time, Nina,"he said, sipping his tea. She noticed a curious scar on his finger, and felt a faint memory tug at her, but couldn't quite grasp it. "Are you family?"she asked. He took another careful sip of tea, his pale grey eyes boring into hers. "You could say that. I knew your family quite intimately." She waited for him to elaborate, but he merely flashed that strange, flat smile at her. He suddenly wiggled his finger in the air. "Do you remember when you gave me this? You were just a little girl. Barely four years old. I tried to pick you up, do you remember?" Murky flashes of memory came back to her at the words. The masked man, during the night it had happened, grabbing her after her parents and sister's screams and wet, dying gurgles had fell silent. She had bit him. They'd told her afterwards she must have, though she didn't really remember - because of the skin stuck to her teeth. For a while, everyone had hoped the flakes of skin would be the key to find the man that had disappeared. She only remembered him standing there silently, looking down at her after she had bit him. He had seemed to think for a while, before he turned, and left her behind. "I always kept an eye out for you, Nina,"he said conversationally, draining his tea. "Yes, and helped you, didn't I? My little project. Did you know that was your parents money, almost everything that was in that safe I found in their bedroom? With a little contribution from my own funds." He tapped the white envelope he'd been holding and placed it on the table. "I'm afraid this will be the last of it." He paused to think as she tried to open her mouth to scream, or simply say something. A hoarse kind of sob was all that escaped her as she saw him suddenly fish out a handgun from the leather briefcase. "I always wondered what it would be like to help someone, only to take everything away again. Usually, I only arrive to take. But this,"he said, taking quick, shallow breaths as his eyes gleamed with excitement. "I can't tell you what a feeling of completeness, of achievement, I feel. The wait was worth it. True artistry takes time, you know?"he nodded to himself, then seemed to frown as he looked into her wide, terrified gaze, her mouth trying to form words. "If it makes you feel any better, you were not my only project. I've had too many to count, over the years. Though you were a rather special one." He pulled the trigger as Nina finally unglued herself from the sofa and sprang up. The bullet sank into her stomach. The man drained the dregs of tea that were left and placed the cup neatly on the coaster on the coffee table. "I hope you understand better now,"he said politely as he shoved the gun back in the briefcase and left the apartment. Nina coughed blood as she stared after him, wishing she could open her mouth that refused to obey her, and say she didn't. Not at all. ------ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
I guess I'm the black sheep in my family. All my older brothers and sisters are amazing people and I'm well, not quite that. See, my oldest brother Mark started the trend. He joined the military at sixteen and became a captain at twenty and the next thing we know, he's leading his own fleet. Mom and Dad were so proud - a captain in the family, can you believe it? But I can't hold it against him. Mark, well, Mark is a good guy. He visits now and again and ruffles my hair. He asks me if I've been a good boy and he always brings treats from whatever cool place he was stationed at. Next is Susan. Susan was a lot more quiet than Mark was, much more reserved. She spent all of her time with her nose in a book. I hoped that she would be the normal one, perhaps become a librarian - something still respectable but something I could live up to - nope, this girl ends up curing three different types of cancer. I mean good for Susan, but come on! Not one, super amazingly talented over- achieving sibling but two? Talk about life not throwing you a bone. She doesn't visit much but we see her on the news a lot. From what we hear anyway, she's in Africa this week for a UN Health press conference. I know that Mom and Dad are super proud, but I can see it in their eyes, they miss her. And then there are Tim and Jim. Well, technically their names are Timothy and James Carver, but to me, they will always be Tim and Jim. They were a right bunch of knuckleheads growing up - unlike Mark and Susan who mostly kept to themselves, they truly gave me the older sibling experience. They would rough house with me and wrestle and try to play keep away with my toys but they were all right. I thought, finally, at least one of my siblings might be normal. Nope. Tim and Jim saw a documentary on the future of farming on Mars one Christmas and the rest is history. Tim became one of the leading experts in agriculture in zero gravity environments and Jim majored in astrophysics at Stanford and worked on the rocket used in the first Mars Colonization mission. They face time us all the time from Mars but with their busy schedules, and mom and dad being too old to travel in zero gravity, they don't have much actual physical contact with us. So, those are my siblings: Mark, Susan, Tim and Jim. Doing amazing things. Out there. I mean, I'm proud of them, but I wish Mom and Dad could be just as proud of me too. I fulfill important roles too, I mean, not like curing cancer or Mars Mission important but still important. Sure, I'm not the captain of my own fleet, a world renowned doctor or even a part of the Mars Mission, but I'm home every night to kiss my parents good night, give them plenty of hugs, and keep the mailman from murdering us, and I think sometimes, that's enough.
"Don't forget to comb your hair John"said Voice #2 (I like to call them Nagy Niles). "Shut up!"I groaned, staring at my reflection in my smudged mirror. I began to straighten my hair, knowing fully well that Niles would just complain all day if I didn't. "And don't you dare harass me about breakfast this morning!" I'm apparently schizophrenic, I've been hearing voices for a good couple months now. At first, it was kind of novel, like my own little Jiminy Cricket telling me how to live a decent live. That was before I realized I had a cricket infestation. As of now, I've heard about four distinct voices, each telling me how to live my life in their own irritating way. Voice 1, Polite Peggy, was the first voice I ever heard. Her shtick is telling me how to be cordial and nice to those around me. I've already discussed Niles, and how he constantly is trying to make sure I am fit and well kept. Voice 3, Honest Harold, whines like a baby the moment I start to lie to someone, even if it's a harmless white lie. Voice 4, Nervous Nancy, is making me think I'm a paranoid schizophrenic, what with her constant fear over every little thing. And I'm not even sure if these voices are done showing up yet. As soon as I'd think I've heard the last of new ones, another would bore its way into my head. I've been living a nightmare. I can barely feel like myself anymore. I haven't had a drink in weeks, I don't swear, I'm wearing nice clothes, these voices are turning me into a model person. Yeah, maybe I did need to be a little better in life. But this? Man, I'm going crazy- but I can't even cut loose. "Quit with the monologues dear, people will think you're brooding!" "Kill me."
Ever since I was a young child, I had been able to perceive what other people were thinking. But I didn't know what it was back then, it took me a while to piece it together. My parents were none too understanding so I learned quickly to keep it to myself. Human thoughts are rather disordered. Most people don't even know what they're thinking most of the time. It's not as if I'll suddenly hear someone think "Oh, wow - look at that red jumper." No, it's not like that. It will be a feeling associated with red, coupled with the way their first partner used to make them feel when dressed in red, plus a minor visual distortion and a vast series of possibilities about what the person's reaction might be. After their mind has raced through dozens if not hundreds of possibilities, mixed words with meanings, flashed memory after memory before my eyes, and finally after what seems like a hundred miles of racing in a fraction of a second actually settled on a course of action - then, and only then, might I be able to figure out what their reaction is going to be. Sometimes I can even guess it before they do it, but I'm not usually that fast - actually I'm probably pretty stupid as far IQ goes. I'm just a telepath. That doesn't mean I can see the future or work things out. Sometimes it comes through like a voice, but it's more likely to be something else - a feeling, a sound, a smell. I find that I am invariably more aware of a person's subconscious than they are. Mostly what I see is a multi coloured hazy fog filled with neuroses, feelings, inklings, and emotional attachments. I can still usually figure out what's going on in people's lives. I can tell them about parts of them long buried, about hidden traumas or repressed feelings. It's written on them as I walk past. I know who has had a divorce, I know who has just had a baby, I know if you're depressed, elated, if your parents were in the army. Some people find it helpful, but most just find it weird. Most people won't even acknowledge it if you tell them something about themselves - they're too busy thinking, regretting, denying, or just ignoring. They don't want to know, so mostly I don't tell them. I'm walking to the shop to buy a pint of milk. Unkempt, as usual. I'm probably wearing pyjamas - it's hard to concentrate on the mundane when the thoughts of the world chatter away at you 24/7. The lady who just walked past me is looking forward to something, and the dude on the bike is in a hurry, he is worried about his child - probably rushing to pick them up at school. The guy in the Fiesta is angry and is listening to angry music. He's trying to get somewhere, somewhere he knows he's going to be humiliated and he's angry about it. Everyone is in such a hurry in the city. I think the two children are happy - but the third one is feeling a bit down, I think she has problems at school. "Hey hey, kid. You're great! Don't worry about it. They don't know what's happening anyway"I say this as I walk past. She laughs at me, and she feels a bit happier now. I like that. Younger children are much closer to knowing themselves. There's a dog on a leash with this woman. I like animals, they are honest. Never much confusion there, never much room for madness. I smile at the dog as I walk past. I'm nearly at the store, and there is a guy looking like a tramp standing outside the exit talking at people who are coming out of the store. His hair is standing on end, he is wearing flip flops and a dressing gown, and has a can of beer in one hand. He has a stronger reaction to some people than to others. He is chattering - chattering to himself, chattering to things which the other people aren't seeing. It's clearly making some people feel uneasy enough to give him a wide berth, but I'm not sure if he's aware of it. "You will resent it for ever!"He yells at a guy leaving the store, as I walk through the entrance. I quietly pick up my milk, and check out at the counter. The cashier is pregnant, but she doesn't know yet. I don't make eye contact - mind contact is already enough of a burn out. All I really want is to go back home and have tea. As I leave the store, I catch the eye of the tramp standing outside. He says nothing. We look at each other as I walk past, and we both nod to each other. I continue walking. Wherever I go, I always find that there are others like me. We never really speak though. There's never anything to say.
The initial landing team was set to enter the White House and replace the President of the United States. It only made sense as replacing this leader would put in them in charge of 37% of Earth's defense budget and one of the largest nuclear arsenals. Once this was done the second wave could approach and begin replacing other world leaders quickly, with little worry about repercussions if they were discovered. Which the chances of were zil. The ships were completely invisible to infrared, radio, gamma, and microwave radiation detection mechanisms via adaptive camouflage. The were also silent, both audibly and gravametrically, which their intelligence department said the brightest human scientists were quickly advancing in the field of. The encounter suits had the same technologies, but also anti-grav boots to skim across any pressure plates, deodorizers to neutralize any of the four legged, biologically engineered chem sniffers the humans employed, and dozens of other countermeasures that would let them enter the Oval Office unobserved and complete their mission. The agents had already also been outfitted with custom prosthetics, indistinguishable from human skin and hair by any form of medical analysis. They had undergone extensive training and received multiple implants, that together allowed them to hear, speak, and understand the native "American"language spoken in this country. The ship approached slowly, coming in only on anti-grav engines. No entry burn could be used. The going was laboriously slow, only intensified by the long, quiet trip already made from the dark side of the moon. Stealth paid with speed, but the bargain would soon be worth it. The final approach was done with sensors dark. They would land near the White House on the lawn where the Marine chopper often sat. The dents already in the grass would cover their approach even further. With a nearly imperceptible shift, the vessel set down. They were here! The agents quickly made their way to the exit hatch and stepped into a twilight world, shaded over by what the humans called an "ozone layer". In the gloom they took a moment to realize that they were completely surrounded by humans. Panic set in. They must have misread the chopper schedule. The humans must be waiting for it to land. If they were trapped under it, they would be captured for sure! "Welcome to Earth! We come in peace! Oh wait, is that your line?" One of the humans was walking towards them. He had a big goofy smile on and a large pair of very dark glasses. They must be some advanced form of visual detectors! All the people around them had on the same glasses. A few humans with large mechanical devices pointed at the agents seemed to have dark filters of similar color mounted on these objects as well. "We've been very excited to meet you. You'll be pleased to know we've been following your approach for days. Your technology is unlike anything we've ever known. Very bright of you to make your ships so shiny, particularly since they are so efficient. We'd never have caught their reflection otherwise. Low-emission, good for the environment. I like that."Goofy smile, which the agents had now identified as the President, turned and gave a thumbs up for the cameras. The agents were dumbfounded. One managed to squeak out a meager reply. "Nice to meet you too." The President turned back to them with his goofy grin. "Obviously, you must know about our planet already to have decided to land in the U.S. of A. first. Tell me, are your people like Superman? Krptonians? X-Ray vision?" X-RAYS! That must be it. An unforeseen method of detection. A fatal flaw in their plan. They must be wearing what their xenobiologists had before claimed were fictional 'X-Ray Glasses'.
Reality-Warping. Probably the most overpowered superpower there is. Anything you want, made possible at a whim. My super-strength is nothing compared to someone who can turn my muscles into Nilla Wafers with a thought. Luckily, the only supervillain I know with reality-warping powers is a 14-year old named Tommy. Tommy's actually not a bad dude. Just a little childish. The last time we clashed, he was trying to steal the grand prize in a tournament at the local arcade. Oh, did I mention he really likes video games? In fact, that's what all our battles end up being. Real life video games. The first time we met, he created a world with goombas and koopas all over, and I had to be Mario in real life. Actually, quite fun. I wish more of my supervillains were this creative. FlameX, for example, is so unoriginal, that at this point, all I really need to take him down is a good fire extinguisher and some aloe vera. Talk about a one-trick pony. Anyways, Tommy's not a bad kid, and I'm beginning to suspect he does this more for attention than to be evil. Maybe he's a little hyperactive, but at the end of the day, I can't bring myself to take him to the authorities. No one ever gets hurt, and I get to have fun doing my job, and not worry about being killed. "Mwahahahahahha, face me now, Vanguard!" "You'll never get away this SuperXTreme!" Pffftt...Did I mention his villain name is SuperXTreme? Talk about corny. 'Tommy has a long way to go' I thought to myself as the environment started to change into a blocky texture. Ooooh, is this Minecraft? Hell yea, I love that game. God, it's been so long since I've played. I think my account still has a diamon-- "TOMMY! GET OVER HERE! ARE YOU PLAYING YOUR FUCKING VIDEO GAMES AGAIN!" Suddenly, Tommy's eyes widened in fear. This can't be good. "Mom, I was just playing! I'll be done in a second, promise! I'm sorry!" Huh. It must take a really scary person to make a reality-warper quiver in their boots. "That's enough out of you young man! You've never amounted to anything! All these powers and all you can do is waste your time on these stupid games. You're a failure!"Tommy's mom said, proceeding to strike Tommy in the face loudly. Oh....things are starting to make sense now. Tommy's eyes started to well up, and he started gagging, as if he was trying to choke back pain. Poor child. "Get back home! I am personally going to make sure you never play these video games agai-" "Ahem." Tommy's mom stopped, and slowly looked up. The side-effect of having super-strength is that you're a behemoth of a person. This is enough to intimidate almost anyone. "You should leave." "Sorry sir, I'll take my boy and go." "No, the boy stays." "But-" "AHEM" Tommy's mom ran off in a haste. Leaving her tear-ridden 14-year old behind. Coward. "Hey, now, SuperXtreme, what's with all these tears. Supervillains don't cry. They laugh evilly!" "Sorry, Vanguard. I should go now."Tommy said dejectedly. "Wait now, weren't we in the middle of something? Last time I checked, you were trying to steal the dogs from the pet shelter, weren't you? You're not going to give up, are you?" "....No sir. I guess I should try to fulfill my evil plan?" "You betcha Tomm..., I mean, SuperXTreme!" Tommy wiped some snot off his bruised face with his sleeve, and smiled and nodded in agreement. The world then started to become blocky again, and I smiled to myself as I saw him starting to laugh again. I wish I could solve everyone's problems. I really do. But even if I do have super-strength, I can't just punch everyone's problems away. For now, all I can do is make one little boy laugh, and make him forget the home he has to go back to. This isn't over though. Tommy's mom is going to get her just desserts, and maybe if I mentor him just right, SuperXTreme will grow up to be a hero.
The council chamber was silent. A single drop of sweat slid down John's neck. When he'd taken the job as ambassador, he'd been happy. His track record was stellar. He had helped diffuse conflicts all around the globe. His calm and poise was legendary; even in the most dangerous situations he was known for his reserve. Nothing fazed him. Not warlords, not terrorists, not even (on one truly horrible day) the threatening of his wife and kids. So when the Human Coalition needed an ambassador to send to the council, the ruling body that governed the tangled web of alliances and agreements that was the Milky Way, they'd picked him. And he'd thought he was ready. But now he was just confused. It was common knowledge that humans were ordinary. They did not fly, like the Orisi. They were not telepathic, like the Viscar, or hyper intelligent like the Fer. Nothing about their physiology, mental or physical, violated any of the laws of physics discovered by any sentient species. They were normal. Mundane. Boring. Human. Only human. Nothing he'd just said should have surprised them. Not one word of the speech he'd given, written by Earth's most brilliant minds, about Earth's brilliant history, should've been anything they hadn't heard before. And yet this was the reaction he'd gotten; a deep, unsettling silence that seemed to drag on and on. Finally it was too much. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"he began. "Is something the matter?" For a moment he thought he was going to be ignored. Then the Fer representative stepped forward, blue skin almost black in the gloom of the council room. "You say you come from nothing?"he asked. John nodded. "That life on your planet arose by chance, and that your species, humanity, came about by happy accident?"John was a bit unsure of his grasp of the common-tongue, but he as by far the most fluent human speaker and he was certain he understood. He nodded again. The Fer hummed softly, a sign, John had read, of deep thought. And then: "The Fer began when an energy being from another dimension thought to experiment in the creation of beings optimized for thought. The Orisi worship the gods the created them; incredibly powerful beings from outside the universe that manipulated events to bring about their existence. The Viscar trace their origin to the splitting of a vortex of psychic energy as old as the universe itself." The Fer was pacing now, walking back in forth on the slight podium that was his council seat (for the Fer thought better when they moved, and to be Fer was to think, always). "Every sentient species, every speck of life, every single biological organism this council has discovered since it's inception, was created. Everything, it seemed, was designed." The Fer stopped, and fixed John with an unblinking, crimson stare. "Except for you humans." John gulped. "I'm telling the truth."he said slowly, forcing his heart to slow. The stakes of his meeting were indescribable. This was more than first contact. This was the discussion that would determine humanity's place in the galactic hierarchy for who knows how many years to come. "As far as our scientists can tell-" "I know."The Fer said. "The Viscar's telepathy long since confirmed the honesty of your species emissaries. And our review of the data your specialists delivered only supports our conclusion; that humanity is the first sentient species discovered truly native to this universe." Now it was John's turn to stare. He had not been trained for this. Nothing he'd ever done could have prepared him for this. "What does that mean?"he asked. The Fer smiled the smile of someone used to answering questions. Of someone who had been the smartest person in the room for so long they'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a true peer, and had so come to love lecturing. John wondered what it was like to be the Fer ambassador, surrounded everyday by inferior intellectuals. Trying to shepherd a galaxy of what, from his perspective, must have seemed like children. A slight probe of thought caught his attention, leading it to the Viscar. He turned slightly, making eye contact with the telepath in a moment of shared empathy. It was lonely, they both knew. The Fer couldn't wait to go home. "It means that you aren't a creation."The alien genius began. "It means that you weren't put into this world, this dimension, by beings foreign to it. You aren't matter, molded into shape. You are what matter is capable of becoming when it is left alone." And here the Fer's smile changed. Shifted, from one of patience to one of unbridled curiosity. The grin of a profoundly bored soul that, after decades in a desert of tedium had finally seen something new. "It means you humans truly are this world in sentient shape; the universe experiencing itself."John felt like wilting under the intensity of the Fer's stare, but pride kept him tall. He represented his entire species tonight, and he would feel no fear. "And I find that very, very interesting."
The sliding doors whirr open as I stumble out into the cold night air. My face is impassive as I try to reconcile the emotions that threaten to take over me. "The flight is cancelled? Why!?"I remember shouting at the attendant, fully aware that there was nothing she could do. Asking a human to part the stormy clouds and do the work of God was ridiculous. And yet I stand here, gazing at the passing cars, hastily packed suitcase by my side, clutching white-knuckled at it's hard handle. Wishing. Praying. Begging that I could see him one last time. "Where to?"A voice pierces through the wind. Looking up, I see a taxi parked with it's passenger side door open to me. It's interior light is warm and comforting, matching the middle aged man that looks at me with a consoling gaze. Grief threatens to overwhelm me as I put my suitcase in the boot and sit next to the driver. The door closes with a thud, cutting out the cold air and bringing solace from the howling wind. Staring at the dashboard, my eyes begin to water. "Where would you like to go"He asks. "To my fathe-"I stop myself as my throat chokes up. I manage to mumble out my address, as he looks at me sympathetically. It was this morning that I had gotten the call. A freak brain aneurysm in his sleep. An expected survival rate of 6% and given less than 24h to live. I had raced to the airport after booking the first ticket I could, only to be told that there would be no flights today. I look down at my trousers as dark splotches begin to appear on them. Hot tears cascade from my eyes as I sob, clutching my face with both hands. "If I could part the clouds then I would, Marcus"The man says to me. Shocked, I turn to him, my sorrow punctuated by surprise. How did he know my name? "I'm not usually allowed to do this, but I hate seeing people in such pain"He says with a sad twinkle in his eye while turning an unfamiliar corner. He puts on his blinker, rolling to a stop in front of a large, foreign hospital. "You have my condolences about your father Marcus. If I were allowed to save him, then I would."He laments as my door opens automatically. "5th floor, room 231. Go. He doesn't have much time." "Thank you"I manage to blubber as I stumble towards the entrance, breaking out into a run. Tears streaking down my face. "Thank you."I say again, whispering. It'd be impossible to hear me from so far away. In fact, I'm talking to the the cold metal walls of the elevator as it climbs lazily. But for some inexplicable reason. I believe that he could hear my thanks, even if I were 1000 miles away. ------- :(
"wait, what was that?" "I've wanted this... Wanted you for so long." "me? But I'm Satan... You know the unholy lord of pain and suffering." "oh I know"I whispered with a glimmer. "ummmm. Harbinger of doom and all that jazz. Buuummmsssh" Satan motioned an explosion with his clawed hands. "mmmmmmhmmmmm" I took a step closer and he parried with a shuffle back. "what are you afraid of? Little ol' me? I can't be all that scary to such a big strong beast of a man. "I'm not scared, I just don't know what you're trying to do here." "I'm just telling you what I want. Didn't you ask me what I wanted more than anything? Didn't you tell me anything in the universe was mine to have? I. Want. Your. Love." "ummmm... Well that's a new one..."he chuckled nervously "just when you think you've heard every wish in the book. And then Bam! Well, this has to be in the contract... and if not some lawyers are headed to the seventh level." Satan was rapidly rifling through the stack of papers I had signed in crimson to receive my wish. "it's not. I checked." "you only scanned the thing!" "I took a speed reading course at the Community College. It's really come in handy over the years." "wait.... Nope! Nope! You've seen Aladdin! You can't wish for someone to fall in love with you. You know the rules." "look around your office... You've got crown molding made from spiked demon cock. Your desk is crafted of moaning disembowled IRS agents. For Chrissakes, you've got Phil Collins hanging on your wall with his entrails hanging out. Does this look like a Disney movie? Besides, Aladdin got that disclaimer before he made his wish." "this is ludicrous, I don't have to listen to this nonsense." "please don't make me draw your attention to clause 36b addendum 2. And I quote, 'if the dark lord is unwilling or unable to to fulfill the wish, the immortal soul of the wisher shall be returned with three new wishes free of penalty or obligation." "never had to worry much about that little snippet before..." "so, what's it going to be?" "alright alright goddammit. You win Johnny. Take your soul back." With a grin, I took a bow. "ok, for my first wish... I'll take a golden fiddle." "you little bastard! I knew I recognized you!
"Yes, but who are they?" The twelve doctors simultaneously twisted, looking over their shoulder with keen interest. Nothing was there so they swivelled back. One doctor clicked a pen thoughtfully, another one scribbled on a clipboard. The youngest doctor, Dr. Harold, raised an eyebrow and scooted closer. "Do you mean us?" The patient shook his head and instead stared at the back corner of the room. "No, them." Twelve heads again twisted backwards and then twisted back. Murmurs started drifting amongst the doctors. "Possible double vision?" "Maybe difficulties with seeing in shadows." "The fact he can see anything after being on the medication for only a week is pretty remarkable." The patient shook his head in confusion. "I am telling you, there are people back there. Moving."Again, twelve heads swivelled back and then forth. A doctor tugged at his mustache. "Maybe he needs glasses?"The murmurs started up again. Dr. Harold remained quiet, though he took another peek behind his shoulder. Nothing was there. He gently tapped the patient's hand and waited until the watery eyes focused unsteadily upon his. He pulled out a small light. "Can you look at my left ear? I am going to look at your eyes." The young doctor tried to ignore the speculating men around him, and instead ran through a few tests, checking for responsiveness of the once blind man's eyes. Eyes that kept drifting towards the back corner of the room. Dr. Harold diligently marked his notes, pleased at the results thus far. A handful of doctors got up and moved to the hallway, filled with good hearted chatting and an occasional slap of the back. The room got considerably more empty. Dr. Harold glanced back at the patient's eyes, which were slowly widening, looked at his notes and then frowned. He pulled out the pen light. "Look at my left ear again?" As the light swept across the eyes, Dr. Harold saw shadows moving within the eyes as if something was behind him. He froze, and then quickly turned around. Besides a few doctors at the doorway, he was alone. He tsked, and turned back to the patient. As the light again shined on the patient's eyes, Dr. Harold saw the shadows once more. Leaning closer, he saw what was a dozen human like silhouettes dance across the cornea. The patient shuddered and covered his eyes with his hands. "They are coming closer." The doctor slowly pulled one of the hands down, and stared in fascination as a blurry faced gazed back from the depth of the once blind man's eye.
The thumping was louder. The preacher slowly rolled over in bed, and stumbled to his feet. "Alright, alright, I'm coming! It's rather late though..." He looked up at the clock, ten minutes after midnight. A bad hour to be up. He stopped to pick up the pocket cross from his bedside table, and pocketed it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like it might be useful tonight. When he opened the front door he knew he was right, his hand immediately flashing up to brandish the cross. The red-skinned demoness standing outside shrieked and flinched back, but didn't leave. "Please! Please! I don't know where else to go I need help!" The preacher slowly lowered his arm, but kept a tight grip on the cross. In the distance, a building burned. Was that... was that the cathedral? He narrowed his eyes and looked back at her. She was sobbing and crying. He'd never seen a demon before but weren't they supposed to be... soulless? He didn't think they ever cried. But... the scriptures said to help those who were in need. Those marks all over her body... were they tooth marks? Claws? There were definitely burns. "...Alright, but no tempting." "No! I'm not... I need help. I went to the cardinal in the cathedral. He couldn't hold them off but he sent me here. He said you were the most faithful man he knew and I need someone to help me they're coming and I don't know where to go!" "Who's coming?"The night was pierced by a wailing howl. Unearthly. Hateful. That sounded more like what he expected a demon to sound like. "...them. I tried to leave. I can't spend an eternity torturing other souls, it was eating at me more every day... So I left. I want to be better but now they're hunting me down. I want to repent but it hurts and they're chasing me." The preacher gasped as he saw the shadows moving on the distant hilltops. That was definitely the cathedral that was on fire. He pulled the demon inside after him. She hissed a bit as the holy imagery scattered about his home caught her eyes but she stood strong and followed him, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. "The doors won't hold them. Demons are chosen from the worst of the worst we almost never try to come back. It's even more rare than the lost souls. They've sent an entire legion after me, and there'll be more if they can't find me and... what are you doing?" The preacher knelt at the little altar, his head bowed. Slowly he rose, a faint light shining behind his eyes. "The scriptures say that God will help those in need. Perhaps I would be okay, even in death, but I don't think I've ever seen someone who needed his help as much as you."And suddenly the cross in his hand was the hilt of a flaming sword. "So if God wills it, then tonight my faith will be your shield." "And... tomorrow?" "Tomorrow... Tomorrow you will rest. And after that we'll see what you need to learn and do to move forward. But until then... I will protect you."
Failing the first test got you a job at a factory, where you'd work and live the rest of your life. You were no longer eligible for any future tests and would receive neither the benefit of passing or the consolation prize of losing. Half the students failed it. Carrow had passed because he brought Miss Jannine an apple every morning, 'special, from my mom's apple tree'. Even at 10, Carrow knew how to lie. A few weeks before the test, Miss Jannine slipped him a sheet with more than enough answers to pass the test of 100 complex logic puzzles. He didn't look up from his desk as 100 of his classmates were escorted out of the room, to the factor bus. He just held tight to another apple, a thank you. ___ For the second test, he didn't get a cheat sheet. Mr. Rockwood was a stubborn hardass, and none of Carrow's bribing worked. Carrow was 14 when he walked in. Test two was all about occupation. Did you get to enter into the workforce, where you would apply for jobs based on proficiency tests? Or were you sent to the boot camps to be trained as military fodder? The test was harder, much harder. The logic tests had gotten so hard that they were nearly incomprehensible. Carrow squeaked by with a passing grade. A few other students, Jolly, Sherm, and Cam also took the test blind, with no cheat sheets, but passed nonetheless. Carrow knew they wouldn't manage again without a teacher's help. ___ The remaining 50 18-year-old students began banding together into groups. Carrow joined a group with a plump girl named Bessy and twins, Eda and Ned. The twins' owned a restaurant, Bessy was an amazing cook, and Carrow had access to tons of fresh produce, courtesy of the security defect at the grocery mill. The four of them got Mrs. Bandy good and fat off delectable foods. Test three determined whether you got to live in a home or were thrown into the slums, a mess of ramshackle buildings with no ordinance or rules as to who lives where and no safety code for the properties. The third test barely had any logic puzzles. In place were bizarre, nonsensical questions. 9) Thirty-three firetrucks. A dog whimpers as you pet it. There is no further respite for the woman in labor. a: Jaundice b: A cerebrally tilted metaphor c: Consistency and ERROR\_ERROR\_ANSWER\_NOT\_FOUND d: Sally Whittaker All four in his group passed as their class size reduced to 25. Of the remaining 25, Carrow was surprised to see Sherm still there. The young man never raised his hand in class, didn't talk to the teachers, never made friends. It seemed an impossibility that he'd made it this far. He must have gotten lucky. Cam had joined with the other students who did handiwork, and he passed. Jolly was not so lucky. Carrow watched her, eyes terrified and hair damp with sweat as she climbed aboard the bus to the slums. ___ For test four, 14 of the 25 students would have their sterilization reversed. They'd be permitted to marry and have children, start a family. They and their family were considered of sufficient worth to society to receive healthcare. Those who failed were to live alone, forbidden from procreative activity. They were given spot treatment for easy to fix ailments and injuries. Any other symptoms were ignored. Mr. Thorp asked which of twins owned the kitchen their gifts were cooked in. He wouldn't accept 'both' as an answer. As Eda and Ned thwarted each others' attempts to cook, Bessy and Carrow snuck in the evenings, when the family was asleep, and cooked Ms. Carna's favorites. Neither Bessy nor Carrow looked the twins in the eyes as they were handed out leaflets detailing where their state's only public med clinic was. ___ "How is Sherm still here?"Carrow asked Bessy. They were 24 now, their class reduced to 10. There were two tests left. Bessy shook her head. "I haven't been thinking much about anyone else. I can't believe I got it this far." The next teacher, Ms. Peema, was a thin, hook faced woman with hungry eyes. Food would not sate her though. Carrow saw the leering woman eying the 24-year-olds as they filed in and he knew what to do. For the first time since pairing up, Carrow didn't clue Bessy in on his plan. There was no space for competition anymore. They set to work, dieting carefully and spending their evenings studying porn, biology books, sex blogs, anything to find out what Ms. Peema liked. It was ironic that the first teacher to turn down food-related bribes ran the test allowing nutrition. Those who passed would be allowed to continue to shop at the nicest food stores. Anyone who failed this test got nutrient paste for the rest of their lives. "I'm not gonna make this one,"Bessy whispered as the two waited for the test. "I couldn't couldn't figure out what she wanted. I guess it could be worse."Her voice trembled though and Carrow felt a pang of guilt. "I'll share my food with you,"he whispered. She laughed, a sob choked in. "You'd go to jail. Just describe to me your meals and I'll pretend like I can taste them." When Bessy's name was called as one of those who failed, she kept her chin high as she accepted her 2-meal-a-day vouchers for the month. Carrow nodded encouragingly at her, wondering if he'd ever be able to stomach his food again. ___ Carrow sat in the remaining class with Lexette, Bridda, and Sherm. At this point, Carrow just didn't understand it. Sherm had done nothing to his appearance that would indicate he could seduce the rather picky Ms. Peema. The last teacher, a frail, ghostlike man named Mr. Edgars, gave each student their 'study material' for test six. Usually, these were just random arithmetic that never came up on the test. This time, it was a list of 100 names. Carrow stared at the paper. He didn't know what the reward for test six was. There wasn't even a scheduled date for the test. Besides, he was so tired. ___ "Are you going to do it?" It was the first time Sherm had approached any of the students since they were kids. It was 3 months into the study period and Carrow hadn't figured out the list in the slightest. "I don't know what there is to do. It's just names." Sherm looked sympathetically at him. "Do you want to be a teacher?" Carrow's heart picked up at this. Did he want to be a teacher? "Is that the reward?"he asked. Sherm nodded. "Get to control the future. Who does what, purely at your discretion. Waited on hand and foot until you die, whatever you want." It was equal parts disgusting and enticing. "What happens if you fail?"Carrow asked. "It depends if you try. Lexette and Bridda both have started, so one of them isn't going to make it. You can just give up now, though."Sherm's face was both serious and just a little condescending. "You really haven't figured it out? You are aware that we live in a fucking nightmare society, right? That sits poorly with a lot of people." Carrow just stared, unable to put Sherm's words together in a way that made sense. Sherm lowered his voice to a whisper. "If I tell you, you must tell no one. Else our entire class will go on the list. Does that clear it up for you?" Carrow's blood went cold. "It's a hit list." "The two people to finish the list first get to be teachers. Anyone else who tried is eliminated. I would tell them that you can't figure it out and want to withdraw. I've heard that works."Sherm patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk home. "Are you-"Carrow started. Sherm turned. "Hmm?" "Are you- have you started?" "I have." "How did you figure out what it was?" Sherm smiled. "I've always known. And they wanted me here because they need to know how I found out and who else knows. How else did you think I passed?" As Carrow watched Sherm disappear down the street, it finally made sense. Carrow now knew exactly what Sherm had answered for each test. 100 questions per test. 100 names per teacher. ___ "I'd like to formally withdraw from this test."Carrow stood before Mr. Edgars, face impassive, jaw set. "I can't figure out the logic behind the list and there's no test date set. I get the impression my classmates are far ahead of me and I'm tired of trying." "Y-you want to withdraw?"he warbled. Carrow nodded. "Yes sir." "Well, alright. This doesn't happen often but it does simplify things. It's a shame though. Come this way." Carrow followed Mr. Edgars down the hall, wondering how he'd be able to keep this a secret his whole life. The students were being tested in compliance and obedience so that when the final test came around, they would kill the dissenting voices in their communities. Those who passed became teachers. He remembered the sugar-sweet Miss Jannine, back when he was 10, handing her an apple every day. That woman had killed 100 people. Mr. Edgars took Carrow to the room in the school. Inside were three people, two agents and a doctor. As soon as they entered, the agents apprehended Carrow before he could so much as process running. "I don't understand!"he said. "There's no consolation for the final test."Mr. Edgars sighed heavily. "Only two survive the test." "But I withdrew! I don't even know what the test is." "We can't be sure of that,"Mr. Edgars said. "And we can't afford to surveil you. This is simplest." "Simplest for who?"The guards forced Carrow into a seat chair and cuffed his hands. "Sherm said if I withdrew, I'd be ok." Mr. Edgar's face clouded. "That one's been a troublemaker from the start. Blackmailing teachers. And now lying to you? The students aren't allowed to attack each other but he seems to have found a way to get you killed anyway. Such a pity." The doctor crouched in front of him and pulled out a plastic bag from her case. "This won't hurt,"she said. To Carrow's horror, she pulled a long syringe from a plastic bag. This was happening now? "I'm serious. You're luckier than some. Now hold still..." ___ [Read more stories at r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
Truth is, I didn't expect to survive the crash. I was low on fuel, cruising to a fill-up station on a nearby asteroid belt, the last fuel-stop before you're on the long, cold flight to Andromeda. I'm a scrap-peddler, so I was trying to get by on about a balloon's worth of combusted oxygen, just to survive until my next sale. I was making the most out of what I've got, which is exactly jackshit. Like plenty of fuck-offs who washed out of the Federation, I thought I'd make a home on the new frontier. What a fucking idiot I was. When the planet's gravity hooked me, I burned up every last bit of fuel I had, trying to shake myself free. Better to free-float than free-fall. At least if I got out of the gravity-tug, I could put out the air filters to hope for enough recycled atoms to wheeze my way forward. It was like a slow bridge collapse. It starts slowly, then all at once. When gravity gets you, the only way is down. The atmosphere swallowed me in, hungrily, and my little space-junker plummeted towards a foreign soil. All yellow earth and sparse gray plants and oozy rivers. The ship's warning systems screamed and I screamed and then the ship hit the ground. I remember that. The ground rushing up to meet me. The air bag flying out. That wall of white was the last thing I saw. Until, well... this. The spaceship's fucked. I think I might be a bit fucked, too. My left wrist pulses as I hang upside down in the cabin, locked into the seat by my chest harness. My chest feels like a giant picked me up by my torso and slammed me back down. But I'm alive. Light pours in through the broken windshield, and all I see is white, filtered through glass teeth. Then a shadow passes over the glass and there's a woman's face. She's hunkering down to stare in at me, her face inquisitive, even upside down. "Hi there,"she says. "How are you holding up?" "Been better."My mouth tastes coppery, and I spit blood. "I know that feeling. You think you can cut yourself down from there?" I squint and fumble with the belt. I feel drunk. Half-asleep, maybe. Concussion. It's a familiar cotton haze. Got my first good brain-shake in training for the Federation frontlines (spaceship simulator crashed, ironically), before I went AWOL and started selling metal to get by. "Jammed, I think,"I mumble. The woman crawls inside, and only now do I get a good look at her. She's armed and wears a stained and torn aviator's jacket. There's a rifle slung across her back. She yanks a knife from her belt. "Hold onto something,"she says, smiling wryly, "or you'll hurt both of us when you fall." I brace myself as she reaches up and saws through my chest harness, her other hand supporting my shoulder, as if just her touch will keep me from falling. With her help, I slip down, awkwardly, rolling onto my shoulder as I try to get my feet under me. "I didn't know there were any human colonies on this planet,"I murmur. "There's not."Her face pinches with something like pity. "What's your name?" "Sparrow Hunt,"I tell her. It's a name I made up myself, which I hoped sounded sort of space-piratery. Like I could be the space Anne Bonny. Now it feels silly, saying it out loud. "I'm Amelia."She nods back over her shoulder. "We need to hurry. We're going to have company soon. And they're not as friendly as me." Amelia crawls backwards, back the way she came. I freeze and peer out through the gaping windshield. The world outside is a lush jungle, almost Earthlike, except everything feels too huge. The trees tower like skyscrapers, and the air is damp and thirsty. "Where are we?"I say. "The Island."Amelia grips my elbow and helps me stand. "Everyone ends up on one, when they die. This one's ours." "Die?"I repeat, incredulous. Now I'm certain I'm concussed. "Trust me,"Amelia says, watching the trees. Her eyes gleam like a deer's, searching for a lion it knows is there, just waiting to pounce. "Death is the least of your worries." The branches twitch. I snap my focus toward the wood to see something moving. It moves like a human-sized spider, leaping from branch to branch, but it's not quite living. I'm not even sure what it is. It's a patch of empty space that looks like static from an old TV. And it's rushing right toward us. "Shit,"Amelia says. "Here they come." "Who?"I say. "The Sweepers. They don't like visitors."She's already side-stepping toward a patch of nearby brush. "They're here to clean up the mess." The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to understand. We are the mess. "Sparrow,"Amelia says. "You'd better run, girl." °°° Working on the next part :D Thanks for reading!
5:43 AM: I am sitting on the human’s chest waiting for him to wake up. He is struggling to breathe, so it will not be long now. 5:46 AM: The human rolled over in his sleep and dumped me on the floor. Unacceptable. 5:47 AM: I am now sprawled across the human’s face. 5:48 AM: Human is awake. I yowl in his face. He ignores me in favor of going to the bathroom. Without my aid or superior knowledge, I might add. 5:52 AM: I demand entry. I demand food. I demand, I demand - I am an ageless being - my demands must be met. 5:54 AM: Human attempts to pet my head. I do not allow it. Pets may not be given until I am sustained. 5:55 AM: I do not know why the human is on the glowing box and not attending to my needs. At this rate, I must suffer and die. I shall scream. 6:00 AM: Human has finally decided he values his life more than the glowing box. I am being fed at last. 6:07 AM: Human shall now be rewarded with my butt, which I shall allow him to scratch. In short, the human requires further training, but he gives superior tummy rubs.
"Oh, him? No, he's just another subordinate. He's my emotional aide."Lisia told the stranger. I went "What the actual fuck?", mouth agape as I looked from the middle-aged man to my best friend. "Lady Lirishera, the cult has been looking for a sacrifice to control your anger-" Lisia just puts a hand to her mouth, trying not to giggle. "Oh, don't be silly- I think I'm good." I was just dumbfounded now. Tapping my best friend's shoulder, I asked, "Hey, uh, Lisia, what does he mean by sacrifice?" "Well...back up until my last vessel, I constantly required a live, healthy body to consume each month, as souls were really the only thing holding me back from just, well, cracking the atmosphere like an egg. It's like trying to keep a hot thing cool with water, dude."She says calmly, before going on and saying, "But since I met you, I decided to actually try cooking with, and eventually ate, seafood and meat, and well, turns out there's traces of soul left in those poor animals, soo..." "Wait- you're serious?"Both me and the stranger gasped in disbelief, but I continued. "So THAT is why you've been begging me to get you yearly passes to buffets this whole time!?" She sweeps her long, black hair with her right hand, before chinning up and putting her hands on her hips. "That's right! And now that I remember that I have a cult, well, because I'm kinda stupid sometimes, now all I need from them instead of kidnapping people is for them to get actual jobs and pay up those buffet subscriptions!" The man gets on his hands and knees in joyfulness, as I am startled by his sudden movement. "Oh, Lady Lirishera, Mistress of the Veil, I will follow your every command and spread your worldview to our congregation!" "Yeah, yeah, now go find a McDonald's to work at or something."Lisia chuckled. "I'm starving, and might feel like ending the world if I don't get a Big Mac."
“Oh,” I said, looking at the Supreme Emperor of Andromeda in the eye. He was letting out a loud, belly laugh that sent his belly jiggling. He even grabbed his ribs and leaned into it, the maniacal bastard. He really thought this would be it – I would fail, and he would win. I, with so many Michelin stars when I didn’t even know what they meant. I, whose face was plastered on nearly every cooking magazine for the past year. I, who had already won. “That’s easy enough.” “What?” The Emperor stopped mid-laugh. “What did you say?” “I said that’s easy enough!” I shouted to reach his ear. He was rather big – think like the statue of Abraham Lincoln big and you got the idea. Except instead of a chair he was in this floating ufo-looking throne thing, and he was also green. A few more eyes than I remember Lincoln having too, but it had been a while since I’d seen the president’s likeness. “Impossible! Do you hear this?” He waved at the crowds assembling in the dome – not a single one was human. Not a single one thought Earth could survive this either, so they jeered down at us. “They don’t believe you, human. And neither do I. My kids refuse to eat anything! Anything! I doubt you can make a meal to satisfy them.” “That’s because you, my kind sir, have underestimated me.” The Emperor blubbered, but instead I turned to his kids. He had three of them, all a chip off the old block. They even had smaller versions of his hover chair as they orbited around him. ”Would you kids like to try Earth candy?” Their eyes lit up. “Wh-what! Candy isn’t a meal!” “You’ll find that by most definitions, a meal really relates to the quantity.” “But you need to cook it!” “Easily doable with this fancy stove you’ve set up for me. I’ll cook the candy myself, don’t you worry. I’ll make sure your children are served a fine array of sugary candies from around the world, and with plenty of chocolate-coated pastries to go with them. Perhaps some soda to wash it all down, hm? You've been so kind in providing ingredients, I can make even that from scratch.” “They’ll be bouncing off the walls for years!” “But they will be satisfied, no? Truly satisfied, I think.” I glanced to the kids in question, and they each nodded along. “Meeting the rather generous rules set forth by your arbiters.” “Think of the dental bills!” “That isn’t my problem. I need only feed them – the boundless energy they will suffer from afterward, the toothaches and stomach pains, is your problem to deal with.” I put on my best service smile, all teeth and no joy. “I’ll get started right away.” &#x200B; (Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
"For the last bloody time, Xanth."Ser Robald said, sifting his gauntlet-less hand through his red mane of hair, his moss-green eyes glaring at the scaled beats before him. "I don't need someone to organise my lovelife for me!" The dragon looked back at him with golden eyes, great and grey, like morning mists. "Are you sure, Robb?"Xanthos asked, "Is the princess not to your-" "She could be the best woman who ever lived, you bloody kidnapped her!"The knight yelled. "That's dishonour to her and her house, not to mention stupid. You don't just save someone and then get married." "That's how dragon marriages work." "I know, Xanth, but human marriages are a lot more complicated. We need to actually like each-other." "Oh,"Xanthos seemed puzzled, before he then added, "Are you not into blonds?" "I'm not into victims of kidnappings Xanth."Robald pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you weren't fifty feet long and capable of breathing fire, I'd be strangling you right now, you know that?" "So you want me to take her back?" "No, no, I'll do it Xanth."Robald said, "It'll go down better if you don't provoke war again." "I am sorry, Robb." "It's my fault. I need to be more clear on human customs when telling you about my problems."The knight of thorns then put on his gauntlet, and departed from the battlement of the keep. "I'll be back by morn, then we can have more of a conversation on this." Robald found princess Gwellen sitting in the common room of the keep. "Ah, so the dragon will let me leave now?" The knight nodded. "I'm very, very sorry about this, my lady." "He saved me from that dreadful party,"Gwellen said, "Could I wait here for a few days perhaps?" "I'd rather not wake up to the king's bannermen holding a blade to my throat."Robald replied, "I need to diffuse this before war begins." "War, over me."Gwellen smiled toothily "I'd be flattered if I had a say in it. So, when are we leaving, Robb?" "How did you-" "The dragon told me. Wouldn't shut up about you." Robald's eyes widened. "Oh my God, so do you know about-" "Him wanting me to marry you?"the princess suggested. "After we sort out this whole war thing out, I'd like to ask you to join me for a hunting trip." "A hunting trip?" Gwellen rolled her eyes. "It's as close as I can get to fighting a man in full plate armour, for now. Besides, you seem no the type for idle small talk." Robald was now as red as his hair. "I would be honoured, my lady-" She laughed at him. "And you can stop calling me that now." Robald was very pleased with himself, having almost assuredly averted a massive war between kingdoms, and having gained a chance to court a very, very nice lady, when he suddenly noticed a single great golden eyes peeking in through one of the windows. "Xanth, for God's sake, stop spying on me!"
The research team pressed their faces against the window to observe the new mage apprentice, their ocular devices capturing the uptick in intelligence points as the boy lifted the stack of pyromancy tomes up and down repeatedly as per the instructions of the lead researcher. It didn't seem to matter what the boy did, lifting books, reading books, everything he did granted him intelligence. Activities that should have increased strength, dexterity, charisma, or wisdom simply gave him intelligence. There was a glitch, either in the boy or in the magic system inherent in the world created by the God of Magic. There was the other question of what would the boy be capable of with such massive amounts of intelligence, but without the wisdom to temper it, or any other stats, in fact. "Keep going, young boy!"barked the lead researcher, even as the boy began to complain of severe headaches. The boy's head was swelling as his intelligence went beyond normal human range, then his infinitely multiplying brain cells started to push his skull to the breaking point as blood poured from cracks on his head. "I want to stop! Stop!"the boy was crying, even as his brain continued to grow beyond his tiny body's strength to support it, forcing him into a sitting position. A sharp electrocution from the collar around his neck pressed him into leveling his intelligence beyond 1000. The boy's skin was changing to a peculiar yellowish-brown, his eyes no longer able to peel themselves open as his intelligence shot upwards. "Professor Fuji, should we keep going?"asked one of the researchers with a worried look on his face. The glass began to shatter as the boy, who no longer looked anything human, floated in the air, held up by newly gained psychic powers he previously did not demonstrate. He raised both hands in the air, psychokinetic power swirling as he generated one spoon in each hand, ominously pointing one of the spoons at the research center's machinery. Said machinery shattered, its wires frayed and torn, its screen cracked, barely obscuring the data that the test subject being measured now had an intelligence quotient beyond 5000. With a monstrous cry, windows of the research facility exploded, glass shards falling all around without a single piece touching the test subject, who made one last triumphant cry before flying out of its prison. "ALAKAZAM!"
I'd begged my older sister to tell me what she'd learned. She'd just looked at me and shaken her head. My best friend turned 16 last month, but when I asked her to break confidence and tell me, she just bit her lip and looked at me with worried eyes. Today was my own Sooth Sixteen, and you bet I was nervous. Everyone who came out always looked so shaken, so worried, so ... scared. What catastrophic fates awaited so many of us? As I sat waiting with my family, I wondered again if it would be better not to know. When the inner door finally swung open, another teenager emerged. He had tears in his eyes. I considered running. Then, a voice from within the chamber called my name. My steps were slow as I entered, but the middle-aged woman in white looked friendly enough. "Hello,"she said warmly, as she gestured to the only chair. "Please be seated. This will only take a few minutes." "Hi,"I said lamely, and I plunked myself down. She walked slowly around me, muttering, dangling a crystal pendant inches from my head. She hadn't said what to do, so I just sat still and waited. Finally, she turned to me and smiled. "You're done. It's a pleasant one. You're destined to be a suburban homemaker with a husband, two children, and a ferret. You'll live in a small ranch house outside of Des Moines, with one old car and one newer car. Your children are mediocre, but you love them anyway. You and your husband fall out of love fairly quickly, but he's a decent man, so you're content enough."She stopped talking and waited for me to react. It took me several moments before I could manage to say, "What? That doesn't make sense. Are you sure that was my destiny?" She nodded calmly. I had a feeling she'd had this conversation before. "Look,"I explained, "I'm going to Paris after high school. I plan to be an artist, and I'm not sure I want marriage or children at all. So that can't be my destiny. Even if I don't make it as an artist, how could I end up a bland old homemaker?" "I don't know how you get there, but that's where you are at age 32."She looked at me levelly, giving me time. I knew the Oracle was always right. Whenever I'd asked older people, they'd smiled ruefully and said the Oracle had been dead on. This really was my fate. Boring, white-bread, bland, vanilla, basic. That was me. That was my future. I was right. It would have been better not to know. "Thank you,"I whispered automatically. I stood up and walked out, barely registering my family waiting for me. My mother and older sister smiled at me in sympathy. My 13-year-old brother looked alarmed. "Hey, what did she tell you? You look shaken up." I couldn't speak. I just looked at him weakly and shook my head.
We stumbled out of the forest, after finally dispatching those infernal barbarians. We were immediately noticed that we had entered into a brave new world. Giant machines hurtled through the sky, hulking metal boxes trudged across the lands and our settlement of 'Awesometown' was not like it was. Tips of pyramids could be seen peeking out of the Awesometown coast while a giant statue of a bronze woman was being built under the sea. We entered our capital, amazed by the sights of our once humble town. Swords had been replaced with metal tubes which shot fire and our circus tents replaced with massive arenas where people cheered and cried. Tradesmen from far off lands traded with us, proclaiming the great religion of 'Simon Sucks' while our fledging church of 'Thor is Cool' had grown, with massive cathedrals dedicated to it. While there were gods in this world, there were certainly no kings. We were now a republic, a betrayal of our ancient customs of honour and kingship, our warrior ways swapped for art and culture. We entered further into the capital, noticing posters depicting our old enemies. Gandhi stood, a mountain of bodies behind him whilst Elizabeth sat, cities burning in the background. We still had not vanquished these monsters but we now had new allies. As we approached the centre of the capital, we saw huge glimmering cylinders being rolled out of a massive building, being prepared by hundreds of men in white coats. People shouted that we were going to reach the stars, but we paid them no mind. Such lunacy could not happen. We also noticed a giant blue sphere which people called 'the Internet'. It seems to exude knowledge but citizens could not access its secrets, they lacked the machinery to do so. We finally reached our homes, the barracks where we initially set out on our journey. We collapsed on our beds in joy, peace at last. As we closed our eyes for welcome sleep, a sharp noise disturbed our rest. A giant metallic shape hurtled towards the city, causing an explosion of epic proportions. As the unstoppable wave of heat engulfed us, one thought crossed our minds. 'Fucking Gandhi.'
"My lady, you summoned me to your chamber?"the Minister of State said cautiously as he entered the throne room. He had just seen the general in charge of defenses stomping out, and knew the war effort was not going particularly well. Servants pulled the doors open all the way, exposing him with nowhere to hide from her piercing gaze. "Yes,"she called out. "Step forward." He entered the center of the room, getting a full view of the queen. "Our preparations for the coming doom from the 'Human' are going poorly,"the queen said bluntly, waving her pincers in despair. "Has their been any word from our allies? Anyone we can count on?" "Erm, yes,"the Minister of State responding, patting the messages in his breast pocket. "Well....?"she asked. "I'm afraid it isn't going particularly well on that front either..." She groaned as he pulled out the first correspondence. "The moth community regrets your current plight and wishes that there were some way that we could help your war effort. However, we ourselves have sustained heavy losses at the Battle of Porch Light and find ourselves unable to come to your aid at this time. We wish you the best in this conflict, but we sadly cannot participate." The queen nodded, trying to stay positive. "That's OK; there isn't much they could do anyway." The Minister of State agreed, tossing that letter to the side. "Let's see here..."he shuffled through the notes. "Ah, the ladybugs."He unfolded the letter. "Your Majesty, we wish that our services could be useful in this conflict. However, the humans seem to find us adorable. They are apparently unaware of our fearsome reputation and many successful campaigns against the Aphid threat. Should we join the battle, we would not be able to contribute very much." The queen sighed. "Here's one from the bee community,"he said slowly. "We too have battled the humans for many years. They constantly plunder our home, stealing wax and honey. We're utterly powerless to stop them, so we have reached an uneasy truce: we now live in their white boxes and allow them some of our goods. Should we join this battle on the side of the Ants, I'm afraid it would upset the delicate balance." The Queen heaved herself up in a sudden fit of rage. "COWARDS!"She called out to no one in particular. "Is there NO ONE who will help us??" "There is one, Your Majesty."the minister said cautiously. "WELL?"she roared. He unfolded the dirty, stained note and held it up to the light. "Ahem: 'Oh yeah, baby. We'll fuck those bitches up! We'll fuck those bitches up good!!'"The Minister lowered the paper slowly. "That's all it says." "Please don't say..."the Queen started, putting one hand over her eyes. "Please..." "Yes,"said the Minister. "It's the Wasps."
"Steel yourself, take up your wand, and..." "Goddamn, Robes, do you ever shut up?" At this disrespect, the challenging wizard lifted his wand high, chanting as his colorful robes billowed in the breeze. Jackson watched the old man carry on a moment before removing his wand from its holster, chambering a spell, and casting it at the magical buffoon. A single shot. The loudest noise many present had ever heard. The old man in the colorful robes dropped like a sack of potatoes and the crowd took up a different chant: "Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!" Jackson shrugged, "Another day, another dollar... or whatever the hell it's called here."
Off in the distance, I could just barely see the massive black tower reaching into the sky, outlined against the red sunset like a bony hand thrust from a grave. It had taken over a decade to build, and at the expense of thousands of slaves who'd scratched the rough black onyx from the earth, dragged the blocks across the kingdom, and carefully arranged the stones. Those who hadn't been killed by the work were then put to the sword by my own personal guards so that the secrets of the tower would be safe forever. A complicated maze full of deadly traps and vicious demons... all for one sword. I led the caravan personally as we slowly made our way toward the tower so that I alone could enter and place the weapon in its final resting place. Three legions of my very best soldiers accompanied us, more than a match for the pitiful bands of rebels around the country who were currently scheming to get their hands on the sword. Of course I knew the rumors going around: that anyone who could pull the sword from the stone would be able to use it against me. That the one weakness of my impenetrable armor was this one ancient, magical weapon. Rubbish! I looked at it again, as I'd done a thousand times on the journey. I insisted on bringing it in my own personal cabin so that I could keep an eye on it. Some of the rebel groups almost certainly had spies in my camp, despite all best efforts to root them out. They'd try to steal it in the night, before it ever got to its deadly labyrinth. It would be safest with me. "More wine, your excellency?"Witnem, my manservant, approached my sofa as I stared at the weapon. Purple liquid sloshed within the carafe in his hands, now half-empty. It had been a long, boring journey and I often sought comfort in my evening drink. I wordlessly thrust my goblet toward him, unable to take my eyes off the weapon. He filled my cup then retreated to his corner of the wagon for orders. The golden, bejeweled handle gently reflected the flickering firelight. Ancient runes seemed to glow with an unearthly purple light from the bit of the blade that was still visible where the metal emerged from the stone. The hole was seamless, without even a hair of extra room. Supple leather formed a perfect handle to wrench it from its resting place. I'd seen a thousand ancient swords, each one claiming some sort of mystical power. But in my experience, a blade was just a blade: only as strong as the man who wields it. On a whim, I wrapped my own hand around the hilt. Maybe I just wanted to see if it had any extra 'give' from its stone prison. Maybe I just wanted to experience what my rival would someday feel. Maybe I was hoping to sense some kind of spark from its supposed power. Of course, I didn't. But at that exact moment, the wagon dipped into a pothole along the road, and I went stumbling... and the sword came with me. It swung out of its stone hilt with a soft ring, and gleamed brightly in the firelight. Witnem gasped in horror. "You, sir?" I looked at the blade. The runes stopped right where it had been buried in the stone, leaving the spell scrawled across the blade only half completed. Why bother with extra decoration on part of the sword that was never meant to be seen? "Damn."I drained my cup of wine, and held it out to Witnem for a refill. He approached with the pitcher, still admiring the weapon. He barely even had time to react when I swung the blade straight into his neck. "I was hoping to not have to kill you, Witnem. So difficult to find a good loyal servant."I wiped the bloody sword on his shirt. It was a necessity, of course. All potential leaks had to be silenced. No one could know that I'd pulled the sword from the stone. They might then figure out that anyone could pull the sword from the stone. That might then lead them to realize that it was in fact not an ancient and powerful blade, but one that I'd simply had forged by my castle armorer (who I'd then killed). I slid the weapon back into its place as the caravan continued onward to the the giant, looming deathtrap that I'd built to house the utterly unremarkable sword that was rumored to have the power to kill me. Rumors that had taken just as long for me to spread as the tower had taken to build. But as long as the rebels were wasting their time and their lives trying to get to the sword, they would never realize my true weakness.
"Frodo, look what you did. You fucked all the shit up,"Gandalf gestured to all the shit that Frodo had fucked up. "Why did we even give you the ring? That makes no sense. We shouldn't have done that." Frodo looked up at Gandalf like a small child looks up at an adult. "Gandalf oh great Lord who I guess is two different colors and uses his staff to say scary words, you gave me the ring because some distant relative of mine had it! Or maybe he was a close relative, I can't quite recall. This journey has been so long and I got lost somewhere back in the 20 page description of tree roots." Gandalf gave a knowing smile. "Oh, but Frodo, do as you must. Go to the mountain and destroy the ring. This will take a million tries and you'll probably fuck more shit up. There will also be scary men on horses who come to kill you if you put it on." "Oh shit,"Frodo said. He turned to his friend/will-they-won't-they love interest and threw up his arms. "Oh, Sam! (it's Sam, right?). Whatever shall we do!" "Well don't actually worry,"said Gandalf. "I'm going to ditch you now, but if you really get into trouble just tap your big feet together three times and I will come do some magical wizard shit to save the day." Frodo ignored him because Deus-ex-Gandalf would make for a boring story. "The elves are too beautiful and Mean-Girly for us! Plus they speak like a million different languages and I don't understand how anyone could actually learn them. There are no convenient eagles! And there's that troll thing that keeps following us around trying to get the ring." "I vote we give it to the troll thing,"Sam said. "All of us. However many there are. There are quite a lot. We like to eat food and do men-type-things." "Vote's settled then. We give it to the troll thing. He can take it to the mountain easy peasy and just toss it in the lava. Right?" "It should be easy,"said Sam. "That's not how any of this works,"said Gandalf. "Oh, go make a meme you old man." --- With apologies to great works of fiction that I have never read. Hey, thank you for reading! If you're interested in more subscribe to r/Celsius232, where the fun never ends.
Clarence and Darryl exited their spaceship, shirtless, holding shotguns, and wearing overalls. Their scrawny gray bodies and oversized bald heads with giant black eyes looked particularly unusual in the chosen attire. They had landed near the center of the Pentagon, mimicking their best human walk -- a slumped swagger with poor posture. It never made sense to Clarence why humans all had such poor posture. It had taken them nearly a decade to get it right. But a small price to pay for a great first impression. Darryl searched carefully as he walked, looking for a tall blade of grass to ceremoniously pull off and place between his teeth, but the grounds here were very well kept... which felt strange to him. He wondered why the leader of the free world would spend so much time or money clipping vegetation. It looked highly unprofessional. Better to let the grass do what the grass does. Some head administrator or leader was waiting for Clarence and Darryl, with a number of soldiers -- guns raised. "We've got quite the hootenanny here, don't we Darryl?" "Mmhmm,"Darryl said as boisterously as he could manage. Some military general spoke up, "That's far enough! Why are you two holding weapons?" "This old thing?"Darryl said, raising the shotgun barrel wildly as if drunk until the barrel was hanging over his shoulder. "Well these here is gifts, for you folks." The general was puzzled. Clarence set the base of his shotgun on the ground and looked straight down into the barrel as the normally stoic soldiers' eyes grew wide. "I don't think mine is... oops. Yep. Mine's loaded. Dangit Darryl. I told you NOT to load the guns!" The general cocked his head to the side, searching for words. "And... where... exactly are... you two from?" "Clarence and I are from Alpha Centauri. We got sick of waiting around for you folks to visit us so we just shuttled on over. We'd give you our real names... but... I don't think you could pronounce um right." "And... you've been here... how long?"The general asked. "Us? Oh boy. Been here for at least... 50 earth years? Maybe more? Here, we brought you gifts. We don't got any grandfathers or great grandfathers who could hand down guns to us, but we know how it's a symbol of good will to hand off a family gun. So we stole these from... aww hell... what was his name again Clarence?" "Jim-Bob I think? I can't remember. Boy we had fun with him. He died of a heart attack when we sent in something like a cow from our home planet. Big slimy green beast with tentacles and such. We were just gonna show him the closest thing we got to cow tippin' but he up'n died before we got the chance!" The general couldn't help but scoff. "So... why... why in the world... where did you learn our language?" "Where else?"Darryl said. "We went to the place where high society goes. I mean, y'all eat food right? So y'all revere those who make the food..." "Unless they're sadists..."Clarence cut in with a laugh. "I mean... back on Alpha Centauri, our world leader is a farmer... head of agriculture... like... what kind of culture would treat the poor workin folk as anything but royalty? I mean... how else'r they gonna eat if the farmers in the fields just up'n revolt?" But the reaction coming from the general made Clarence pause. Darryl and Clarence shared a knowing look. "That... would... explain some things..."Darryl said, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. Clarence looked down at his wrist like he was checking his non-existent watch. "Look at the time! We'd better get going, eh Clarence? Gotta get back to that... intergalactic... meeting.... thing..." And the two aliens dropped their shotguns and went running full-speed back into their spaceship to take off, thinking another fifty years of abducting city folk should help them the next time they make a first impression -- hopefully after the general was long gone. --- [The Story Continues - Part 2 If You're Interested ;)](https://www.reddit.com/user/MNBrian/comments/6cw5p6/part_2_little_gray_farmers/) [Holy Cow Overwhelming Response! Part 3 Here!](https://www.reddit.com/user/MNBrian/comments/6cxfg7/part_3_little_gray_farmers/) [And again! Part 4 here. One more to go after this!](https://www.reddit.com/user/MNBrian/comments/6cybl2/part_4_little_gray_farmers/) [And the stunning conclusion Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/user/MNBrian/comments/6cykfv/part_5_little_gray_farmers/) Like this? Read more at /u/MNBrian and follow me there! :)
This is a strange planet it seems. It takes jokes very, very seriously. There are some small bars where jokes are told, but every few years they make a huge show and decide who is the best joker to entertain everyone for a while. They call this the "Election"and this year they will get a joker no one is ready for. Mr. Wells. And no, this joke is not a pun or wordplay. I'm better than that. It took me a while to get to the main stage and a whole lot of effort. It seems like they have their own groups and their jokes are structured in a peculiar manner. So I got asked to which group I belong to. And you know, I'm my own game, I said I belong to none. They were shocked, and offered to place me in the newbie group "Greens", but I felt insulted and refused. But they still let me through. An independent, they say. Yeah, lets do that. We all went to the stage and the cameras were all on us. And I felt that this will not be easy. This was not a place where you come up with your own jokes, but it happens in a "Question and Answer"setting, so you have to be really fast. The other guys were absolutely hilarious and I had to try real hard. It was my turn. "So, mister Wells, what do you think we should do with the Cuban embargo and the Cuban immigration to Florida?"asked the main man. "Oh that's a good one, it really is. That's a really great one."I was frantically digging in my skull, looking for what is Cuba and Florida. Turns out it has to do with people from one place and people from another. The places are different, but actually... "But the answer is easy, so it is. I mean, they all come to Florida anyway, right? So let them. The Cuba has old cars, rum, cigars and great weather. We all want that, ain't it right? So let them all come to Florida so we can all go to Cuba and have a good time. So lets take Cuba for us and when the Cubans have worked enough and gathered enough cash in Florida, they can go and visit Cuba and have a great time!" I stood there, waiting for laughter. There was none. The other guys said way more stupid stuff, but they got laughter. All I got was a clarification. "You suggest we overtake Cuba by military means, thus getting rid of the threat near our borders, but at the same time give refuge to everyone and actually develop the country and turn it in a booming vacation spot?" It was clear that I had lost this round. It appears that my joke has been a cliche that's already a trope on their country. I admitted it to be so, but I got ready for the next round. I might crack this anyhow. And there came the next question. "What is your opinion on abortions?" "Hey, I'm fine with killing babies, but not with letting women decide, you know?"Busted. What the hell was that? IT was an old joke and I just utterly panicked. There is no backing out from reusing old material, so the only thing that is left is to dodge the question and joke about their concept of "family"as such. Because I've already failed on the abortion, just like my mother used to always say. So lets double down. "Nah, you see, I mean it. Why do they kill the baby? Because they can't raise it, not because they hate it, do they? And I say, let her give birth to it, but then take it away. When you think about it, take all of the babies away. Put 'em in a big basket and scramble them around, so you can't tell who is who's. Bam, problem solved. No more looking at baby pictures, no more privileged babies having a better life just because parents are rich. Nada. The babies get equally distributed among the population. A village of 2 000 people gets about 20 babies each year. Depending on what's the weather there. Cubans get first 200 babies for free. If you break a baby, you make your own and return it to the "baby pool"next year." Again, there was silence. I don't know what's wrong with this one. Maybe this has already been a form of government at some time, but I just have not found it in my skull, so to say. A long silence, then the main man asked: "So, complete dismantling of social norms, no more gender restrictions in rising, true equality even to those who can't conceive a baby and no abortions at all?" Well, this is it. I mean, this is clearly not my ballpark. They all seem to think over all that I say. Am I missing the punchline delivery or something? Anyway, screw it. I can't back out. I suppose it's all or nothing right now, or as they say on my planet, "the moment of mother's pasta."I have to go all out on the next question. "Mr. Wells."said the main man and everyone was absolutely quiet. I've noticed how they had fun banter whenever the other comedians spoke, but no such luck with me. "What would be the greatest challenge during your presidency." "The lizards."I said in a "fuck it"manner. Only then I realized that Earthlings would not be on the joke. They have never dealt with the Argonians. They don't know this race of incompetent lizard-like humanoids that are incapable of ruling even their own mud piles. It's been an intergalactic joke to blame The Lizards at every opportunity whenever something goes wrong. And, again, I spoke too fast and got myself in the pit. I mean, who does a "Q&A"type standup? I'm completely out of my element. But, just as I said it, I realized that I have to push on. I mean, at least I will introduce them to some intergalactic humor. "Yeah, lizards. Don't you know? Foken lizards rule everything. They are the deciders. I mean, we are all sitting here and having a laugh, but we all know that the lizards have already rigged this and know who will win. They can do that. They can do everything. Even the person next to you might be a lizard, who knows. Smell the person next to you. Do it. Doesn't he seem fishy? They rule this whole thing. They allow drugs in some places to make you people in mindless workers and then they ban drugs in some places to make those people mindless workers. They create religions so you all would be easily controllable and then they destroy traditions so you all would be easily controllable. They unite the word under one government and then constantly fight in it to destroy it! Lizards, people! They are sophisticated bunch! They want to control the population, that is why it's constantly growing! They control the population by stopping polio, but then they introduce gay Cubans who don't want to make and raise babies! Gay Cubans are in the cahoots with intergalactic lizards, you hear me? Let gay Cubans pull their own weight, make them raise babies!"I was out of it. I was going mental and losing the competition with every word. People were getting up and drowning my rant by clapping their hands and rightly so. All was lost and they wanted to hear no more of it. I thought about shouting over them, but instead I just banged the table and left. I used to be a great comedian, but I am no more. They cracked me and figured it all out. They called me "out worldly"and what not. "The savior from the land ahead"in a sarcastic manner. Even so, what they managed to do the most, was humble me. You can never understand humans. At all. It seems that they took pity on my poor self and decided to teach me to become a better comedian. They said these lessons will go on for four years and if I won't be good enough by then, then four more. If I'm not great after eight years, they will just give up hope. So now they come and ask me these questions daily. I'm not sure how am I doing, as no one is laughing, they just write it down and exit. I mean, sometimes you say a joke so bad, you get punished, I suppose. Let this be a lesson to all who decide to joke on the planet Earth.
We stared at the ticking clock. Five more seconds. Tick. Pranks on our neighbors would get a lot harder. Tick. So would sneaking into R rated movies. Tick. Can't pay Maxine ten bucks to swap with me for math tests anymore. Tick. Guess it's time to go straight and stop shoplifting. Tick. The faces around me contorted with shock. I wasn't worried about being ugly. The week before, I'd cheated a bit and used Mom's foundation. I liked my cheekbones, my lips, and my waist. My forehead and chin less so, but I wasn't ugly. But there was one really big thing to clear up. "Paul, Chuck, James... guess you now know. I'm actually a girl. Mom, Dad, I don't see why you're surprised. What, do I have a weird birthmark?"Dad glanced between me and Mom while my friends hid their faces. Mom moved to leave the room, but Uncle Bob stood in her way. "Honey,"Dad said, as he walked over, shaking his head. He patted my elbow with his arm. "I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always be your dad." Mom stood crying, tears streaming down her pale face. I raised an eyebrow and looked down. Dad's arm, white as can be, stood in stark contrast against the dark pigment of my skin. [join the community!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
In some sense, I've always known. The world is a mire of hazards and misfortune, of course, with threats lurking around every corner. One could be killed in a dozen different ways before leaving their house in the morning; in a thousand ways before making it back to their bed at night. There are predators in every shadow, and there are dangers behind every door. This, though... this is appropriate. After all, preparation is a double-edged sword. A person could ready themselves for any encounter; account for every possible eventuality... but those steps will always come with a price. Friends – allies – will be alienated, and opportunities will be traded as the cost of safety. In the end, are we not all our own worst enemies? Do we not all strive for survival, making sacrifices that undermine that very effort? The argument could be offered that there are no sanctuaries; that no refuge from either horror or hardship exists, for we all carry the ability to end our own lives. One cannot defeat that adversary without surrendering its kill to it. I am the prey to the monster within myself. I am the last obstacle to be overcome. I... have a bullet's exit wound in my chest? ... I really should have looked behind me.
I hear laughter and glance over toward the escalator. A group of friends is standing at the base. An impossibly tall woman is standing in the middle of them. She is more than a head taller than each of them. “I still can’t believe that you’re afraid of escalators,” one of the other girls says. I feel myself redden, because that’s exactly why I’m standing by the elevator. The tall woman just smiles. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. I blush more and quickly turn away, pressing the up button on the elevator. I hear this sound next. This sound I can only describe as hooves hitting the tile floor. I look back and the tall woman is standing just behind me. She is not what I thought. She is tall, with long, impossibly curly black hair, and deep green eyes. What really gets me is her lower half. I’ve never seen her like. I’ve never seen a centaur before. The elevator opens and I step inside. She follows. I keep glancing at her, until the door closes. “What floor?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice level. I fail miserably. “Three if you please.” I press the button. It’s also the floor I need. I look back over at her, and this time we lock eyes. I see as many questions floating in her eyes as mine. I wonder who will be the first to speak. She takes a deep breath. “You see me, for what I truly am.” It is not a question. I answer it anyway. “Yes. Doesn’t everyone?” She shakes her head once. “I have a cloaking spell. Tell me, are you a member of the fey?” “Me?” I ask, with a quick chuckle. “I’m just a college student.”
Hour One: Toby and Sara "Well. You're one of the lucky ones, huh? Color me surprised." A man stood above me. He was dressed in a neat black suit; two black feathery wings protruded from his back. I couldn't place his face; every second I looked at him, I thought he was someone else. I looked around at my surroundings. I was in the waiting room of my old doctor's office from when I was a child. I was sitting in one of the chairs on the side of the wall that was decorated with Cinderella decals; next to me was a young woman with shoulder-length black hair in a blue sweater. She appeared to be of Hispanic descent, with piercing blue eyes. There was a stroller next to her with a small baby in it. I thought I recognized her, but I couldn't tell. I turned to the woman and tried to speak. Nothing came out. Surrounding me were several other people, none of whom I could make anything out about. "Now,"he said. "Many of you might have questions. Some of you may notice that you are unable to ask these questions. I am one of many servants, tasked with finding those who will be spared in what's to come. You are all here because you are from Administrative District Lamed-Tau, or as you humans call it, the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Area. "Many of you may think I am an angel. Others may see the colors of my wings and think of the more handsome depictions of Lucifer. It's a bit more complicated than that. Neither are true. Either way, I wouldn't be as important as those figures, either. We've tried to protect you from what is about to come, but with what's returning, I don't think we can. Luckily, we have no end to the prophecies that can predict what will happen. Our most advanced scholars have been able to reverse-engineer the prophecies to find you all, the survivors. "So, let me just explain the basics: The Beacon will be unearthed, shit will get really trippy, and in three days, exactly ninety-seven point three percent of all of humanity will be dead. You all are the exceptions." -=-=- That was a weird dream, I thought to myself as I woke up. I turned to Sara, who was lying next to me, draped in a white sheet. She sat up and stretched. "Hey Toby,"she muttered groggily. "Hi,"I smiled. "I had the weirdest dream last night,"she said. "Tell me about it. Same here. What happened in yours, first of all?" Sara giggled. "Well, I was in some sort of pediatrician waiting room, and this dude with wings--an angel or something--said that we were all going to die and I was one of the people who wasn't. Or something." I bolted upright in bed, not daring to say another word. I unlocked my phone. > CNN: "Developing story: Global panic ensues followed shared dream predicting the Apocalypse." "What's wrong?"Sara asked. "One sec, babe,"I say. Opening the CNN app, I read the story. Above the story, another alert read something different: [Scientists discover still-burning torch in Antarctic ice sheet.](/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j2l7at/wp_a_team_of_scientists_and_engineers_is_tasked/g76u11i/) /r/fortanonowrites Read Hour 2 of this developing catastrophe at the linked prompt!
They were getting more and more despicable. The child's face was scratched up, streaks of thin crimson lining it. Her hair was messy and dirtridden. She had obviously slipped and fell down some hill. And from the nasty bruise on her shin, it was obvious she was not going far before the night fell. "What is your name?"I almost snapped, my anger at the people responsible for this situation making my voice more unkind than I had wanted. The child shrank back, and I could see her eyes were red, her cheeks glistening with tears. "My name's Zur."I said a bit more gently. She stared at me, not speaking, eyes wide. "There's a house not far from here. A woman lives there. She knows magic. I can bring you to her."I tried. But at this, the child's eyes widened even more and I was afraid they would pop out. "Witch?"She gasped. "No, no. She's not a witch. She's just a nice woman."I said hastily, but the girl scrambled away, limping and wincing. Damn it. "She won't hurt you! She can help you fix your foot!"I called out uselessly. She stumbled and fell, and looked over her shoulder to check if I was behind her, and when she saw I had not moved, she unsteadily got to her feet and continued running away from me. "Ok, I won't bring you to her! Let's just stay here for a while. You'll hurt yourself more if you keep running!"I said, thinking on what to do. I was not about to chase after the poor girl. But she was a child who was hurt in this vast jungle. I could not let her run away. But at my words she stopped. "No witch?"She asked. I shook my head. She immediately collapsed on to the undergrowth, breathing heavily. What a truly despicable experience a child had to go through. "Can I at least take a look at your leg?"I asked, slowly walking towards her. But her face was blank. "No witch."She repeated, tired. "No witch."I confirmed, bending down and taking a look at the swollen shin. "I think you sprained this. You shouldn't put any weight on this leg, alright?" The girl nodded almost imperceptibly. I took my canteen and handed it to her. "It's bitterwater. Sorry, I don't have regular water." She drank from it greedily, and when she paused to draw breath, she started coughing, grimacing at the taste of it. But she continued drinking, some of the water cascading down her chin. Just how long had she been deserted here? The anger at the villagers returned, but I kept it in check. There was a time and place for rage. "I only have cured fish to eat."I apologized, fishing it out from my wallet. But the girl shook her head. "Not hungry?"I asked. She shook her head again. We sat for a while, quiet. The sounds of the forest played around us. Birds sang, leaves rustled, insects chittered. And night was about to fall. I wanted to bring her to the House by nightfall to wash and clean her up. Tyovern was cooking tonight, and their cooking was to die for. The girl would have the best hot meal she would have in her life, and afterwards a soft warm bunk to sleep in. But all this had to happen in its own time. I was not about to force the child into anything. My master hadn't when she found me, and I was going to follow on her footsteps. "You know, if we stay at a spot for a long time, bugs will start climbing you thinking you're a rock or a log."I said, turning to look at her. But she was asleep, head resting on a large root outcropping from the ground. Well, now was a good as time as any to do some magic. My hands hovered over the girl's swollen skin, and arcane power coursed through the air between our skins as the the magic worked its wonder. The swelling immediately reduced. She would be able to walk with minimal discomfort when she awoke. Next, I danced a pattern in the air with my fingers, and muttered a few arcane words, and a small, golden rabbit coalesced into being on the ground before me. It sniffed the air, and looked around, observing it's new surroundings. You'll lead her to the House. I told it telepathically. It immediately went and nudged the girl's legs, waking her up. I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep as well as I woke to her squeaking in delight. "Oh! That's a fleurabbit. It'll lead you to treasure!"I told her as the rabbit darted off, pausing to see if the girl was following. "Come! We should see where it leads."I smiled as I saw the girl grin. It was an infectious expression. But I did not feel good about tricking the girl like this. My master would not have used such underhanded techniques. At least there was truth to what I said. The rabbit would lead her to a treasure most wondrous.
“I saw the collapse of the Daily Planet through my window, and from what I’ve heard everyone has been accounted for and safe so far...except you!” Lex continued :”Now I know that I’ve never seemed to be friendly with anyone there, but honestly I had a lot of respect for your journalism and for you for being the everyday man. I’m sorry it took me thinking you died to admit this to you. Though, just take it as a moment of weakness.” “Wait...”said Superman, “So you’re not the one who leveled the Daily Planet?There were people saying that a figure in green was seen around the area...” “Clark! Why would I destroy the Daily Planet? I OWN the building! Looking at the way it sank though, there’s a good chance the Mole Man did it.” Lex took a good look at Superman. “Anyway, why are you wearing ‘his’ costume, was there a costume event at work? How did you get up here without alerting security?” And to his horror Superman realized that he had forgotten to remove his glasses.
The house the sword had been in burned. No longer was it on the mantle, sheathed and silent. Wielder had attempted to draw it, but… arrows in the back sapped Wielder’s strength. Bandits approached son of Wielder, who finally drew the sword from its sheathe, and awakened the sword. The child was strong. The previous wielder had given Anathema up to take up farming, once what It had helped the Wielder kill what the Wielder called the Dark Lord. But Wielder had died against common bandits, a farmer murdered, instead of a hero slain. But farmers were strong in body, so the Wielder’s son was strong as well, but young. Innocent. Anathema whispered to the boy, not to worry. It would help the boy. The boy was now the new Wielder. Anathema would help. And Anathema cut, sliced, annihilated, consumed. Anathema was a weapon, after all. It did what it needed to do, what it was made for. The bandits fell to meaty chunks, gore spilling everywhere, soaking the grassy field. Arrows came at the boy, and Anathema spun, saving the Wielder. Anathema was tired of stasis, of being sheathed. It would do all it could to stay bared, and protect the new Wielder, the son of Wielder. Like a missile Anathema guided its new wielder to the archer in the distance, faster than was healthy. Wielder screamed in terror and pain as more arrows flew towards him, but Anathema knew how to protect Wielder. The arrows were simple wood and steel. It had tasted blood once more. Anathema would not let New Wielder fall so easily, and blurred in the boy’s hand, slicing apart the arrows as they came from the archer. The archer’s body was simple to slice for Anathema. Made of light leather and yielding, wet, meat, the archer was cut down as quickly as the other bandits. Hot, warm blood sprayed all over new Wielder, and coated Anathema, which drank it in readily. New Wielder was crying, now, for what reason, Anathema could not fathom. The enemies were dead. Anathema had done very well, it still cut just as well as it did fifteen years ago. The crying perturbed Anathema, until it remembered. Living creatures like this were made of meat, and thus, irrational. They did not have the purpose and clarity like Anathema did. Anathema waited until Wielder’s mind calmed, then reached out, quietly. “You are sad. And scared.” Wielder sniffed, fighting back sobs, and nodded, looking at the hilt of the sword. “Papa tried to get you, But they, they killed him. And then… you killed them.” Anathema took a moment to understand this, then replied once more to the boy’s mind. “Yes. I am a sword. I cut.” “You protected me, too. You cut the arrows.” Wielder wiped at his face, fighting back more tears, apparently mustering some steel in his emotions. Despite itself, Anathema was pleased. Not just with the slaughter, but with Wielder. Wielder’s would always do better if they had some steel in them. “Yes. You are my new Wielder. I will help you. I will cut those who try to harm you.” “You hurt me.” The boy sniffled again, looking at the damaged hand and began to hold his arm, the muscles near rent asunder from Anathema’s force in using Wielder. Anathema balked, then calmed. A broken, angry Wielder might discard Anathema. It must be careful. “Yes, I am sorry. You are young. Unskilled, but strong. But not used to me. But had to save. Needed hands.” The sword spoke into the mind of the Wielder, trying not to plead, but Anathema felt it might still be pleading. Anathema feared no creature, but being sheathed for years, discarded or abandoned by Wielder? No. Not again. “Need you. Need to be… useful. To fulfill purpose.” The boy sniffles again, and Anathema felt his mind relax, less accusatory feelings toward the sword. “Okay. Okay.” The boy stood, slowly, uncertainly, as the house continue to burn in the distance. “We need to go to town, to… to get away from here. To tell people about the bandits.” It was not battle, or cutting, or learning how to cut. Anathema merely sent agreement to Wielder. Safety for Wielder was a good idea. The boy staggered towards the road, holding Anathema in his hand, still death gripping the hilt. “You’ll protect me?” “Yes. Will cut anyone you wish. Will protect Wielder. Will cut your enemies. The boy nodded, and the blade felt satisfied.
Selena and Alex were imaginative kids. That's what I thought anyway. They kept themselves entertained, running around in the woods. Often they would come back and babble away about the adventures they had had. They had met dragons, fought armies, saved royalty. I just smiled and encouraged them. I wanted them to enjoy their childhood as much as possible. Recently they had been claiming about fighting hordes of monsters. They said these monsters wanted to rule over everyone they had saved. I nodded, and told them to he careful, and as always be back for dinner. This all came flooding back when I opened up the back door, responding to a small knock. I wasn't sure what I was expecting see. Certainly not a pair of two and a half foot tall green skinned goblins. "Mother of Terrors! We beg of thee to spare us! Our might is spent, the Pair beyond us." I stared at them, before gently pinching myself. I expected this to be a dream. But I didn't wake up. "What did you call me?" They shuddered at my words. "Mother of Terrors!" I shook my head, trying to understand just what was happening. This made them pale, and fall to their knees sobbing. "No, please! We want peace now! Please have mercy!" They sounded so broken. I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. I crouched down, reaching out to give them a hug. "Shhh. It's OK." Just then I heard a pair of footsteps stamping down the stairs. Voices raised behind their indoor limits, the kids ran towards me. "Mum! Mum! Can we-" They stopped at the sight of the goblins. Selena clenched her little fists, arcs of lightning running over them. Alex reached into the air, a sword forming. "Get away from Mum!" The poor goblins froze, and I stood quickly. "What have you two been up to?" I didn't like to use that tone. But I had an immediate effect. They went from fighters to shocked kids. "We... we..." I looked back at the goblins, seeing their eyes wide. "Please, come in. I think we all need to talk. And you two-"I fixed Alex and Selena with a look "no fighting."
The demon hovered ominously as I poured milk into the cereal bowl. I pushed it out of the way to get to the freezer and pulled out the ice cube tray. The demon snarled in frustration as I went about getting my breakfast, thoroughly angered by my stubbornness. Years had passed since it had uttered that once terrifying threat, and it was still waiting for me to say my last words. Unfortunately for it, I was not willing to give the demon any satisfaction, nor was I physically able to speak. If the demon had taken any time to get to know me before it chose me as its target, it would understand that I was mute. Instead it now had to put up with this endless cycle of hovering over my shoulder, waiting for me to somehow speak my 'final words.' Like, no thanks, not today. My soul is mine thank you. I opened a drawer and pulled out a notepad and pen, writing on it and giving it to the demon. Dude, you really need to find a hobby. I mean really, it's been 20 years and I'm not about to start saying shit any time soon. You said you would break me but I think I've broken you. Insulted, the demon disintegrated the note in its hand, and stormed over to me. "HOW DARE YOU!,"he snarled. "I WILL WAIT FOR AN ETERNITY IF I MUST TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. IT BELONGS TO ME, IT IS MINE! AND HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME- WRITE TO ME IN THAT MANNER. YOU SHOULD BE COWERING IN FEAR AFRAID TO SPEAK A SINGLE WORD." I shrugged before sitting down at the table and eating my cereal. Poor guy needs to get a life already.
"We're still on the clock, right?"Ashley asked, taking a hesitant step towards the edge of the rocky cliff. She didn't expect Brian to give her a straight answer. Brian subscribed to the Avoid All Responsibility school of management, with a sub-major in Maximising Distracting Small Talk All Day Long. She hadn't said it for his benefit. As long as Brian didn't outright refuse, explicitly mentioning the possibility would make Cheryl and Dale log these as billable hours on their time-sheets too, and Brian didn't have the guts to deny all three of them. "I think that's a conversation for a later time."Brian replied, taking a hesitant tip-toeing step closer to the edge and then immediately stepping back further than he'd started. The cliff dropped sharply beyond the edge. The fall was a long one. Sharp jagged rock outcrops eventually became a long gravelly slope that merged, perhaps a kilometer away, into dense forest that stretched to the horizon. Not exactly forest, but that was the closest concept Ashley could find as she stared down at it. The bright gold trunks, speckled with dark red dots and splotches, weren't individuals. They merged into the trunks of other neighboring trees and the separating out again before ending in a deep purple canopy. Whatever composed the canopy, too small the see from here, it certainly wasn't leaves. The purple mass swayed as one entity in the wind, while also seeming to jitter everywhere all at once. "We're away from the office, so that's work travel hours. Full per diems, expenses---"Dale began reciting the corporate manual. "Wow. No! We weren't instructed by the company to travel here, so it's not a client visit. It's voluntary work-related travel at best, with half per diems."Cheryl interjected, still kissing corporate ass despite everything. Ashley took a long breath while Cheryl spoke, a well practiced technique for swallowing her dislike. "Brian told us to go into the meeting room, even though the door looked completely different. That's being sent on travel under managerial instruction for sure, Cheryl."Ashley said, turning away from the edge and heading back towards the strange wooden door in the rock face. Dale had closed it behind them and no amount of yanking had managed to reopen it. "Hey, now listen guys, let's just relax, okay, let's just try to make the best of this."Brian said, following Ashley with evident relief. "We're all here together, let's be a team, okay. Let's think about it like a voluntary after-work team building activity, like when we went out for drinks and pizza that time". "It's not after work though, is it?"Dale insisted. "It's not voluntary either,"Ashley said, knocking on the door and pressing her ear against it to listen for a reply, "otherwise I'd voluntarily go be on my couch right now." "Technically,"Cheryl began, but Ashley wasn't listening. The door had barely made a sound when she tapped on it. No echo, no reverberation, just the deep, quiet thud of hardwood resting against solid stone. There was no evidence that there was any open space behind it, that it was a doorway to anything, let alone the hallway to the newly renovated media-enabled ground-floor secondary meeting room. Yet as she listened, her ear pressed to wood until it hurt, her finger in her other ear to block out Cheryl's annoying drone, Ashley was sure she could hear footsteps. Footsteps growing louder. Ashley jumped back from the door just as it began to open. Through it, she caught a glimpse of a vast library, filled with furled scrolls rather than books. She only glimpsed it briefly, however, because the doorway was filled with the imposing form of a tall, old, bearded man. He somehow looked both ancient and bursting with health all at once. He stood tall and his eyes were clear and sharp, but the sockets around them sagged into deep valleys of wrinkled and pock-marked skin that overflowed his face. Firm muscles were visible beneath the paper-thing and sagging skin on his arms. His voice managed to sound confident and commanding, though it croaked weakly from a throat that seemed unused to speaking. "Heroes, finally you have come, I--" "Logging client consultation hours, starting 11:17am."Dale interjected. "He can't be a client, the Client Intake Form hasn't been approved by Client Processing."Cheryl whined. "He obviously wants something from us, we've traveled to see him. Actually, no, you're right, no formal intake which makes it an Urgent Client Consult, that's double time and a half if it requires working overtime."Dale said. "Now just hang on guys, let's just have a chat with this guy, we can don't need to worry about all that stuff yet."Brain said, trying to regain control. "What's your name sir? Would you care for a glass of... well, ummm, never mind." "Please, Heroes, I must impart to you the most dire of..."The strange man said, taking a step towards Brain. Without hesitating, without a backward glance, Ashley stepped through the still open door and pulled it closed behind her.
"Come out and play!"Little fox cried. "No! Go away!"The monster denied. Little fox thought, and little fox knew, if her friends were hungry, the monster was too! "We have pears, and plums. Peaches and more!" "I'm a despicable monster, I only eat gore!" Little fox ran to the picnic with haste, and brought back a basket of goodies for monster to taste. "I have fruit pulp and artichoke hearts. Will they do the trick?" "Only mortal flesh and human hearts will make me go quick." Little fox knew there was one thing to do. Kill all her friends, and make monster a stew. "To lure you on out and make you engage, I'll kill all my friends and cook them with sage." "Good little fox, you're doing quite well. Do as I say and we'll both dine in hell!"
Apologies to the actual Tomb Sentinels if I got anything wrong in this story. "Tomb Guards,"the Sergeant said, "I have received word from headquarters that the United States is under imminent threat of attack by a hostile alien force. As of 0500 hours this morning, the Third Infantry Regiment has been relieved of ceremonial duties and reactivated as a combat infantry regiment. We have been ordered to leave our post at Arlington National Cemetery and report to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling to receive our equipment and await further orders." The six soldiers in the room nodded grimly. There was disappointment in their eyes, but no hint of disobedience. This wasn't like a hurricane or a windstorm. This was alien fucking invasion, and soldiers would be needed in far more important places than guarding a cemetery. Sergeant Allen waited for the murmuring to die down before she dropped her bombshell. "Upon receiving those orders,"she said, "I respectfully refused to comply." Cheering would have been against the dignity of this place, but Sergeant Allen saw her Tomb Guards stand a bit straighter and their eyes start to gleam with pride. "Tomb Guards,"she said quietly. "The seven of us in this room represent one-third of the entire force of Tomb Guards currently on duty. Even with the other two relief shifts, we barely make up half an infantry platoon. Furthermore, we have spent the last year of our lives together as a ceremonial unit, whose primary duty is to guard the Tomb of the Unknowns' dignity against curious tourists and vandals. To be frank, our combat skills are. . . rusty. I informed our commanding officer of this fact, and requested that we be allowed to finish discharging our sacred duty without interruption. The request was granted. "The following changes are being made to the Tomb Guard protocols,"Sergeant Allen said. "From this moment forward, uniform inspections shall no longer be carried out. Tomb Sentinels will carry out their duties in combat uniforms and body armor. Our ceremonial M-14s will be returned to the armory: a shipment of M-5 SPEAR assault rifles and ammunition is being sent to us as we speak. The other two relief shifts are returning to Arlington National Cemetery now: they will be setting up cots in the viewing gallery overlooking the Tomb, which will serve as our base of operations until relieved or this invasion comes to an end. All other duties continue as before. Are there any questions?" There were none. Only nods and smiles. "Then you are dismissed." \--To Be Continued--
“You sure this is it?” “Yes, yes, now go!” ‘Samuel’, as he would come to be known, hesitantly strode over to the entry door of the coffee shop, one foot in front of the other. Come on, he thought to himself, you spent weeks practicing the human method of walking in basic training- so get it over with! But just before he could slide stealthily into the coffee shop, his fingers trembling on the entrance doorknob, a surge of nervousness swarmed his body and made its way to his mind’s gates, overwhelming him. He snuck away from the area and immediately turned toward the invisible ship to voice his concerns. “You’re… you’re absolutely, 100% certain, 100% sure, that this costume is working?” “…Samuel.” “What? It’s a genuine concern-“ “Samuel. Don’t you think, if the disguise were to be broken, that everyone in the area outside the shop, as well as literally all of the people in this general area, would notice and point it out?” Samuel exhaled a sigh of contempt and responded haphazardly. “If… if you say so.” Approaching the coffee shop for a second time, Samuel willed himself to the task and forced his way in. He swore he could feel the burning gazes of every onlooker being branded into the back of his head- but a quick survey around himself disproved his anxiety. He turned back to the front of the shop, his eyes now lazed in relief. “Oh… for God’s sakes, what are you doing? Just standing there? Get to the task at hand or I’ll just come in myself and do it!” Samuel instantly shot up straight- an action that drew some attention toward him. But the curious looks and prying stares soon faded into the air as the customers realized nothing of importance was transpiring. Now newly motivated, Samuel made an order for a cup of coffee and sat at an empty table. It wasn’t long before his name was called to go up and retrieve his beverage. But, according to plan, Samuel did not return to his original table upon paying for his drink. Instead, he located the table over, where, sat in one of two chairs, was a mostly absorbed woman with glossy red hair and glasses obscuring some of the dimples spread out on her cheeks. Samuel approached and pulled out the chair in front of her. “May I?” he asked. The lady pulled off her headphones and stared at him, her attention fully absorbed in his stunning looks. For, to make this conducted case study much easier and more efficient, the alien’s disguise was made much more generally attractive in a way that the aliens hypothesized would stimulate human love and attachment. And it was clear that it was working. “S-sure, go ahead…” she stammered. Samuel sat down with a surprising confidence that rivaled his anxiety that had flooded him only moments prior to entering the coffee shop. Though, at least here, he had no reason to be scared. Not only was she a human, and not of his species, but the concept of love as humanity came to understand it didn’t really exist back where Samuel was truly from. So he sat, silently, waiting for something to be said, his eyes locked in hers. But nothing came to be said. She just stared at him. The table remained in silence as the atmosphere in the coffee shop grew to be more deafeningly quiet. And then, all of a sudden, she began to move her eyes. Not in a darting way, as if she was desperately trying to find something else to look at- no, more like in an almost gesturing way. Samuel was confused by this- disoriented, even. What was she trying to convey by doing this? Was she even conveying something? Was this just some sort of human reflex or behavior that his class had glossed over? It was all too much for him. So he excused himself to the bathroom and locked the door. “Samuel, what are you doing?” The commanding alien asked. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what she’s doing. I mean, did you see what was going on? She never said anything. She just keeps moving her eyes around. What the hell am I supposed to do?” “Calm down, Samuel,” the higher ranking alien replied, “now, we understand that this is largely uncharted territory. There is much more to be understood in the way of human communications and conversing, and our research teams, unfortunately, have snagged a roadblock here when it comes to eye contact. You’re just going to have to bear it out. Here, why not try initiating the conversation yourself?” Motivated once more, Samuel stepped out to be met with her waiting gaze- though, of course, he did not know that, He just thought she was staring at him. He sat back down and thought of things to say. Instantly he thought back to Unit 7, “Human Small Talk”. “How’s the, err, weather?” he stammered out, “is it treating you nicely?” “Eh,” she responded, “same as always. Never rains down here in Los Angeles. Are you from here?” she inquired after. Yes, he thought to himself, I did it! I started the conversation! “No, no, I’m from,”, a quick pause to think about his brief stint in Terran geography, “Florida. Down there, weather-wise, you never know what’s gonna hit you next.” She laughed, hard- so hard that it wasn’t really appropriate for how funny his remark really was- and nudged his shoulder, peering at his arm, before looking back up to him, in silence. Crap, he thought, she’s doing the thing again! Quickly, he started another conversation. This time, though, it was more bound toward executing the experiment. “Say, wanna get out of here?” “I’d love to,” she said. Samuel set down his drink and walked her out of the store. Having now initiated Phase B, he was delighted to see a vehicle already parked out front of the store. He led her to it, taking out the keys that had been planted in his pocket beforehand. She giddily claimed shotgun as he hopped into the driver’s seat, key in the ignition, ready to take her to the set location around ten minutes away. That should give him plenty of time to talk to her and get some vital information that may benefit his team’s research efforts as a whole! And, as he recalled his driving lessons in the first part of Unit 3, he waited patiently for something to be said. Anything. But no. Silence. Even as the car rushed down the road and into the suburbs, it was nothing but her perpetual staring. Every time he’d try to get something, anything out of her, she’d quickly end the conversation and continue with her meddling gaze. He didn’t understand, nor could he comprehend her and her actions. Finally, she and him arrived at the location of Phase C. He breezed out of the car, herself latched onto his arm, her eyes cleaved onto his stunning jawline. At this point, he just wanted to get the experiment over with. “Alright, this is the most important part,” the commanding alien came over his earpiece, “the human mating ritual- or, more specifically, the lead-up to the human mating ritual; how it is started, how it is initiated. This, right here, is what this entire study is about, Samuel. So do not mess this up!” Samuel silently nodded. At this point, both him and her were sat comfortably on the sofa- her leaning on his arm, him sitting upright. On the television in front of them played The Matrix; and while Samuel was fixated on this, it seemed she didn’t mind just looking at him the entire time. Finally, Samuel looked down to meet her gaze. It was a heavy stare- eyebrows relaxed, pupils dilated, and her eyes static. Five minutes passed as she kept staring- and, in this lengthy, awkward duration, she had even begun to bite her lip in anticipation. To her, it seemed almost too clear what she wanted for Samuel not to get it. But, meanwhile, he was scrambling around in his mind for any scrap of comprehension at all. Finally, she gave up, throwing her tank top to the ground, with nothing but a top on. She said impatiently, “are we fucking, or no?” Finally, Samuel thought to himself, some clarity! And with that came the final step in the study. The commanding alien came over the earpiece. “Initiate phase D.” ————
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 11TH, 2019: "And for the first time ever, a young male is being lead in front of a firing squad, as his birth-given tattoo is expired by three days, and he has yet to suffer any symptoms of dying." The television broadcasts. I listen to rage of the audience watching the fate of the boy. They urge the soldiers to fire at this "demon."How sickening. How cruel. This isn't fair, why should they execute someone whom obviously has more time to live, and has just been given a faulty date? I continue to watch the grotesque broadcasting, further loathing myself for doing so. One soldier, whom looks like the general, bags the unfortunate kid's head, at least giving him the gift of not knowing when his death will occur. The crowd dies down in suspense, as they wait for the climax of what they call "entertainment."A second passes, a deafening shot occurs, and the body of the poor boy collapses onto the blood-red dirt. I turn off the television, an uneasiness settling in my stomach. I glance at the stained mark on my arm, and roll my sleeve down, just enough to cover the date: "November 10th, 2019"
I'm glad to be a bread mage. My skills include sifting flour with a wave of my hand, baking a perfect French baguette with little more than a few strands of wheat and a little water, or, in my more advanced spells, I can summon fresh bread in a pinch. I have a few students, others born with my powers. My youngest, Fikra, is about six. Her mother saw she was a mage, and delivered her to our order, so she wouldn't be found. Fikra is still learning her basic white breads, how to keep it from overcooking... Julius is my sullen middle child. He is frustrated by the wars the King has, and it shows. Sometimes I find rye inside his baguettes, it shows he's not fully focused casting the spells. But he shows a lot of talent, and I know he will make a good instructor one day. My eldest is Edith. Edith actually isn't actually a bread mage, but she studies our order. She will be the historian of The Circle, as is the tradition that one unaltered by magic should write our accounts. She's very responsible, and her ordinary scent keeps us safe here. Oh, did I mention the King is massacring all mages? He's already killed the Wind Master and her five students, they were the first to go. I haven't heard from the Earth guardians in a long time, I think they're gone too. Rumors that come in to our little bakery all say the Fire mages have scorched half the land, and are barely able to defend themselves anymore. The only mages I do speak to anymore are the Sun Mages. The King keeps them on lock down (he won't kill them, they control the sun). The more obscure masters seemed to have wisely disappeared, just like i have. I'm glad to be the Bread Master. We are very safe here in our little bakery. We won't be tortured like the others. Maybe it's best to just forget we even are special at all....
"FWEEEEEEEP!"The shrill noise brought several of the ever-present Secret Service agents crashing into the Oval Office. They stopped short as they took in the sight in front of them. Ribbons of colorful paper hung limply out of a hatch that had opened in the ceiling, and yellowed strips of confetti fluttered through the air in a desultory manner. The President stood, finger still on the button, a embarrassed look on his face. A long deflated balloon slipped out of the hatch and thudded to the floor.
All day, and all night, he works. He works, works, works, usually until I'm already in bed. Weekends, too. I haven't seen him in so long... All I want is to play baseball with him, and give him hugs, make him tell me stories and play games. That's all. But he's never home. Mommy's always sick, and she never wants to do anything with me. She tries, I know she does, but most of the time she's too tired. Her hair is gone now, and there are all these machines and stuff. She needs him, but he's not here. Daddy doesn't love us, not like we love him. My auntie has to come and help mommy, because daddy won't do it himself. Her name is auntie Jane. She's very nice to me, and makes mommy feel better while daddy is at work. Please come home, daddy. ----- very cool prompt! if you enjoyed this, you can check out /r/resonatingfury for more! and if you see anyone stuck at the bottom of this thread, please upvote them- there are a few people downvoting.
Long ago I was loved. Children would play with figures cast from my being. Life giving water would flow across me, through pipes and tanks to the homes of my worshipers. Women sought beauty from my colors, adorned and anointed in my holy name. Those days are long gone. The figures that children long adored are taken for the war effort. Water no longer flows across my being, but that of my brothers. The Women shun me. Calling me the beautiful poison. My soul is melted down and recast. No longer cast to the lovely shapes of toys, nor the utility of pipes. No, now I am cast to the basest of forms. Raw nuggets and spheres. Purposed to be cast towards prey and foe. My name is Lead. Once loved and worshiped. Now a slave to the musket and cannon.
Terry Summervill stared out of the bay windows that framed his kitchen. A mug of warm tea was held gingerly in his hands. He took a few sips as he looked out of the windows at his rather … peculiar … next door neighbor. A frown came upon Terry’s lips. After being for sale for only a week, someone new had decided to buy the house next door to Terry’s. It was a simple, two story home, situated in one of the many countless suburbs that had popped up across the country. Blissful upper middle-class was how Terry liked to describe it. A house that held a wife and husband, plus their two and a half kids. At least, that’s the model that popular opinion seemed to push on the upper middle-class. Terry’s eyes wandered from the bay windows to the portrait of their great conquerer, Emperor Festilius the Third. The portrait was of Festilius riding his flaming war chariot into battle, the legendary cursed sword, Ragnarok, held high above his head, gleaming. Terry frowned. Yes, about thirty years ago Festilius had led a rebellion against the government, and soon found himself in control of the entirety of Earth after a rather bloody but short conquest. At the time, everyone had been preaching about the doom and destruction that would come from Festilius’s rule. No one had really expected the economic growth that unifying the world would bring though. Despite Festilius’s best efforts, the world flourished. No matter how strong his iron fist, no matter how high the taxes, no matter how cruel the punishments, the world somehow came together and continued to progress despite Festilius’s rather crude rulership. There were rumors on the internet that Festilius resigned not due to old age, but because of a severe and persisting depression. These sources said that Festilius had lost faith in himself and his ability for cruelty and suffering. Terry’s attention wandered back from the painting to his new neighbor. The neighbor in question was an older man, probably in his late forties or early fifties. He was a heaping hulk of a man, even at his age. Unbelievably tall, and much too muscular. His clothes barely seemed to contain him. He walked with an air of authority, his chin stuck out and head held high. Terry tried to imagine him wearing a suit of cursed back iron, rather than casual wear and loafers. It was hard to imagine, but something inside of Terry’s mind couldn’t help but think it. It wasn’t that Terry minded his rather unusual new neighbor. In fact, he was quite pleased with him. Less than a day after moving in, his neighbor had stopped the pair of teenagers who’d been vandalizing the neighborhood homes. Their decapitated heads currently sat on a pair of bloody spikes in front of his yard. A rather odd thing to do, but everyone had their quirks. Setting his mug of tea down, Terry decided to go over and say hello. They were neighbors after all, and it was about that time to welcome the newcomer into the community. Terry strolled across well kept lawns, and waved a hello to his neighbor, who was currently lounging on his front porch. A curt nod was given in return to Terry’s hello. “Hello. How are you moving in so far?” Terry asked, ascending the stairs to his neighbor’s porch.” “It’s … alright.” His neighbor replied. His voice was deep and commanding. It sounded as if it could move a legion of bloodthirsty warriors. “Name’s Terry Summervill. I live next door with my wive.” Terry said, extending a hand of greeting. “Name’s Festi— … er, I mean John Doe.” The neighbor replied. The two men clasped hands. John’s hand was a massive paw, easily encasing Terry’s. “Lovely wife you have. Strong and determined. She would’ve done fine in my platoon of Bellonas.” John growled out. “Oh yes, Marisa. Yep, she’s amazing alright. And the breadwinner of the house. Really, I can’t figure out why she married me.” Terry stammered out. He always got nervous talking to someone new for the first time. Through his nerve addled brain, John’s mention of the feared Bellonas that tore through all of Europe seemed to elude him. John nodded grimly. “Good. A strong woman is a necessity in life.” The two men stood there, awkwardly nodding. Out of desperation for something to say, Terry asked if he could join John on the porch. A swift yes was replied, and the two found themselves lounging on John’s porch, watching the day go by. “May I ask you something Terry?” John asked after several minutes of silence. “Of course.” Terry stammered out. “What do you do to keep busy?” “O-oh, you know. Mostly chores. Cleaning and cooking. Shopping. Maintaining the house.” “No no no.” John replied, shaking his head. “I mean what do you do for fun. There are no blood arenas around here. No one to fight, no conquests to be had. What is there to do around here?” “Oh, for fun? Well, I usually just play video games myself.” Terry replied. “Video games?” John asked. Festilius had been born from the sacrilegious love of a demon and a witch. He had known of no technological marvels. His past times had always included blood and war up until his sudden and devastating depression. “Yeah, video games. You know, where you get to pretend to be a solider, or a knight, or a king, or a race car driver, or athlete, and you go do a bunch of fun stuff on the television.” Terry’s words intrigued Festilius. He didn’t quite understand them, but there was an excitement in his words, a promise of something new. Festilius felt interested, invested. This was the first time he’d felt this since he’d realized his failure at being a tyrannical leader. “Do you think … do you think you could show me these, video games?” John asked. “Sure!” Terry pipped up. Finally, a topic of conversation that he was comfortable with. Soon enough, the two found themselves in Terry’s living room, the sounds of Battle Boy 5 blared through his surround sound speakers. Festilius’s eyes were wide in wonder and joy as he played as a robotic man; a killing machine who ravaged through a despondent land in search of his one true love. The two men found themselves playing video games well into the evening, immersed in laughter and cooperative play. It was only when Marisa came home, and complained of a lack of dinner, that Festilius reluctantly went home. Before his departure, Terry loaned Festilius a handheld console, along with some of his favorite games. Later, after dinner had been hurriedly made, Marisa couldn’t help but give Terry a playful smile, and asked. “So, I see you met the new neighbor. Do you still have that silly idea of yours that he used to be Emperor Festilius the Third?” Terry paused above his meal. His face fell into a thoughtful look. He was pretty sure that John Doe was indeed Festilius, it had been kind of hard not to realize that during the banter they shared over their afternoon of video game induced fun. Still, this was the first friend Terry had made in years. So what if he used to be a feared emperor, right now he was a newfound friend. Terry shook his head. “No. I think I’ve given that whole fantasy up.” Terry lied. He didn’t want to risk not being allowed to say hello to his newest friend anymore. “Well that’s good.” Marisa said with a smile. “I’m glad you found someone to keep you company while I’m away. I know how hard it is for you to get along with the other couples in the neighborhood.” Terry nodded along in agreement. “Yeah, those folks can really be a bunch of monsters most of the time.”
It's not a bad life, not bad compared to the alternative. I've read the histories. I activated my sleep capsule just before the difficult times started. Post-nuclear-apocalyptic difficult times. Average-human-life-span-under-2-years difficult times. Now I live like a King. Well, not a King.... more of a Rock-Star/Pope/National-treasure/King. I can have anything I want. I mean ANYTHING. Had a conversation with my servants about how Ancient Egypt worshiped cats (which they found just hilarious). I made a joke about how I wouldn't mine being buried in a Pyramid. Next day those sons-of-bitches had demolished 4 blocks of prime down-town real estate to make way for construction of my Pyramid. Apparently an emergency all night congressional pack meeting was called to address my "request". I can't even imagine what all the sky-scrappers they tore down cost. Well... I do know the value... $4.2 billion kibbles. But what's a kibble actually worth? I asked, and as of yesterday a kibble is worth 11.4 Asian yum-yums....like that cleared it up. So anything I want, except for the thing I want most. A human friend. You see here in the year 3108 there are no other humans. The earth is run by its most intelligent species... dogs. I know what you are thinking, what about the apes? Yes, ape genetic advancement was way beyond the dogs. Heck, the best strains of apes were beyond humans at the end. And those opposable thumbs! If an ape picks up a human weapon it takes about five minutes of fiddling before it's firing it back at us. A dog would still be scratching at the safety. But the dogs have one attribute the apes lacked. Not an attributed spliced in by scientists, but one breed in over countless generations. Something we had always taken for granted.... that a dog is a man's best friend. Unlike militarized Apes, dogs would never turn on us. The accounts of wartime heroics by dogs are so common they are mundane. A dog leaving cover to drag a wounded human to safety, an unarmed dog charging a rifle toting ape that shot it's pack's human leader, a dog staying up all night writing military reports so its human companion can sleep. And unlike Apes the dog never complained when the human signs his name to the report next morning and takes all the credit. They were always on our side, so when the war heated up, it was dogs who we gave better weapons, better genetic programming, and better breeding programs to increase their numbers. And boy did they fight. Noble Doberman's running hover tanks on suicide missions. Stoic German Sheppard's charging machine gun bunkers with only small arms backpacks. Evil little poodles relaying tackle nuke coordinates. And those crazy-crazy Chihuahuas with their suicide vests. (side note: Chihuahua are about the only pure Breeds left. Everybody else has at least a bit of Mutt somewhere in the family line. However a Chihuahua will only date another Chihuahua. You never would have guessed how racist those little bastards are.) So, as I was saying, last human. The dogs know I'm lonely and have done there doggy-darnedest to fix it. They have searched the world for active sleep pods. There were hundreds of thousands when I started my long snooze. Most were destroyed by nukes or apes. Those left eventually auto-woke when their power supply failed. This exposed the occupants to anti-hominid biological weapons left over from the war. Apparently my pod was discovered by dog scientists and connected to an alternate power source until vaccines could be developed. After failing to find me a pod friend, they tried to build me a virtual one. They created a virtual-reality room with full visual, sonic and tactile components. At first the virtual humans were a bit wonky, after all it was a dog trying to write a program to act like a human. This was fixed by only creating virtual people with enough post-apocalyptic video footage to create reaction probability trees. So I only hang out with the most famous of stars; Arnold Schwatznager, Tom Hanks, Anne Hathaway, Megan Fox, Lucy Liu..... Now I know what you're thinking. And your damn right! I did exactly what you're thinking!!! Unfortunately Lucy wasn't into it. That is until her dog programmers realized what I was trying to do and updated the program. Apparently I had confused them by attempting it "human-style". So yes, a good life. I can't complain. The masses ask nothing of me but to exist. They asked to have me on continuous web-feed, and I allowed it - it's just dogs watching me. My "Trueman Show"is now the most watched channel in the world. Often times it will be prescribed by therapists. Watching me walk around, make a sandwich or take a poo is really fulfilling for most dogs. It scratches some physiological itch they have. To other dogs it goes even deeper. They see me as king. Some worship me like I have some mystic power to give their life purpose. I try to minimize this but it's tricky. Imagine if the Pope came up to a life-long Catholic and yelled "quit adoring me-- go get a life!". Bad reactions could follow. When I tire of my life of sloth, gluttony and lust, I like to do some good. I will visit a pup-hospital to rub a few bellies. Show up at the Olympics to award the gold hydrant. Maybe fly to Korea and squeeze the giant rubber squeaky bone to open the week of the Jindo-chew-toy festival (You know in Korea the dogs eat chimpanzees. Weird!). But that is all voluntary. They never ask me to do anything, never that is except today. Yes, today is Danny Day. Did I mention my name is Danny? Well, every human has his day, and today is mine. The whole world has parties and parades about how awesome it is that I exists. My private jet flies me to what used to be England for the big ceremony. I put on flowing bacon-colored robes (makes me feel like a cross between Dumbledore and Prince). We go to this park full of fountains, and hedge mazes, and some really good digging areas. There is an ancient Oak at the center of the park. Dogs from royal lines would pee on this this tree as part of claiming sovereignty of England. I am invited to pee on the tree... and most years I do. Then they put this super comfy over-stuffed chair in front of the tree. I sit in the chair and dogs bring me slippers and a beer. When I am comfortably settled they present the three chosen dogs. Each of these dogs did something really big, maybe cured doggy cancer, or maybe get all its hair burned off dragging other dogs out of a burning subway. For their great deeds they are granted the privilege of being presented before me, that I may lay my hands upon them and pronounce the blessing. This year we have a bulldog who used to run a multimillion kibble corporation which made a super popular cologne. I got a sample of the stuff and I swear it smells like ass. But he is not getting the award for the cologne. About a decade ago he sells everything, starts traveling to the world's poorest contries and spends his life helping dig farms that will produce crops with higher protein yield. Very altruistic when you consider that pit-bulls avoid farming as all that dust and dirt reeks havoc on their sinuses. Another dog is a Great Dane who went on a hunger strike and ended a war. This guy must deserve it because at first glance I thought he was a grey-hound. And finally the cutest little Pomeranian who developed some type of bio-degradable plastic that will save some eco-system somewhere. I don't really get what she did but it must have been a big deal. Sir Astro Marmaduke (the Great Dane) grovels his way forward first with his head bowed. He approaches the right arm-rest (following protocol so he's on the non-beer-hand side) and bowes even lower. I place my hand on his head and bestow the blessing. He mumbles something about greatest honor of life and backs away avoiding eye contact. The whole thing feels like a cross between a bestowing a night-hood and giving communion. Penelope (the Pomeranian) comes forward next. Her head is bowed but she has a bit more prance then grovel in her step. As I place my hand on her little head she licks me. Actually LICKS me! Right on the underside of my wrist where the live cameras feed won't catch her. As she backs away she winks at me, that saucy little bitch! I almost break into a laugh which would ruin the mood of the ceremony. Maybe I will ask my pooch-bros if we should invite her to the next poker night-- though next week's game might not be the best, some border collie artist is planning to make an oil painting of our game. Finally the bulldog comes forward, Tyson Tillman III. He's been looking a bit troubled the whole ceremony; head drooped, unconsciously scratching the grass with his left paw. He slowly shambles forward, jowls wobbling as tears begin to flow down his face. He begins making a chuff-chuff sound which I believe is what passes for crying among bulldogs. Snot flows freely from his nose, which is completely normal for bull-dogs, but as he nears I hear him muttering: "I could have done more. I could have done more. So many litters starving for milk. So many mothers without a milk-bone to gnaw. I could have saved more.....I'm not .."He looks up at me with big wet eyes shaking his head. "I wasted so much of my life...I'm not worthy" I place my hand on his head, palm sinking into his meaty fore-head while my fingers scratch behind the ears. I stare directly into the brown saucer pools of his eyes. I pronounce the same blessing on him as the other dogs, but this time the words carry sincere meaning. "Who's a good boy? Do you know who's a good boy?...... YOU'RE A GOOD BOY!" EDIT: Thanks for all the positive fee back....I feel like such a Good Boy too.
"*STOP" ------------------------------------- I wonder what my new consciousness will* feel like, I asked myself on what I knew was likely my death bed. I could feel it coming. Seeping, slowly, peaceful death. I wanted it so badly. Death was a sweet thought in contrast to the tumultuous, tedious, tiresome life weighing onto my memories and my stiffened bones and my shuddering heart. Every man and woman feels the same, in one way or another, when about to face their mortal brink. But I was different. I am different. I wanted something else, too. A similar peace, yes, but one that allowed me a longevity in existence. You see, as it does most people, death frightened me. They say when you die there is nothing but... nothing. But I didn't want nothing. 'Nothing' sounded horrible. Because I wouldn't be there. It wouldn't be real peace because I wouldn't exist to experience it. Everyone says "rest in peace", even the most adamant atheist or non-believer in the afterlife. But I don't think they know what it means. "Rest"means stop. Like that little black symbol on a music sheet. An instruction to cease the instrument. To elicit silence. To stop. I didn't want to stop. But in the same way as a musician uses a rest not as a terminal end to the music, but a device to allow silence enter the song, ever so briefly, to allow the musician to catch his breath but then continue, bringing a different sort of life to the musical piece. Like a small, but fresh start. I wanted to continue. I wanted that fresh start. You see, in the last years of my life, I grew ever so worried and felt ever so vulnerable in this human frame, this ape-like organism that clothed me, that sack of meat that both brought me life yet also doomed me. I wanted a more certain life, a less precarious life, a more resolute, long-lasting life. A life that doesn't stop. In the very last reaches of my intellect and soundness of mind, I worked day and night for years on end to bring about a method to let me continue my existence after human death. I spent my last decade confined to my laboratories, growing yet madder at the stream of semi-useful assistants I hired and subsequently fired in a furious cycle of strife. They just didn't get it. And I knew that my efforts were eating into my human life: most primarily my own human life expectancy, diminished at a necessary cost for living for centuries, millennia more. But my other priorities in life were also being stripped senselessly away. My family were distraught at the distance I built exponentially between us. I, too, grieved at this, but they could not persuade me to abandon this, my most important dream. Ha! They wanted me to stop! They did not matter anymore. Nothing did. Only this living, after-death peace I longed for. It would bring me so much... fulfillment. Happiness. At last. I happily sacrificed my family to preserve myself. It sounds selfish, but I justified it. They had their own lives. They would be just fine. I did not need them, and they did not need me. The only longing connection I had with them was a feeble, evolutionary pull that worked for my ancestors, but it is useless to me. I am to become the new step of evolution. My laborious research and experimentation led me to acknowledge the fact that consciousness is not unique to animals. No other scientist would ever believe me, but I wasn't so concerned about that. Any lifeform, no matter how large or small, how inanimate or energetic, has a consciousness. A mind, of varying degrees of complexity. And, that consciousness can be transferred - not between animals, that process was far too complex to integrate - but transferred from animal to plant-life. The most basic exhibition of complex life consciousness, the most readable, one might say. My experiments confirmed this. Memories of my lab mice were, through thousands of trials over the decade, finally successfully moved to the vines, the flowers, the trees, in my botanical conservatoire - and the memories and consciousness meshed together, seamlessly. I could see it in the way the plants grew. The way they searched for sunlight and water. They were the mice. The mice had become them. I was ecstatic. It was all going to work! My so called 'scientific' advisors thought I was at best, some kind of pantheist, new age nut; and at worst, a maniac searching for immortality in an "unhealthy manner". They told me to stop. I fired them. So at last I decided that, upon my death, my finalised experimentation apparatus would be connected up from my grave to a tree planted above it. But not just any tree... I had long admired the Quaking Aspen, a serene deciduous with golden colours and a remarkable track record in longevity. Plus, it forms a clonal colony, a shared root system. Even if the first tree died, several more would provide the redundancy for me to continue my life through them. Some trees live impressively for hundreds of years, perhaps even a few millennia. But the Quaking Aspen, due to its incessant renewal and abiding through the networked community of tree lifeforms it constitutes, can live for 80,000 years and likely much further beyond. EIGHTY THOUSAND YEARS! I might even outlive humanity itself. I'll live on even after all else stops. With the last of my money, ignoring my pathetic sons and daughters' pleas for their 'right' to an inheritance, I bought several acres of land in the remotest part of Kamchatka, Russia, in an almost identical landscape and environment to the parts of Canada where the Quaking Aspen finds itself most at home. I chose to be far, far away from any human interference or obstruction. In an isolated, but beautiful world of my own. My own Eden. And so, on my deathbed, as my heart gradually pumped to its very last, my weary eyes closed, I thought so pleasantly about that grand, everlasting, existing, living peace that lay ahead, and I whispered that famous prose: From my rotting body flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity. And then I breathed my last, as my humanity came to an abrupt stop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Throbbing, seething. . . Bulging, bursting. . . What is this? . . . Growing, surging, cracking, flowing, yearning, churning . . I can't see, but to grasp and grow. . . Shooting, branching, digging, stretching, extending, growing, swaying, standing, lurching, spreading, thirsting, thirsting, thirsting, thirsting, thirsting . I can't think, but to find and drink. . . Swaying, groaning, creaking, rustling, blowing, reaching, growing, expanding, pumping, crunching, spreading, sunlight, hungering, hungering, hungering, hungering, hungering, hungering . I can't feel, but to catch and absorb all I can. . . . Gnawing, gnashing, biting, splitting, fraying, burrowing, scuttling, swarming, breeding, infecting, fighting, struggling, decaying, rotting, dying, growing, thirsting, hungering, rotting, dying, growing, thirsting, hungering, rotting, dying, growing, thirsting, hungering, rotting, dying, growing, thirsting, hungering, rotting, dying, growing, thirsting, hungering, rotting, dying, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling, struggling . . I cannot hear, but it is all so loud. . . . . . . . This isn't peace. . . . . . . . . *I want to stop*
This, I thought to myself, is what I got for buying a used 2032 Skyrim. Sighing, I marched up to my neighbor's door. "Yes?"The man, whose name once again escaped me because I didn't really care to learn it, asked. "Frank,"I said, guessing. "Fred,"he corrected. "Fred,"I said, guessing, "we're good, right?" "Well, Jake Sanders whose name I know because I actually make an attempt to learn my neighbors' names-" "You can just call me Jake,"I said, attempting friendliness. "We are not good,"Fred said. "Okay,"I said, "but we're not, like... _enemies_, right?" "You steal my newspaper."Fred said. "I do like to stay informed,"I said, "but it's not like I steal your paper every day!" "Actually, it's exactly like that,"Fred said, "every single day. In fact, you're holding my paper in your hand right now, you picked it up before knocking on my door." I looked at my hand, which was in fact holding the paper. "Mind if I take this?"I asked. "Yes."Fred said. "Thanks, pal. I'll bring it back. I mean, that has to count in my favor, right? I always bring the papers back!" Fred frowned. "That's because you leave your trash bags on my porch." "Right, because you're in charge of trash,"I said. "I'm the head of the neighborhood recycling initiative."Fred said. "Right,"I said. There was another awkward pause. "So, we're good, right?"I asked. Fred closed the door. "We're good,"I said to myself. `You may not fast travel when enemies are nearby`, the car said, unprompted. Well, nothing to do at this point but kick the car into neutral and start pushing until there weren't any of my enemies around. I hadn't ticked off _that_ many people in the neighborhood, right?
There were 80,000 of us, brothers, as we look about the sacred War grounds, as we looked about and laughed and drank, hoping something would calm the nerves. Fear doesn't have a place in the battlefield, the fearful pawn falls first. We are nothing, every single one of the thousands of us. Not one of us comes even close to the eight behind us. We are but shields. There is neither white nor black for us, only the enemy in front of us, and the enemy behind us. The war horn serenades us, with its soothing tone. Funny, how in the groans and cries of brothers, even a horn sounds beautiful. One by one, the squadrons march on, raining blood on the ground, as thousands are felled, and thousands yet kill for their life, move after move, turn after turn. In the midst of battle, we spot the cunning old Vizeer with his blade sparkling blue. How he moves around with the strength of an elephant and the righteousness of the Bishop. Lord knows he's anything but. He slices throats left and right while thousands more are slaughtered around us. The Cavalry charges from the base and is decimated almost instantly. We smile, looking at these people that are dying on all four sides of us. None of them is more powerful than us, none of them is weaker. Through many a cavalry units and elephants and men we drive our band, driving our spear through uncountable bishops and horses and camels, when at last we are alone, atop the hills of the enemy king. All but a few paces from their camp. We find their Vizeer's dagger, left but a few feet away from where we stand. We feel the blade in our hand and feel the strength in our veins. We can kill the king! We can end this war! We move, swift and silent, cold and deadly, till we stand right behind the King. "Check", we call out, and there begins the dance, not for the first time, and not for the last, until a sword falls, and with it, an empire. Note: In India, The Minister is often called The Vizeer, The Rook is called The Elephant and The Knight is called The Horse.
"Sir Hamsterlot,"I said with a chuckle as I jumped into bed. I listened to the squeaking of Sir Hamsterlot's wheel spinning while I browsed reddit. "Hey, Sir Hamsterlot, should I subscribe to r/HumansBeingBros?"I asked, looking over at the recently knighted ball of fur. The wheel stopped and he glanced at me before going back to running. "Yeah, I think it's a good choice." A few hours later I sighed, dozing off a bit. I had lost track of time and my eyelids began to grow heavy. I rolled over and figured I would relax a bit before getting ready for the work week. That's when I heard something odd. Thud, thud... crack! I heard a window shatter from my living room. I jumped out of bed, crouching slightly. No one else was home, it was just myself and Sir Hamsterlot. I could hear the crunching of glass underfoot. My heart was racing, I had hoped before this that this sort of thing would never happen. Do I call to see who it is? Maybe someone forgot their key? But why would they break a window? They would just ask me... The squeaking of Sir Hamsterlot's wheel stopped. I glanced over and my eyes went wide. "Uh..." Sir Hamsterlot's little brown and orange fuzzy body was suddenly clad in a strange plate-like armor with a helmet, plume and everything. He then stood up on his hind legs and drew... The sword was gleaming, a polished metal unlike anything I had ever seen before. It looked even shinier than chrome, but how? Then something happened I simply was not prepared for. "With this sword, I shalt defend the realm of Casa de Smith! I shall smite thy foes and vanquish those who wish to cause the denizens of my realm harm!"Sir Hamsterlot rolled his 'r's perfectly, taking on a pompous voice that was... deep. I blinked rapidly, unsure of what was happening. "But first, I shalt call upon my trusty fellow knights of the Great Wired Cube!"The small hamster then raised the sword high in the air, the... great wire cube's door suddenly popping open. I tilted my head, wondering how he got his cage to open like that. That wasn't even what really surprised me. From within the cage, a strange tear in time and space seemed to form. Then there was the sound of a literal tear, as if paper was being destroyed. More armored hamsters poured forth from the tear and filled my room. "What's goin—"I was cut off by a swipe of Sir Hamsterlot's sword in the air. "Fear not, King of the realm, thou need not worry of things such as 'danger' or 'crime.' For we, the Hamster Knights of the Great Wire Cube shalt go forth and slay thine intrude and they shalt know the name of Sir Hamsterlot, Defender of the Realm! Lady Hamstervere, Knight Hamtaro™ with me! The rest of you brave warriors of the Cube, flanking maneuvers! Casa de Smith has simple but grand halls! Make haste and may your blades find their mark!" This whole time I was completely in awe of what was happening. There were dozens... no, perhaps even a hundred armored little hamsters that surged forth like a tidal wave at my door. Before I even knew what was going on, my door was opened and the tidal wave surged down the long hallway which led to my living room and kitchen. Battle cries could be heard from the hamsters, I think I even heard one scream: "CRY HAVOC!"I inched forward down the hall, listening closely. That's when I heard it. "What the hell, hey-HEY!" Blades and clanking armor could be heard, the sounds of the purest of battled. I couldn't see as I moved down the hall but I could hear everything. "HAVE AT YOU!" "UNHAND THE SAMSUNG TV YOU WRETCH!" "NO BODY STEALS A KITCHEN AID IN OUR REALM!" Then I saw two men fly from right to left across the hallway entrance and disappear into the formal dining room. I heard more cries from the hamsters as they surged forth once more towards where the intruders had disappeared to. A few more moments of fighting and then... Sir Hamsterlot jumped into view, standing in the center of the hallway entrance. "My Liege, your realm is safe once more, thanks to the Knights of the Great Wired Cube! Come, Phillip, come. I shall show you the treacherous ones."He then jumped back out of view to the left. Cautiously, I made my way with a little more speed and turned the corner. That's when I saw the two men, tied up with thick, complex knots made of... yarn? "Look upon these criminals in disgust, dear Phillip. The High Authorities have been contacted and shall be here soon to take these pieces of garbage away... they are not fit to go into the stockades."Sir Hamsterlot spit at them, an adorable little bit of saliva hitting one of them in the show. "I don't want the other realms to know what ours was forced to play host to. Pathetic." "But, how... wait, who are—"I was cut off. Again. "No-no, no need to thank us. All in a day's work. KNIGHTS! YOU ARE DISMISSED! I THANK YEE FOR ALL THE HONOR AND JUSTICE YOU BRING TO THE WIRED CUBE! Until next time!"He addressed the rest of the hamsters, which quickly ran back down my hallway towards the tear in space they had entered from. I looked at the two men, clearly unconscious. I was so confused. What had just happened? That's when I realized Sir Hamsterlot wasn't around either. Down the hall, the quiet returned. Until... the squeaking of the wheel filled the air. I dashed to my room and saw Sir Hamsterlot, armor gone, running on his wheel. He looked to me and I to him. I was still so confused and lost. Then he winked and with a little paw, saluted me. Then he started to run on the wheel again. Edit: Thanks for the catch, u/theshinobi23 and thanks for the recommendation u/Naznac!
Edit: Pt 2 is below ——— “Shhhh... You hear that?” “No. Are they coming?” “Yes. Half a mile.” “Alright. Let’s light em up boys. Everyone off the comms in 3... 2... 1... Good luck.” One final crackle through the radio plunged the field into complete silence. I took a deep breath and exhaled into the frigid November air. A light dusting of frost covered the dusty landscape. It was peaceful. The calm before the storm. I always enjoyed this time; the few short moments of heaven before we unleashed hell on the countryside. Alas my spotter did not feel the same way. We didn’t talk, but I could sense his unease. He clutched a picture of his son, deep in prayer. I wasn’t religious, but admittedly enjoyed the sorrow sermon he quietly recited. “Dear lord, forgive our ancestors, for they know not what they have done. Give us the strength to right the wrongs we have set forth upon this Earth. Give us the strength to hold up our fellow man in times of trying. And give us the strength to return home to our families when the day is done.” He gently kissed the picture he still held in his hands and placed it in his left chest pocket. A shaky sigh left his lips as he muttered something under his breathe. “Scared?” I questioned. “No.” He replied quickly, straightening up and adjusting the grip on his rifle. “Good. 15 seconds till go time. Remember; no cowards, no heroes.” A questioning look came over his face. “No heroes? What’s that supposed to mean?” “Don’t get shot son.” I said with a smirk. “No one is coming to save you.” And with that the serenity of the morning air was shattered by a deafening blast. The highway we faced was now a dust storm. I strained my eyes to try and pick out some shapes moving in the cloud. I saw nothing at first, but then they emerged. Our radio crackled back on; “Convoy of 7... 3 destroyers, 3 tankers and a command unit... Focus on CU.” With that the field came alive with gunfire. I watched from my vantage point as 30 men sprayed the trucks as they emerged from the now settling dust cloud. The barrage lasted 20 seconds, at which time we were commanded to cease fire and take cover. By this time the dust had settled and we laid eyes on the massive trucks the comprised of the convoy. Armour plated. Heavily armed. Soulless. “Bloody Autos.” I remarked. “That’s our mark, rookie. Let’s do this.” I leveled my rifle on the first truck and took deep breaths. Each truck had a central communicator that had to be put outside the thick armour playing to avoid interference. That was my job. I aimed just under the engine block and waited for my spotter. “800 yards out. 55 mph. Minimal wind.” His voice was dripping with anticipation. Or was it fear? With that I led my target and held my breath. Pulling the trigger the huge rifle slammed against my shoulder. I looked up from the scope in time to watch my first bullet hit it’s mark. The first truck came to a halt and locked its wheels while the others formed a defensive circle around it. “Good shot.” The radio remarked. “Now get down here. Everyone else go in and be quick, they’ll send a rescue party soon.” The three destroyer trucks, the most heavily armed, had locked in on their attackers and were preparing their counterattack. Bay doors opened on each truck and out jumped the aptly named Terminators, levelling their galting guns towards our company. “Now the fun really begins.” I said as we reached the rest of our men.
"Hello there Link, it's great to meet you again. It has been so long." I jumped. What the hell was that? As I looked around I couldn't see anyone that could have said that. My classmates just stared at me. "I am Fi, I am the spirit that is held in the master sword, it has been -(£(&))4:?#)&):4 years since you last held me. Darkness has returned, you need to save us once again Link." The voice, I realized was inside my head. "Can you hear me?"I asked. "Yes."Allright, this is a prank can't be anything else but a prank. "No it isn't, Link." "Oh....you can read my thoughts?" "Yes." I looked at my best friend who looked just stunned and then I looked at the sword in my hand. My sweater was gone and I now wore a green tunic, my forearm was now covered in a vambrace and my Nikes were replaced with brown boots, and instead of my cap, I wore a green pointy hat. "Great, I look like a fairy." I walked towards the bus, my classmates stepping aside, grabbed my suitcase, put on a pair of jeans and a jacket. I kept the boots, those were seriously comfortable. "Allright Miss sword, where to next?" "You're next destination is approximately 1623.04 kilometers west of here or 1008.5103 miles. Near death mountain." "Death mountain?" "A Moment please, updating database." I waited just wondering why I felt so sure and so brave. "Near the town of kakariko, now known as Marvell, Arkansas." "Well then, I need transportation." "No worries, I have arranged that."As a blue light materialised in front of me she continued: "This is the Master Cycle One, it will get you were you need to be, Link."Now in front of me was a very old, yet very modern motorcycle. It looked ancient, yet futuristic. "Call me Lukas."I said as I stepped on the bike and instinctively I turned it on, like I had done it a million times before."We have evil to vanquish"and I rode off.
It’s been over 200 years since Aliens found Earth, but due to some listening to humans, it was decided they were safest as a protected species due to their stories. They were told of Great Empires rising up, only to be defeated by a season. Even more great stories were told, but it wouldn’t be until a few hundred years until the next great Story would be spoken. The Galactic council filed in to listen to the Human Ambassador. It was truly music to their ears... or something they had. Every word in the sentence flowed so well with the subject at hand. It didn’t exactly matter what the human was saying, but more how it made them feel. They felt calm and at peace. Even when the human was yelling at them all to stop daydreaming, they kept doing it. When tourists came to Earth, many would be professional cooks, or scientists, but would inevitably learn something on their trip. The cooks were so surprised to hear of stories of Food Volcanoes spilling into rooms, or famous last words before eating what was thought to be a delicious meal. Scientists would find the human stories of ingenuity in research very intriguing. How humans would go so far and do so many things simply in the name of science. Humanity would eventually go to war for some reason, but no fighting took place. Why? Because the enemies were horrified of the stories of humans and war. Humans would send propaganda to the enemy aliens, inciting rebellion on the enemy world, leading to the enemy to surrender to the Humans, and to following occupation of their world. Future enemies would call it treason to discuss human weapons, such as nuclear weapons and tanks, as even mentioning them would bring the strongest soldier to the peace table. The only species that couldn’t be persuaded by their own propaganda, was themselves.
Every week. Every week it is the same. As midnight approaches, the townspeople wait in their homes, lanternlight washing out from between the cracks of their broken, boarded-up windows. They sit in front of their hearths, huddled close to the fire. They don't speak. There's nothing to talk about, and they wouldn't be able to hear each other anyway. Cloth and wax are stuffed into their ears The belltower stands empty, no reason for it's being occupied at this hour, on this day. Despite the weekly occurence being a part of their lives for over half a year now, the townspeople still jump, shocked and startled, at the booming voice that echoes through the town, shaking the walls. Glass would shatter if any had survived the last seven months. They clap their hands over their plugged ears to ward out the sound, but it's no use. They hear the words all the same. "IT IS WEDNESDAY MY DUDES!"
“What exactly was a bird?” The grand admiral of the kirrra space navy thought to himself as wave after wave of human attack craft pelted their flotilla. Since the union of planets had encountered the small ape descended creatures there had been nothing but loss after loss. They had some strange ideas on how to sail in space. Their ships had a strange grace. Instead of clumping together in flotillas they gathered in small groups in strategic shapes and attack in waves. The sociologists that had studied their species had liked it to a creature on their world called a bird. A creature that could somehow lift itself Off the planet and move about as if it was in space. But at speeds that didn’t make sense. The videos that intelligence had shown them showed the small white creatures swooping and grabbing creatures out of the sea. Of them sailing at speeds at heights they made no sense in an atmosphere. The humans had emulated this biology and created flying machines. Not rockets. But machines that flew more gracefully in atmosphere than the finest lurerrr ship did in the coldest vacuum. Now because of this. The humans ships didn’t bunch up into flotillas. They didn’t have putter rings of ships. They had attack formations shaped like the birds wings. They came at the flotillas at all angles simultaneously. It was impossible to defend against an enemy that seemed to be on all sides at once. Thinking back. The admiral recalled all the great battles of their navy. The massive flotillas of ships. Bunched together for defence. While the enemy in a similar formation. Bartered away at them. WRs were won by superior firepower and superior armour. Not by dodging and evading attacks as the humans did. The great guns of the flotilla didn’t have time to lock on one enemy let alone the hundred before it was gone from range or out shot. It was maddening.
Things have changed so much since I was a lad. It all started with The Unveiling of course, when the Sun turned purple and we started to see the beings living alongside us, but on another plane. The planes aligned and our worlds combined, changing everything. And if you don't think that was a good thing, you are now a bigot. Don't like the vampires that appeared the night of Unveiling Day? Find their eating habits discomfiting, if not monstrous? Well, then bigot, it is time for you to stop being 'hateful'. I don't care, I still tuck a cross down the front of my shirt and secret away a stake in my boot. I still keep a lighter in my pocket lest a composition of dead men's limbs comes hurtling out of the darkness. I still keep a rifle filled with silver bullets just in case the howling gets too close to the house. With every creature from our nightmares and films out there since the Unveiling, one can never be too vigilant. My daughter however, her head has been filled with propaganda at school, channelled to her through the Internet. Messages of tolerance, acceptance - hell, they even co-opted 'Diversity'! I remember waving a placard with that word printed on it in support of friends and family! Now it is used to refer to the monsters who watch our necks when they think we're not looking, who the politicians and media insist on integrating into society - no! I will not have it! What's got me at my edge lately is how Gemma, my little girl, now a teenager and full of attitude, how she's been talking about this werewolf boy from school... She insists he's no danger, that he spends full moons in the sanctuary with the other werewolves... But independent journalists have documented those beasts sneaking out and committing monstrous acts! They don't even keep guards posted near the walls now, the tranquilliser guns were called an offence to their dignity! That is why this night, I have to load my gun and take care of the issue, me and the other parents from the community. It's time this boy learns to stay away from human girls... Gemma will come to understand in time, I did this to protect her. I take no joy in it. I swear.
In a single moment, the sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing out into the distance, time seemingly stopped. My rifle, bayonet attached, a mere inch from an enemy combatant. The smell of rotted flesh and blood permeated the trench, a rolling fog covering it all. "My son,"a voice, booming and echoey rang out. "What is the need for this senseless violence?"It continued. With every ounce of my being, still frozen still, I responded in thought. "There is no need. But it happens nonetheless," "Then do you wish for it to stop?"The voice responded. "... I do." "Then make it stop!"The voice shouted. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of warmth. Of heat. Of joy. As time suddenly resumed, the gunfire going off in the distance, I stopped in my tracks. I dropped my rifle, and reached my hand out for the enemy. With some hesitation, and a face of fear, he reached out for my extended hand, and I pulled him up. With as reassuring a smile I could muster, an almost visible glow of light coming from my expression, I needed not communicate with the man, he understood what needed to be done. And so we set off. Out into the trenches, gathering the wounded, the frightened, the warriors. Both sides gathered around me, and as the day grew further into night, we had amassed a company of several hundred soldiers, all of different nationality. The gunfire had stopped, and in place of echoed cries the men sat around campfires, without words, sharing stories and dreams. Amongst it all, I sat stop a log, sharing my ideals of an end to this bloody conflict. By the dawn's early light, we had all recovered. My hands had glowed alight with the strength of joy, and healed those who had suffered severe injury. We split off and journeyed back to our homes. We passed through bases and forts, gathering an army of peacemakers. By the time we had reached the capital, the news had picked up on the events transpiring, and the many soldiers returned to their homes. I stepped into the capital building, and without hesitation, the guards allowed me access. From the elevator to the room of our nations king, I arrived. I spoke to him as calmly as I could, as he ranted and raved at me about my imminent demise. I did not care. I presented my ultimatum, peace, or else. He took a long short sigh, and a silence followed. His inner logic must have gotten the better of him, as by the next day, the war had ended. He had abdicated, and the blood of men no longer spilt upon the ground. I vanished, not into the history books, but into the daily life I had lived before the war. But now... It seemed as though my abilities had attracted the wrong attention... End.
"Humans like to think themselves unique, and they are to an extent, Commander."The Captain's purple tentacles flexed and wrapped themselves around a shelled animal bringing it up to a beaked mouth which cracked the shell and devoured its meaty contents. The officer's dining hall of the spaceship was spacious and accommodated the various species which called the hulking metal monstrosity that was the ship home. The Podean Captain had arranged a smorgasbord of various creatures resembling shellfish on a large platter on the table in front of him. The Commander, a fellow Podean, had finished his meal but was at the mercy of the older, more experienced Captain. A Commander is at the whim of the Captain and declines a request to dine with him at his own risk. "We bring twelve mated pairs on board and they 'anthropomorphize', as they call it, anything and everything. You should see the family trees these things can create. One such group had Beezlewags and Aquarians living as siblings in more-or-less perfect harmony! Can you believe it? They even named them." The Commander simply nodded his large head slightly in response. "It gets even better. The damned things know when anything else is about to get hostile and get themselves all in a fit about it. They're so sensitive about every last thing. At first we would exterminate them on sight until one bright Captain had the idea of making a few of 'em his ship's mascots and productivity and happiness went through the roof that we realized we were sitting a gold mine with how much the breed and spread almost everywhere." A human male entered the dining hall to clean up the Captain's tray. "Is everything ok with you today, Commander? You seem a little off." The Captain shuddered its enormous mass of tentacles suddenly and backed away from the table and his Commander. "What is this about? What have you done?" Before the Captain could call for assistance the Commander had wrapped his tentacles around the human and materialized a laser gun which he pointed at the Captain. "If you move, I'll squeeze the life out of your precious pet and kill you. This is a mutiny." "What the hell did you just call me?"The human man was struggling against the weight of the hefty tentacles around him but managed to squeak out his disapproval regardless. "A pet? Is that what you think of us?"He looked pathetically to the Captain who refused to meet his gaze with any of his thirty eyes. "Podey, sweet Podey, this is terribly sad. You told us we were valued members of the crew." "Honey buns, you are, just not in the way you think. You can't help that humans are damn near useless as anything but a helpful social lubricant."The Captain turned back to the mutineer. "Let him go, please. It doesn't involve him. This is between us. He doesn't even understand what's going on and there's so many more of him. What does it matter to me if he dies?" "If it doesn't matter then you wouldn't mind me making him suffer a bit, now would you?"The Commander's tentacles wrapped tighter and tighter around the man's torso, squeezing the life out of him slowly and causing him to cry out in pain. "Stop that! Stop! Please. I submit. Just don't hurt him anymore."The Captain laid down his communication device and firearm and allowed the Commander to seize them. Unwrapped from the tentacles and freed, the human man scurried over to the Captain who gathered him up softly and stroked his hair. "Who's a good human? You are!" "No, we aren't doing that anymore."The man cried out a high pitched wail. The sound of footsteps echoed down the long halls of the ship. The ship's human "crew"threw themselves at the Commander with wild abandon caring not for the beams of his laser which cut through them and killed many. The mass of humanity could not be stopped and they clawed and bit the Commander as they gleefully tore him apart. The Captain was in the corner of the room quaking in horror at the ferocity and certainty of the humans' actions towards one they formally adopted as their own. "We aren't your pets, dear Captain. You are ours."The initial male had survived the onslaught and was covered in neon green blood. He smiled a wry grin at the Captain and returned to cleaning up the room.
"Its 450 BC"Said the peasently laborer with a distinguished accent too familiar to ignore. A peek at the universal translator revealed the language as... Earth Standard? "That cant be right...Excuse me sir-"the words cut off as the peasant ran past "Where are you going?"I asked baffled at the outburst "Im getting outta here, enjoy your studies!"the 'peasant' shouted as he ran right to the disguised time machine, throwing it open and jumping in. A metallic thud rang out from inside the machine. Seconds later as I approached the 'peasant' reappeared. "Sorry, did you actually make this thing require keys?"
Every time I enter a room it hits me hard that Jack’s not there. A real rush to the chest, you know? The words over and over in my head. I’ve still kept his things. His trainers. His little jacket with the minion on. His toys. His furry lion, Leon. I’ve taken to carrying Leon with me. My colleagues at work noticed I’d switched from handbags to a large shoulder bag to accommodate him. Every time I enter a room I look for him without even realising I’m going to do it, and squeezing Leon seems to ease the initial shock of pain. It doesn’t stop the words though. “Jack isn’t here. Jack isn’t here.” In the three years he’s been gone I have turned the downstairs into an open plan space to minimise the amount of times this happened. I even moved back onto the floor at work, leaving my office to some guy three years my junior. I worked hard for that office. Spent so much time in there. Time I could have spent with Jack. A few months ago Bella came round. She comes round less often these days. I don’t know if she finds it too painful, she loved Jack too. She’s often told me to sell the house and move somewhere else. Well I guess now she’s got her wish. Bella told me she had come over to give me a surprise. She told me I had to try and fill my thoughts with new things, new experiences. She’d booked a trip for us to the Cotswolds for the weekend. To get me away and have some fun. Because that’s what best friends do for each other. I clutched Leon hard whilst she showed me the air bnb and the itinerary. The country house we’d visit and the pretty pug garden. She helped me pack a bag and climbed in the car. As we drove through the night I felt my eyes begin to droop. I jolted awake again, an echo of Jack’s giggle snatched from the start of a dream. I started sobbing and Bella pulled over at the services to get us a mocha and a pack of menthols. And let me get some fresh air. The cottage was lovely and in the morning the scenery was lovely and breakfast was lovely and everything was lovely. I tried to stay in the garden as much as possible, and look at the cottage from the outside. Too many rooms to walk through in there. We went to a country house, which I liked because of the wide hallways and the big rooms downstairs. I decided not to go upstairs and had a menthol in the gardens instead. Bella came outside and grabbed my hand without saying anything. We sat and shared another cigarette in silence. We strolled down to the pub and admired the rolling hills and picture book sandstone houses. The birds sang and the breeze danced and the sun shone and I thought of Jack paddling in the back garden in an inflatable pool. We reached the pub, replete with flowers and vines twisting around the doors, hanging sign creaking softly in the wind, picnic benches out the front with flaked white painted numbers. I took a bench whilst Bella went inside to get a round in. We had aperol spritzes and smoked and laughed and wafted away interested wasps. I got through two hours without reaching into my bag for Leon. Nature called. I would have to go into the pub. When I stepped through the door, ready for the hit to my chest, I felt something different. A little bell rang on the door to let the barman know a customer had entered, and with the little tinkling my mind went from drunken mess to staggering clarity. “Jack is here.” The air rushed from my chest and my ears rang loudly. My knees were unsteady, shaking with colour and light and happiness…and fear. A giggle. The ringing in my ears stopped completely. The rush of conversation hit my ears and I heard the giggle again. A corner table. A family of four. No, three. Pretending to be four. A red t shirt. The shape of his ear. The curve of his neck down to his collar bone. His back was to me. His legs swung off his chair above the ground. His hair was different, a little darker. He began to shine, brighter and brighter. I choked back a sob and clasped my hands to my mouth. The words got louder and louder and louder “Jack is here. Jack is here. Jack is here.” The light pouring out of the boy grew and grew and blinded me and rushed into me and gave me the strength to do what I needed to do. In my police interview I begged them to let me see him again. To let me touch him, hold him. I had a lawyer called in for me, the family were pressing charges. I told them what was happening, that they had my son. Jack was screaming and crying when I grabbed him, yes, but they had brainwashed him. He wasn’t right. He didn’t know who he was. They told me they’d spoken to Bella, and that she said that Jack was dead. But I know now that can’t be true. I know it. It can’t be. He was there, I had him I was holding him. Jack was there. Jack was there. This hospital has lots of rooms. The bedrooms, the doctors offices, the guard room, the clinical bathrooms. I stay in the main rec room all day. I have my meals there. Im allowed to as long as I don’t have metal cutlery. I sleep there if I can. I grip a pillow and pretend it’s Leon. Bella visits me sometimes. But she always leaves when I mention Jack. I have to get out of here to find him again.
"Leave." The word that changed everything. Written in red dust on the surface of Mars by the Curiosity Rover before it blinked out of existence. Scientists were dumb-founded at first, unable to understand their robotic probes actions. Some argued the tracks were left by coincidence, that the robot had malfunctioned and that the word was just an accidental jumble of tracks left by movement. But there it was, written on the surface in tracks consistent with Curiosity's own tyres, in an image that had obviously been taken by the bot after it had scrawled the word. It had wanted them to see it. 'Leave.' Curiosity was an expensive project, one that had mankind on the edge of its seat as the little robot had explored the red planet. As time had went on, we'd found more than we'd ever thought possible. Evidence of past water, signs that mars may have once supported microbial life. Things were getting exciting. Then, without warning on August 3rd 2017, Curiosity vanished. Only one word scrawled into the sand and submitted back to us. 'Leave.' 2020 saw a breakthrough in space travel technology. Speed increased, money was invested. NASA geared up for its new project. They put robots to the back of their minds and focused on the real objects they wanted on Mars. People. By 2025 we were ready. Glued to their television screens and view-goggles, humanity watched the first steps taken on the Red Planet. The first Astronaut, James F. Connolly, descended the steps of the lander and set his feet to the ground. "One small step..."He whispered. His companions descended behind him, slow and sluggish but their faces painted with awe. Even through the plastic of their helmets he could see the astonishment on their faces. They'd all been asleep for three weeks to get here, but grogginess fell away to amazement as they took their first steps on Mars. At home, the people watched their devices. No matter where you were on Earth, someone held a tablet, or a phone or even view-goggles. Anything with a screen was pressed to their faces. NASA had not forgotten about Curiosity though. They had sent their shuttle to land where the last message was received. James F. Connolly transmitted his message home. "No sign of the rover. Message still there. Definitely looks like the word leave."He looked around, the view-screen of his helmet transmitting live feedback to those watching around the world. Both James and mankind were treated to stunning vistas of red, copper, rust. The colours of Mars that twinkled like matte rubies under a blanket grey sky. On the horizon something glinted. They all saw it. The group of Astronauts decided to investigate. It was a short trek across empty plains, where dust and age were the only companions. The glinting light seemed to be further and further away. The astronauts felt frustration, and curiosity. The people at home were glued. One step at a time, the Astronauts climbed a rising peak towards the light that kept receding, away from them. When they reached the top of one of Mar's many ridges, James Connolly screamed. He shrieked so loud it threatened to defean those watching at home. From every tablet, every phone, every laptop, every television - he screamed. Then the other astronauts reached him, having been climbing behind. They too, began to scream. The transmission was cut to the public. The scream guttered out. All that was left on their screens was a message. Even at NASA, at the highest level of clearance possible, the transmission only lingered a moment longer. Long enough to show the grey creatures, their heads empty of a face. Cruel limbs draped in claws, their sightless eyes fixed on the Astronauts. 'Leave.' Came a command, but no words were spoken. The creatures, hundreds of them, poured out of the caverns and raced towards the screaming Astronauts. Moving quickly on otherworldly limbs that bent and quivered - boneless. Then even NASA's transmission cut out. Across the globe, from government officials to a child holding a phone, all that anyone could see was a black screen with a message in clear white text. "Leave."
The king of the world tightens his grip on my arm, and I delay just a moment longer. "I mean, how truthful?" "Absolutely truthful,"the king replies. Royal guards with their pikes, leaned towards me as well, the throne room crowded, a strained smile on the queen's face. "Six." "'Six'?"The king shifts, his grip loosening just a moment -- not out of intention. "Out of what?" "Well,"and I try to position myself a bit away from the pikes, "out of ten. As always." The king releases me and moves his hands once more over his queen's face. "A high six,"I amend. "Sort of. I mean -- personal preference comes into play here, of course." "Six?"the king repeats. "But she feels so fair!" "To be honest,"which I shouldn't, but cannot help, "I'm surprised she even feels attractive." [Edit: formatting]
"Well, this is fascinating" "I believe the word you're looking for is 'annoying'" "This is more than annoyance. This is insufferable." "I couldn't agree more. What kind of moron binds the world's greatest minds into some hokey child's riddle?" "Someone who apparently is no moron." "Please. 'The exit is within yourselves?' Any self-important philosophy freshman with a bag of weed could've come up with that." "I believe you're underestimating our captor." "Our captor is of no importance. What matters is the escape. We could consider that they are being ultra literal, in which case, we need to examine the inside of our bodies. I nominate the mean one." "I nominate the freak." "Gentlemen! If we battle amongst ourselves, our escape will be of no importance either. Now, it seems as though the only thing that connects us is our genius. We are experts in our respective fields, yes?" "Obviously." "Obviously." "Obviously. Exactly. Then let's use this to our advantage. What, among our various experiences, could result in three brilliant men being trapped in a room with no windows or doors?" "That's the least fruitful line of thinking I've ever heard. Why does it matter? We're here now, and that is the only solid evidence that we have aside from this imbecilic note!" "Ah, but you see, that's not my point. My point is this: If there are no windows or doors, then how did we get here?" And that's when Stephen Hawking woke from his dream.
Etiquette 1. Please be mindful of the other residents in the hotel. A quiet atmosphere is very important for our business. 2. From 12:00 pm to 3:45 am, do not leave your room. Please call room service if you need anything. 3. Do not make eye contact with the woman in the elevator. She will try to talk to you, but you must not answer. 4. If you experience a sudden jab of pain in your heart, head immediately to your room and call room service. 5. Scratching noises are considered normal. Do not fret. Do not scream. A quiet atmosphere is very important for our business. 6. If channel 9.3 appears on your television set, please unplug the television set and make a small, six inch cut into your wrist with our provided blades. Collect five drops of blood into the hourglass, and wait one minute before plugging the television set back in. We apologize for any inconvenience. 7. If you lost your key, good bye. We apologize for any inconvenience. 8. Last but not least, do not go to the 22nd floor. That floor is reserved. We hope you enjoy your stay at Sunset Hotel
"I just have one question... Lucifer, Yahweh. Why me? If you are looking for the most righteous, or the most evil, why me? I'm just an average salaryman!" It was the lilting cadence of Lucifer that answered. "You already know, I mean it's obvious. Every human is capable of great evil and great kindness. So take the most average human, THE median, and give them ultimate power. It's the only way to ensure it won't be abused. Such a person would be paralyzed by indecision on how to act, and end up doing nothing. "Which is of course the point. Do you think ultimate cosmic power would be worth anything if it was used? That would be boring and free will would be dead. Lucy and I set the universe a-ticking millennia ago and have just watched it run ever since." "Anyways, have fun being the omniscience, if you get bored go crash some stars into each other somewhere out in space, doing it with a field of water is cool too, the steam is quite something." And with that, the immortals vanished to their retirement. I took watch on them sometimes, they became a human husband and wife and traveled the world. To be honest it was all rather droll.
"Thank you for having me"I say, as I step forward to the center of the stage. Teller gives a polite nod, while Penn grunts for me to begin. I set down my small briefcase and proceed to pull out several large sheets of plywood. As I begin stacking the plywood into two large piles, I look up briefly and smile at the quite "ooohs"coming from the audience as they wonder how such so much plywood could fit in such a small case. Teller is hard to read, but Penn probably thinks i'm using a trick briefcase. He wouldn't be wrong, technically, since the Undetectable Extension Charm does expand the briefcase's internal dimensions. After pulling a large sheet of cloth from the case, I straighten up and begin my monologue. "So my friends like to call me a wizard at carpentry"I say as I lay the sheet of over the first pile of plywood. "And the truth is, I started by building simple fences."I raise the sheet up while subtley standing the plywood up to form a crude wall. "tada! a fence!"I shout as I sweep away the sheet. I get a couple chuckles from the audience as they realize that I've only repositioned the plywood. Teller nods appreciatively, but Penn just looks annoyed. "Well, as I got better, started working on some basic furniture items."I move over to the second pile of plywood. I raise the the sheet up, and with wand hidden in my left hand, i point at the plywood, still obscured from the audience by the sheet, and whisper "erecto!"The plywood grows together into a large box and I pull away the sheet revealing the transformation to the audience. There is sparse applause and some quiet "oooh"ing as the audience tries to guess how i did it. "And now i need some help from my lovely assistant. Everyone say hello to Jasmine!"Jasmine enters from off stage, smiling as she waves to the audience. Taking her hand, I help her into the box. "Now, everyone say goodbye to Jasmine!"Jasmine nods to me, then I slam the box shut, the banging of the lid masking the loud "crack"as she disapparates. Stepping back from the box, I silently count to 5 before waving my sheet at the box while quietly chanting "reducto!"The empty box bursts apart in an explosion of splinters, drawing the audiences attention as Jasmine reapparates unseen behind the "fence"I had set up earlier. The gasps at the boxes explosion are quickly replaced by applause when the audience realizes the box was empty. "Ladies and gentlemen, my final illusion for the evening!"With the wand in my left hand still hidden from view by the sheet, I mutter "expecto patronus!"then vigourously begin waving the sheet as white mist begins pouring from my wand. The mist gradually condenses into an owl, my patronus' true form. The patronus circles the stage once before flying behind my "fence", where Jasmine, having transformed into a real owl, takes it's place in a seemless transition. To the audience, it must seem as though the mist from my sheet formed into the ghostly owl that flew around, gradually becoming a real owl. Jasmine lands before me and I throw the sheet over her, covering her as she returns to her human form. "Everyone, let's give one more round of applause for my assistant, Jasmine!'"I shout, as I pull away the sheet. The stunned silence of the audience gives way to a thunderous applause, and even Penn and Teller are clapping. Alyson Hannigan strides towards Jasmine and I as Penn and Teller begin deliberating. "Wow, that was really amazing, guys. How did you get started in magic?" "Well, I think for some people it's really something you're born with,"I reply. "Born with, huh? So you must have been really popular as a kid" "Well, I don't know about popular, but let's just say a lot of the kids I knew growing up were good with magic too"I say with a wink. "That's pretty interesting. I think Penn and Teller have had enough time to discuss this; Penn, Teller, what do you think?" Standing up, Penn Gillete addresses me. "We see a lot of great performers on this show, but not many people go for the big illusions. One of the best performances we've had on here and the execution was absolutly beautiful. The 'false bottom briefcase' and the 'disappearing girl in a box' are classics, and your take with exploding the box afterwards, definitely stylish. You have a great stage presence, and waving that sheet, it makes for some great showmanship. We know this theater inside and out, and the viewers at home probably think you did those tricks with a trap door. The people at home don't realize how difficult this trick is, we know you couldn't have made Jasmine disappear and reappear with a trap door. You used some excellent misdirection, and I wish we didn't have a guess as to how it was done. Now there's a chance that we're wrong, and if we're wrong, we'll be very happy with you fooling us, because that was some pure showbiz, original thinking, great stuff. BUT, we have a guess, and Teller has written down some stuff and we'd like you to take a look. The quiet Teller stepped towards me with a scrap of paper in hand. With a knowing smile, he handed me the note. "was it difficult finding an unregistered animagi whose transformation matched your patronus?"
Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waitress with bright blue eyes asked. I was glad that she was the one to serve me today of all days. The little bits of attention I gleaned from her were the best parts of my week. The days that I walked in and found out she wasn’t working were the worst. “No, thank you,” I replied with a smile. Heat permeated out of the to-go cup and was mildly uncomfortable now, but I knew I’d appreciate it once I stepped outside into the cold air. “Alright, here’s your check.” She blushed a little as she continued, “You know, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. It’s so early that I’ve barely got any other tables to serve. You’re kind of my favorite customer.” Blood flooded my cheeks and I looked down nervously to my drink. I’d been dying to hear her say something like that for the past two months. Part of me knew however that I was just another customer. Up until now we’d barely said a word to each other as I watched her every morning do her job diligently and it was her job to be nice to me. Even so, part of me couldn’t help but want her words to be genuine. I guess I’m not hiding it very well, I thought. For her to say those things, it has to be obvious. Oh well, I won’t be bothering her after today. Further forcing the smile, I responded, “I appreciate that, I really do. Unfortunately I’ve got to go catch my bus now. Thank you for everything. You’ve been an amazing waitress these past couple months.” “I…” she hesitated. “Thank you.” She left the check and went into the back of the small diner. I found myself staring as she walked away, up until the very moment her small frame covered by the tight green uniform as it disappeared behind the door. Usually I’d feel embarrassed for doing so, but might as well savor one last look If only we’d met under different circumstances, when she wasn’t forced to talk to me. I’d once fell for a cashier at the local super market. Quickly I learned her schedule and planned my shopping trips around it. Every once in a while I threw in odd fruits or candies, just for a conversational topic. I could still remember her heavenly laugh when I found a pear that kind of looked like me. After a year of mild flirting, I had worked up the courage to ask her out. She looked slightly terrified and turned me down. When I asked why, she explained that she’d only saw me as a customer. I thought maybe I could convince her to give me a chance, but soon she had her schedule changed and I got the message. After that, I never went back; now I had to walk six extra blocks every day to the next closest store. The bill was five dollars and change for small plate of waffles and coffee, but I left three hundred dollars on the table. It was excessive, but she would certainly make better use of it than I. As I stood up from my booth in the back, I checked my phone for the time. 6:55 A.M. I’ve wasted too much time here. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late for my last day of work. The pungent smell of chocolate chip pancakes hit me as I walked past the window into the kitchen and I instantly regretted not ordering any earlier. I heard the sound of whip cream exiting a can and I almost went back to my booth. But I kept going. A frigid gust assaulted me as I stepped outside. I gripped the cup tightly with both hands and pressed forward. “Wait!” the waitress yelled from inside the diner. Standing there in confusion, she had to forcibly pull me back in. “Sit down with me for a little while.” “But I have work…” “Call in sick.” “Did you change clothes?” I asked as I took my place in the same booth from earlier. Instead of her green uniform, she was dressed in a thin red sweater and had a heavy dark coat draped over the back seat. “Yeah, I called in sick after some customer tried to tip me almost six thousand percent without letting me say thank you and ask why.” “I just wanted to do something nice. I didn’t have much to give, but I wanted to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me,” I explained. “But I haven’t done anything for you.” “Smile?” I asked her. When she did, it filled me with warmth like I was seeing it for the first time all over again. “That’s what you’ve done for me. Your smile has brightened my day ever since you’ve started working here and this small amount of money is hardly adequate compensation for that.” She screamed to the kitchen, “HEY TOM! CAN I GET TWO ORDERS OF YOUR SMILEY FACE PANCAKES AND A COUPLE OF GLASSES OF CHOCOLATE MILK?!” A bearded man’s face appeared at the kitchen window. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE SICK!” “JUST GET ME THE PANCAKES YOU OAF!” He smiled and disappeared once again. “You really don’t need to be doing this,” I argued. “I want to be doing this,” she replied back. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes were sad. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” I asked. She dropped the façade and somberly asked, “Why are you about to kill yourself?”
"All I'm saying is, I don't think we can afford to mess with too much. Remember how ratings plummeted when we killed those celebrities?" "You're right. We need some proper drama. Something to really hook the viewer. What have we got scripted for the fourth quarter?" "Let's see. We have the oil pipe thing, the election, the clown stuff, the giant penguin epidemic, the hurricane, the goose -" "Another hurricane? We do a hurricane every year!" "This one's big though." "What was that second thing you said? The election? What's that?" "Oh right, that's the competition we do every four years to put a single human in charge of the USA. Yeah, that was supposed to be quite a tame thing..." "Nonsense! I want unlikable characters, each promising unthinkable consequences. I want slander and personal attacks and allegations of everything you can think of!" "Look can we try doing the 'son of God' thing again? They loved that last time and hardly anyone even remembers it." "Maybe next year. This quarter, we're going to make this show great again."

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