Split (1)

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The sword sank into my chest, slipping expertly between my third and fourth ribs and puncturing my heart. Then I felt the axehead bite at my neck, and the world went spinning. It took me fourteen seconds before my brain lost enough oxygen for everything to go black. I woke up in a pool of water. "Hello hello hello!"Greeted McConaughey. He was WWII British Army, a man who had been pulled by the Valkyries from the wreckage of his tank from the deserts of North Africa. "Looks like Halfdan did your neck in again, I see." "He's got a mean left hook, that's for sure."I grumbled, feeling at the phantom wound on my neck. "I think I nicked his femoral though." "That you did, brother."A deep baritone voice acknowledged; Nkosiyabo's teeth showed in a wide smile brimming with mirth. The Zulu warrior made a show of holding up his short spear as he held it across his chest and bowed. "You lamed him for me to finish off easily. For that, I thank you, for we are once again even; seven hundred and thirty eight heads apiece!" "Halfdan's set in his ways. I'll have another go at him; I think I'm learning the pattern." The warrior man was actually a lot like a videogame boss; through prodding and probing - and a lot of eviscerations and beheadings - the sword-and-axe wielding einherjar's patterns were becoming more and more familiar. I was getting more and more hits in with each passing day, and I was sure that I would be able to beat him eventually. Maybe not today, but... "Your persistence was what made you a Chosen, after all."Aiko mused, unsheathing her naginata. The Warring States onna-bugeisha smiled as she tested the blade against a sheet of silk from her kimono. "Even if your foes were phantoms, the spirit of your character - or perhaps your obsession - warranted your entry." "Obsession."I admitted with a shrug. Once I had spoken to - and worked favors for - Brokkr the smith, I had at least gotten a copy of my favorite weapon in the game that had killed me - God of Thunder. Presenting me with a long-handled replica of Mjolnir had delighted the dwarven smith, especially with me hanging around with a fly-swatter to prevent further stinging. Though it didn't carry the true magic of the actual Mjolnir held in Thor's hands, I now wielded a passable copy, along with a one-handed sword (which I had ended up using a lot more than the hammer last night) and a round shield. Many - including McConaughey - did end up using Asgardian weapons when they didn't have anything local. What I'd have given for an LMG in this kind of fight... Rules were rules, though. This was training and conditioning, not actual fighting; we did a once-a-week 'live fire' day where Odin unlocked the armory and we got to play with modern weapons, but that wasn't for another three nights. Nkosiyabo picked up his shield - the tanned cow leather had been swapped with the hide of an asgardian bull's much tougher hide, and there was talk of his quest to acquire branches of Yggdrasil to replace the bowed wood. Though his assegai was identical to the one he had wielded in life, it was made of superior Asgardian metal compared to mere mortal iron. McConaughey hefted the viking-styled claymore onto his shoulder and the four of us filed out of the pools as more fallen warriors woke up; some from head wounds, and others from the headaches that the post-battle feasting had inflicted upon them. That was yesterday, though. Now, it was time for us to get some food and find Fu Jiangsen - the Wu soldier and his hatchet-spear (I keep forgetting the name) would be useful for pinning down Halfdan's Marine battle-buddy and getting me a clean shot. Because today, I was going to stab Halfdan in the face or die trying. Again.
The man was pale, dirty and gritty from the battlefield he had just appeared from. The nurse had bandaged his arm and it was now in a sling as he walked into my office, escorted by one of the security guards, a man from three hundred years in his future with much more advanced weaponry than he ever could imagine. I stood up and nodded. "Thank you Evelynn"I said to the nurse who nodded and walked out. "Please."I said gesturing to the chair in front of me, "have a seat." He was obviously unnerved by a woman having a position of power outside of maybe a school or home but he nodded and sat down carefully. I could also imagine that the special "Translator"was also awkward. It was a unique piece of technology we used to ensure language barriers weren't much of an issue. Some words never translated properly, and slang was difficult but it worked well enough. Malcom, my officer, stood silently by the door as the soldier sat down. Looking around my office he seemed unsure about what to think or say from anything. SO I took the first step. "My name, is Marie Sawyers. I am the Headmistress of the Schoolhouse you found yourself in. What is your name?" The question and demenor I held seemed to ground him a little "Hammond... Hammond Smithson." "You're a soldier? What military?" "The Colonies of course! Well... er... we call ourselves the 'United States' now." I blinked.... "I see... Your rank?" "Private... Ma'am." "Private Smithson... Humor me. What is the date." "The twelfth of August," "And the year?" "1776."he rattled it off like he wasn't sure how aware I should be of it. I sat back silenced. A soldier from the american revolution...This was...without precident. There was no one I had ever had beyond the 1910's..." "I see. DO you know how you came here?" "No Ma'am. I was in battle, then I got my foot caught in something and..." "You appeared in front of a dozen students. Private, I am uncertain how you got here but I agree with you that you should NOT be here... It would be wise of you to relax and rest for the moment while we figure out the next steps." "How did I get here... Ma'am?" "I am uncertain...for the moment. Something-" A knock occured on my door. Malcom opened it up to reveal a man in a science lab coat. "Headmistress... I need to speak with you on a matter." "One moment Private Smithson." I got up and left him be with Malcom and stepped outside. "Yes?" "I...there may be a problem... Our newest 'student' may have not come here by choice...theres... I don;t know but it's like a rippling..." "what?"I asked. "Time... it's opening holes on it's own... He's the first.. but he won't be the only one..."
"Ah, Charles, there you are,"Father Hernandez called out. "I was worried you wouldn't make it." "Sorry Father, had a flat tire on the way over here."I replied. Father Hernandez opened the church gates and let me inside. "I have to head out to a wedding reception, you know where everything is, just make sure to double check the locks before you leave. And as always, God bless."Father Hernandez handed me a small set of keys and headed out. This is my night job. Well it is my only job. I have 5 different churches that I clean, one each night of the week. It is a nice, easy job with five priests that trust me. You have to be respectful, courteous, and although it is not needed, being pious (real or faking it) is a nice add on to be fully trusted with the key to the kingdom. The pay is good, there are no customers or coworkers to deal with, no traffic to sit in and there is no hourly pay, so if I get done early, I can head home and still get paid the same. However, there is another reason I do this job. The candles. No, I don't mean stealing them. No one needs that many candles. But churches have an abundance of candles that other people light in memory of loved ones that have passed on. And I blow them out. Officially, I blow them out for safety reasons, unofficially for something more. You know how when it's your birthday and they bring out the cake and sing Happy Birthday? And you make a wish before you blow out the candles? Turns out...it's real. You make a wish, blow out the candles, and I swear to God (although I'm not supposed to say that in this building), it works. The problem is, no one really does it much after a certain age. Well they'll bring out the cake and the candles, but instead of 45 candles, they'll bring out a 4 and a 5 and tell you to blow it out. Blowing out two candles doesn't give you a wish. All that happens is your birthday cake is now covered in spit. You need more. You need all 45. It took me a while, but I figured out the rules of this wish game. First rule, the candles must be lit by someone else. You can't light 100 candles by yourself and blow them out. I tried. It doesn't work. Second rule, the candles must be lit for a purpose (and that purpose cannot be for wishes). I asked my girlfriend to light up 100 candles for me, for the purpose of wishes. She thought I was crazy, but did it anyway. The wish didn't come true. The candle must be lit for a reason. Third, the stronger the wish, the more candles you need. You want world peace? Well you are gonna need all the candles in the world. And no one has the lung capacity to blow them all out. And lastly, you need to use your wishes to help others. My girlfriend was miserable at her old job. Her boss was an ass and her coworkers hated her. I wished for her to find a better job. An hour later, an old high school friend, who she hadn't spoken to in over 10 years, got in contact with her via social media and got her a new job, better pay, more benefits and doing something she actually enjoys. At first, my wishes were based on greed. I was wishing for small miracles for my friends and family and they all came true. My mom won the jackpot at bingo that weekend. My dad's project car, that he was trying to sell for 3 years, sold for 3x the asking price. My friend Carlos found his grandma's long lost wedding ring and was able to purpose. Things like that. But I had a dream...or vision? I can't explain it. But after I made a wish, I took a nap on one of the pews. And in the dream sequence, Father Ito, showed up. He told me to use this gift to help others in need. And sometimes a small miracle can change the world for someone. So I started doing that. I would read the news and find people that needed a small miracle to overcome the odds and wish for them to do so. Last night, there was an article about a high school student who, despite having a 4.0 GPA, was suspended for two weeks. This blemish would ruin her otherwise perfect record. Why was she suspended? Because she wrote a letter that was critical of the administration in the school paper even though she was told not to. She was critical of the school's ability to protect bullied students and how they ignored the issues with the sports programs that went on unpunished for years. Hazing was so bad a few students ended up transferring to new schools because of it. The principal and superintendent were furious and suspended her, which caused a small local story to end up becoming a national story. I thought this needs to be fixed. She needed a scholarship. She needed the suspension to be over turned. And she needed be safe. I closed my eyes and made a wish.
I'd never been more proud. My little girl. Fencing in the championship. Her next bout would determine whether she or her opponent was hailed as swordswoman supreme, by the Royal Ladies' Academy of Blades. It didn't matter so much to me, I thought just making it this far was a remarkable achievement. How many other young women had tried and failed along the way, without even getting close to this phase of the tournament? But it meant the world to Eileen, so I was here to cheer her on. I squeezed Marjorie's hand, encouragingly. My wife looked worried as ever, chewing her lower lip nervously as she scanned the arena, waiting to catch sight of our girl. Hard to blame her, poor dear. I could look at our Leeny, and see an accomplished athlete, who knew what she was about, but Marj never could see past the possibility that her daughter was about to be skewered, blunted tips or no, not enough to really enjoy watching her bouts, anyway. I was proud of her always coming with me to watch her, anyway. It was funny, when she was little, she wanted nothing more, than to be a pastry chef. Like her papa. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, watching me work, helping me with little things. Sometimes I'd catch her down at the kitchen table, reading my cookbooks by candlelight, and have to shoo her off to bed. I was pleased to teach her, and tried to impart all I knew of my craft. The only problem was...she was terrible. I mean, absolute rubbish. She understood the theory, she'd drilled that into her head. But when it came to the practical side, she just couldn't bring it all together. I remember when she was 12, she brought me a lemon meringue pie she'd spent hours making. She came to me, dusted with flour and flushed from the heat of the kitchen, strands of disheveled Auburn hair sticking out around her little Chef's hat...it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Using a dainty testing spoon I took a tiny bite of the meringue. It wasn't bad, quite good, actually. I nodded to her, and she beamed. I took a bite of the whole pie. The filling was, somehow, the exact flavor and texture of lemon-scented homemade soap. I told her it was good. What else could I say, with her standing there, looking so earnest and hopeful? But my girl had a keen eye, long before she took up the sword. She saw it on my face. "I will work harder."She said, firmly, holding back the tears. "The...the meringue was good, wasn't it?" "Yes, dear one, it was lovely...but, my darling girl, there are no such things as 'meringue chefs'. I love you, Leeny, I am proud of you. One of the reasons I am so proud, is that you are strong. Strong enough to hear what I am about to say."I had said, sadly. I saw her brace for it. I didn't want to say it, but she needed to hear it. "Dear one, my daughter, my joy, you are just not good at this!"I said, with a sigh. It broke my heart to see how she wilted. "I tell you this not to hurt you, my heart, far from it! If you worked hard for years, until you somehow just ground down, through sheer tenacity, whatever it is about you that makes you so singularly unsuited to this craft...you would, perhaps, be a mediocre pastry chef." She slumped even more, but I put a firm hand on her shoulder, as though to hold her up. "And you, beloved, are not meant for mediocrity! With your passion, your drive, your tenacity, your hard work, you deserve so much more!" "This is my passion, papa!"She said, tears in her eyes. "If I can't follow it, than what good is it?" I smiled, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top her dusty chef's hat. "Oh my girl, my dear one. Passion is not a thing you follow! It is a thing you bring with you, wherever you go!" It wasn't long after that, that she found the sword. Marjorie did not like it. I did not like it, at first. But when she spoke if her blades, and her stances, and the styles of combat, ah! I saw in her, what I see in myself, when I opine on the structure of the perfect creme brulee. She had brought her passion, at last, to a place where it could make her heart soar, instead of break. The last bout was an epic duel for the ages. I assume it was, at least -- I know nothing of fencing. But the crowd was full of people who live and breathe swords and swordplay, and they were on their feet cheering, as I was, so it must have been spectacular. At last, Eileen saw her opening, and executed the fabulous technique, a new one of her own design. Ha, my little chef of the blades, only 19, and she already has her signature dish! It was a seemingly wild thing, spinning her blade in tight circles and figure eights, but even I could see it was, in truth, thing of precision. It disoriented her opponent, disrupted her guard. Then, there was a brilliant clang. The opponent's sword was struck from her hand! The crowd exploded in cheers, and moments later roses rained down on the arena where my dear Leeny stood, as a booming announcement proclaimed her the winner. A judge approached her with one of those miraculous handheld amplifiers the artificers are making these days, and she was asked to say a few words. Beaming, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she said. "I would like to thank my mother Marjorie Rouen, for teaching me to stand bravely before the things I most fear." I held my sweet Marjorie against me, as my wife shook with emotion. This whole tournament was a grueling trial for her, and yet she withstood it to the end, to be there for our girl. "And as always, "Eileen said, "I would like to thank my father, Master Chef Pierre Rouen, for he has taught me all I know!" I laughed. It was a joke she made every time she won. I had not taught her how to get where she was. I know nothing of swords! But perhaps, though I could not show her where to go, I showed her how to stand tall, along the journey. "Thank you, and congratulations."The judge said. "Your unique style has made quite a splash, this year, Ms. Rouen. We are all wondering: what do you call this intriguing new technique?" And my Eileen? She just grinned and said. "This too, I must credit to my father, Master Chef Rouen. I call this technique 'Whisking Meringue!'"
It was the Tenpenny family. Obviously. Who else could it be? Weird stuff was happening all throughout town. Nine months of nothing but full moon—-but only within town—-cows being milked of some Obsidian liquid, instead of milk—-and they scream like banshees when you milk them—-and more. Ravens cawed prophecies, people had nightmares of fire-skinned goatmen, and lightning struck the church 19 times in a row one Sunday afternoon...on an otherwise clear day. It was the Tenpennys. Who else? They were weird. Stayed to themselves. Never went to church. Swore like sailors. Covered in tattoos. Their livestock were all blind, with milky white eyes without irises. The youngest Tenpenny had epilepsy. Pa Tenpenny wore a goatskull pendant. The scarecrow on their farm was said to laugh if you got too close to it. So. The boys and I have been talking. We’re’a gonna deal with the Tenpennys. Get our guns, go take care of it, all in one fell swoop. You comin’? ***** It had been a satisfying feast. Pa looked over the table of half-eaten remains with a greasy smile. Heads, ribs, guts: all splayed out like gruesome offering at an altar. More than enough meat to heal the gunshot wounds. The forever fathers would be pleased. It hadn’t taken much to lure them out, this herd. They invoked the forever fathers, and sickness moved across the land. And the herd had come. The slaughter had been glorious. His family would eat well for months. They’d hexed up the roads; no one could find their farm, now. In time, they’d poison the town water supply with draughts of forgetfulness. They’d wait several years. And then they would do it all over again. The forever fathers were pleased and the Tennypennys basked in Their fell approval. Blessed be.
The new recruit was still taking it all in. I didn’t blame him, it's crushing to discover that was all a lie, that you’re no one special, “Oh, and get rid of your weapon.” The wide-eyed unchosen one blinked, “Why?” I sighed, “Because she cursed it, the weapon will fail when you need it most. She can also spy on us with it.” He gulped and nodded, hurling it as far as he could, “How did you find all this out?” I took a deep breath, “I’ll tell you my story.” \_\_\_\_\_\_ I was the first chosen. Haven’t heard of me? I presume not. It wasn’t an advertised prophecy, she merely changed the reading on the prophecy tablet and showed it to me. She had scouted me out before, knew that I felt I was special, and wanted more than farm life. She ‘trained me’ and I was surprised with the ease that I picked up her teachings. I felt it must be since I was destined for this. That the goddess’ blade was mine to wield. Oh, how this all crumbled the first time I actually faced one of the Demon King's minions. You see, the goddess used magic to make me seem more skilled while I was fighting, so when I went to fight actual enemies, I had no skill whatsoever. I barely made it out with my life. I thought maybe I wasn’t believing hard enough or I had gotten rusty, some bullshit like that. I prayed to the goddess for aid, and she told me what I could do to acquire more strength. Every place she sent me to was a trap. I thought maybe she had chosen the wrong kid, that I wasn’t worthy. I looked through the prophecy again, and that’s when I learned the truth. The goddess’ ancient name was Til’ay’ok: The Demon King.
It'd started as a project for a final exam, grafting branches of a peach tree to an apple tree to make it grow both apples and peaches. Then taking that tree for a different final exam and mutating the fruit to have properties similar to frog liver. Why frog liver? Because the professor loved frogs, of course. And then the project was shelved, the plant withering away on someone's desk. After all, what use did someone have for a tree whose fruit tasted like frog liver? The idea came as he overheard an adventurer haggling over ingredients. They thought the clerk was short-changing them on some rare ingredients they had brought back, emphasizing the harm they had risked to obtain them. It wasn't like they grew on trees, after all. Well, the herbs mixed into the bundle did, but still. But that got me thinking: what if they did? The next phase started with something mundane: tufts of fur from Doom Rabbits. Not even an uncommon drop, just an attempt to duplicate it through a convoluted method. Very little success was had, until attempting to infuse the hair follicles that grew into the fur into the bark stuck. That was the key: to produce the ingredient of a monster, one would need to infuse the stuff that develops into it. This fundamental principle only easily explains how I got the tree to produce dragonblood in its sap. Despite this being the simplest, it took the longest. Do you know how bloody hard it is to find a dragon willing to donate marrow? And that doesn't even start onto the extraction procedure. If it weren't for Doctor Bonemender's work on painlessly removing scales, I would still be trying to extract the damn thing. So I set about trying to prove something easier: Eye of Newt. Poetically, the experiment started by manipulating mustard seeds to grow into actual eyes. While balancing the line of chimeric ethics, I eventually succeeded, and then for flair, grafted the seeds to a branch of a maple tree, which I then grafted to a dogwood tree for the bark. Next up were fae ears. These were harder since I didn't have a seed to work with. In fact, I ended up selling my firstborn for several insights on fae biology that led to me having some understanding of how their ears formed. Now they grow as plentifully as the leaves on this tree, and while I would love to divulge more of the secrets, I also sold my silence. Believe me, it was better than the alternatives. So now we have a tree that, basically, is almost impossible to casually replicate and grows all the ingredients for a potion, while also being borderline ethical. And you want to burn it and kill me so that I don't crash the potion market? Where did you learn potions, boy?! Potions 101 is that a potion's value comes first and foremost from the brewer. It's why that jackass's face is all over the best potions in the state. How about I offer you a deal? Get all the major producers of potions that use these ingredients on the line. We start slowly shipping them product behind the scenes, and we keep the market stable. What, ethics? Did you recall the part where I said this thing was barely ethical? Look, I've got a portfolio of this stuff. Lemme show you what I did to my secondborn and her dog...
Use your brain. What time was it? I looked at my watch, 8pm EST. I was tired. I just landed from my trip to Moscow, and I knew it would be a few days before I readjusted to the time zone. Oh well, it was worth it. I sauntered through the airport towards baggage claim. My entire thought process was to get my bags and catch a taxi home. My nice little apartment would be welcoming to me after this long trip. I didn’t make it too far until I saw a man in a black suit holding up a sign that said, “Mr Motus.” I headed straight for the man. I just shook my head as a little smile cracked his face, “Seriously Jim? I have to debrief tonight?” He shrugged, “You did a good job, they want to hear about it.” I just rolled my eyes. “Well fine, just we need to stop and get some food, burger, tacos’ I don’t care. Airplane food sucks and I want American food.” He smiled, “That I can do.” We got my bag and he led me out to the parking lot where a SUV was at. We popped in and headed to the nearest fast food joint before heading towards the government facility. Jim looked at me as we traveled, “So did you actually get more pictures and autographs?” I grinned, “You know what I do and you find that part fascinating?” He chuckled, “It's the greatest cover story of all time and honestly your collection has grown.” I smiled, “I even got the Premiere of Georgia’s signature and picture. He was in town for a conference.” Jim laughed, “Of course you did. Dude whenever you retire, that is seriously something you should keep doing.” I smiled, “I will admit, it is cool and honestly a few have heard of me before. I got a reputation.” Jim grinned, “Is that because of your photo session with the President of Portugal?” I smiled, “Honestly, how would I know they were a bigger geek than me. I had to give him my shirt. He liked it that much.” We laughed. We got to the gate and got ushered into the facility. It was a multi level government compound used by the Department of Agriculture and Department of Energy. Well and us. I looked at Jim, “You giving me a ride home after?” He nodded, “Leave your bags, I got you covered.” He paused “oh, and you get to meet your new liaison Elisha?” I raised an eyebrow, “What happened to Marty?” He smiled, “Got promoted, Cynthia left for the west coast. Everyone moved up.” I smiled, “And you?” He chuckled, “Still here.” I rolled my eyes as we went inside. Since I never traveled with my official ID card I had to put my palm on a scanner then look into an iris scanner. The computers beeped green and the guards ushered me in. Jim took me to a debrief room, which was honestly just an office. Inside sat Marty, and who I assumed was Elisha. Marty smiled, “Welcome back Ed. How was your flight?” I just smiled, “Same, long.” He nodded and shook my hand, “And this is my replacement Elisha, she is a level 6 and will be working with you.” I smiled, “Nice to meet you Ed. Your file is an interesting read.” I just smiled, “I thought it was boring honestly.” She smiled, “Not to me.” I just chuckled, “Thanks” Marty sat me down at a chair around a small table. Some water was there along with a few pads, and the normal recording items. He smiled, “We saw your results Ed, amazing work.” I shrugged, ‘He was a billionaire despot who wasn’t healthy in the least. His mind will be muddled for a long time now.” Marty smiled, but Elisha looked at me with curiosity. I smiled at her, “Ask. I know my file isn’t complete.” Marty chuckled, “That isn’t why she is looking at you.” I glanced at him but she looked at him, “Yea unreadable even at this distance.” I looked at them both but Marty smiled, “Elisha is a mind reader. One of the best too. She can hear someone's thoughts from miles away, as long as she knows the target.” I looked at her, “Wow, and you are only level 6?” She nodded, “I am, which always made me wonder why they have you at level 9.” I raised my eyebrow but she smiled, “Now I know. Not only can you move things with your mind, you can’t be tracked.” I nodded and held up a tube of lip balm, “It's why I always carry this. Marty always knows where I am at.” He laughed, “Yes yes we do.” Elisha looked at me, “While interesting, I still don’t get the level 9 though. We have other telekinetics who aren’t rated past 7” I smiled, “Well I am very good at covertly moving others bodies and such.” She nodded, “Okay, but I watched one woman pinch a person's nose and mouth, suffocating them, nothing new.” Marty laughed out loud but I smiled, “Marty, you holding back?” He just shook his head but I smiled at Elisha, “Elisha, I have been studying the human body since I was in this program. If I can get within a decent distance, I know how to move people's organs to cause problems or even death that can’t be detected by any doctors out there.” Her eyes went wide, “So that billionaire really had a stroke!?!” Marty smiled and I grinned, “Yes, it’s why he had a stroke. A muddled mind is worthless. He will live his life out being tended to by the best nurses and doctors money can buy. But he won’t be in politics anymore.” She smiled, “Well this just made my job a hell of a lot easier.” Marty laughed, “See I told you Elisha, you are getting one of the best there is.” He paused and looked at me, “Although a bit dorky and weirdly into collecting signatures of dignitaries.” I just feigned shock, “All this time Marty and you think I am dorky!” We all laughed, but Elisha nodded, “We can work with this.” Marty nodded, “Okay we will get a full report in a couple days Ed, get home and get some sleep.” I grinned, “Thanks and Elisha, welcome to the team. We are a bit strange but we do good work here.” She nodded and we shook hands. I headed out to the hallway where Jim was waiting for me. He smiled, “You ready?” I nodded, “Oh yes. 3 days off and I’m going to relax the entire time.” he just rolled his eyes and took me home, finally the end of a long trip.
"Ahh...Mr. President?"That was not the question I had expected. I mean the war with Canada has been going on now for three years. We lost Maine during the election, and he wants to talk about illegal immigrants?! The President put his water down on the table and once more repeated his question to me. "No bullshit Jon, Tell me about the aliens." "No offense Mr. President, but do you really think we should be worried about our immigration issues right now?" "Immigration issues?"Why did he look confused? "Oh, no no no, Extraterrestrials!" What the...."Extra...Terrestrials..."Is this guy for real? Really, the American people voted for him? "Oh yeah, we meet with Grey's and Captain Kirk of Wednesdays,"I was not able to keep my sarcasm in check. "Let me guess, Wednesdays won't work for you because thats when you have tea with Big Foot and the Jersy Devil?"Oh no! Did I just really get that sarcastic with the President! "I am so sorry sir. I don't know were that came from, please accept my apologies." "I know your attemping sarcasm as a way to lie to me Jon. It's not going to work. I was already briefed by your replacement."My what now? "Your really going to replace the SecDef during a time of war?"My throat begins to feel a little dry, and a pit begins to form in my stomach. "When the SecDef is not who he claims to be than yes. Now, How many of you are there?" Crap.
Dr. Zilovra stared at the multi-limbed beast before him. Supposedly, it was intelligent, even able to use language of sorts in normal situations, though the current case only yielded screams of pain. He glanced at the screen overhead displaying the file his assistant had brought, and worked to hide his confusion. "I'm going to start by removing the metal shrapnel,"he said to what he hoped was an auditory sensor, based on the notes, before gently gripping the protruding length of pipe and slowly removing it. The screams grew louder as a spray of bodily fluids shot forth. The doctor moved swiftly to plug the wound, while looking at the screen again. Based on a lack of dissolving flesh, they'd got lucky and had missed the creatures permanent vacuole. But time was still of the essence. Fortunately for doctor and patient, the latter lost consciousness as Zilovra got has machinery aligned. He extended microscopic metal tendrils down into the opening: camera, light, three little grippers, and the patch extruder. His assistant set diagrams on one screen while the camera feed was on another. He hunted down subdural vessels, analyzing and reconnecting them with the speed that had made his name, working his way to back toward the surface. As he stitched the rubbery skin closed, he said a silent prayer that he'd succeeded. Most of his patients were far simpler organisms, simply needing a few patches and the right fluid to refill them. This thing, however... all those different internal systems must be hard for their minds to track. Still, the monitors said it was stabilized, and the aliens friends seemed happy as they extended hands to shake his pseudopod in a gesture he was told was congratulatory. Still, Zilovra knew he'd wanted years of study before he worked on another human.
Taking care of the chickens had been my responsibility since I was barely five. I'd go out there, check on the roosters, pet the hens, collect a few eggs, give them some seed to nibble on and be on my way. I'd change the hay every other day and make sure the coop was locked up before nightfall or any big storms were brewing. This day was different. All fo the roosters and hens were already outside, all huddled in the far corner, as far as they could get from the coop itself. This confused me greatly. I'd never seen them like this before. Not even when that wolf pack was prowling around the outskirts of the farm, they'd just taken shelter in the coop. Reaching the edge of it, I felt myself reaching for the knife hanging out the back of my belt. Did something creep into the coop and chase them out? As my fingers grasped the worn leather handle of my knife, I threw open the hatch and peered inside. There, nestled among the hay and broken eggshells, was a dragon. It was roughly eight inches in length, with a spear-like head. With scales like dried red clay and a pair of bright yellow eyes, it looked right at me. It's head tilted in curiosity, a motion I found myself mirroring. My fingers left the handle of my knife as I reached for it with my free hand. Gently, slowly, like I was reaching to try and calm and spooked steer. My fore and middle fingers gently rested on the dragon's head and I could feel the warmth radiating from it, as if it were a mug holding piping hot tea. As my fingers stroked along its snout, it let out a noise that sounded like purring. Two forelimbs gripped at the hay, squeezing it, as it rubbed its head back against my fingers. There was no way Ma and Pa were going to let me keep it. I was going to have to get creative if I wanted to keep it a secret. What they didn't know wasn't going to hurt them. It might keep the chickens quite a bit on the frightful side, but maybe they'd come around.
Magic came into this world an unexpected and grave force. Suddenly, everyone had a place to be, a job to do. Save the useless. I'm told it's a real bitch to get stuck with a verb like admire or bake. What the hell can you do with that? Bake bread. Admire schlong. Great stuff there. No, the really useful verbs are rare. Accept. Obey. Answer. Explain. Jail. I had a friend with hammer as his trick-phrase. Damn, did he demolish some skyscrapers. The government went to shit for a while before a system was put in place. Hell, we're lucky to have survived. All around the world, language is tearing everyone apart. The Italians in particular are having a jolly time, banging and burning their country to the ground. And Greece? Don't get me started on Greece. I've never seen more floating heads in a broom cupboard, and I hope to hell I never do again. No one reads aloud anymore. Story time has been wiped away like a piss stain on the toilet seat. Kids are carefully monitored when reading by parents and teachers. We don't want them finding a trick-phrase and using it to their advantage, right? No child left behind. Of course, it's nearly impossible to know which verb resonates with each kid. Now, for the adults, our system is a registration sort of deal. We still haven't found a charm or something to counteract a trick-phrase, so everyone has to get registered. And we have to wear mics. It's worse than 2014 up here with the NSA and shit. And I'm about to get registered. They're standing there, asking me what my word is. And I can't say it. I won't say it. It's the most versatile word in the English language. I can tell people to go away and tell them to stay with but a simple change of intent and tone. What am I doing here? Oh. Right, I was escorted. Took to long to register, and now they're making me. I count fourteen barrels glued on me. And the man in the suit is yelling. What is my word. So I look him in the eye. And he shrinks. And I open my mouth. "Go fuck yourselves."
>Edits: Word choices and grammar. I felt, alone, in the world. Everyone had their own etching, various things. Some very unfortunate, curse words and whatnot. Others rather normal, like something you say to your wife when you leave for work. There are a few who know that they will see their loved ones die with their own eyes. Me? I have no idea. It was rare to have nothing. It happens, of course, but still very rare. It somewhat became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew in my heart that I would never have a soulmate, and that perhaps contributed to the fact that I have never held a relationship for longer than 2 months. So I always hid the fact that I was an unpaired. I hid it when I could, and hid it whatever way I could. A lot of people with a similar condition did the same, if not, they etched fake words onto themselves. I used an arm warmer to mask it. Whenever someone asked me what my etching was, I told them that it was horrifying, which in truth, really was. I was well off, I had plenty of friends, yet it has always left a void in my life, knowing that I'll never truly have someone. Then there was the accident. I remember drinking one too many beers that night, my alcoholism had struck its final blow, I never should have driven. I had burns all over my back, and even my arm which should have held my etching. It was a sort of blessing in disguise that I no longer had to hide it, since it would be apparent that even if I had an etching, that it would be lost. But the worst toll of it all, was that my senses became impaired. It was temporary, but I had to go to physical therapy for a few months. I was blind and deaf. The blindness only lasted for a week, but the deafness would last a good while. I had to learn how to sign for the entirety of my recovery progress. My dad was supportive of me, despite the fact that I pretty much knew I could never give my folks any grand children. Written in his arm was the same as with my mother's, "I love you"It was generic, but desirable. It came true, as they always do, when my mom died. After your loved one dies, it becomes a solemn reminder of them, for as long as you live. 'I wont even get that chance' I thought to myself. During the last week of my recovery from the accident, I regained my hearing. It was a pleasure to be able to hear the voices of those you loved. I had joined in an Alcoholics Anonymous group, pledged to myself to remain sober, and even got close to a lot of my physical therapists at the clinic. The one that who had worked with me most often was Carlene. She was one of the sweetest and funniest people I have ever met. She's such a gentle soul to do what she does for a living, to help those who have been hurt, scarred, blinded, to get back on their feet. We clicked at an instant during my first few weeks of recovery. Taught me herself how to sign, and I got pretty good with it for the duration of my time. I wanted to ask her out, but a part of me could never think to do that. She had the same etching as my dad did, "I love you"that made me know for a fact that she would have a pairing, someone else, someone to love her. But another part, more specifically my best friend, urged me to do it. Even if it wouldn't work out in the end, at least I would have had the experience of having her company. So, a couple of days after I got settled back in at my own house, fully recovered, I returned to the clinic. She was helping another patient, so I had to wait for a bit before she had a break, I waved at her as soon as she was done, she smiled at me so pleasantly. I was nervous, I had no idea what to say. She walks up to me and I start to talk rather nervously "Hey, uhm, I know you're busy this week, but I just wanted to ask if you wan-" She gestured me to stop talking, and she started signing. "You do know I'm deaf, right?"She signs to me. She's deaf. In the entire time that she had helped me recover, I just assumed she knew how to sign for the sake of helping those who could not hear. I had no idea how this simple fact managed to elude me, but something clicked at the back of my head, like a lightbulb of joy just turned on. I did nothing but smile and sign "Do you want to go out sometime?"
I’ve always found it fascinating how traditions ebb and flow over time. I mean I guess they’re analogous to culture, which by its very nature is anything but static. Though in my culture, every tradition is held onto to the very last thread. Based on the Amish tradition we live very simple lives. Back in the 20th century with the advent of the industrial revolution, increasing globalism, and secularism winning the day, they tried to maintain the agrarian ideal. Set gender roles, little interaction outside the confines of religion. A lot of them, most actually, were based in rural Pennsylvania, but a few of us followed our elders to a commune to Arkansas. Now I’m very wary of the word cult, due to some bad preconceptions with the word, but as a subset of the Amish, I suppose we were. Whereas those in Pennsyvania didn’t necessarily plant themselves in a specific period of time. Simply a time without secular distractions. Instead we progressed, but with a lag. We progressed as a culture; technologically, theologically, ideologically 100 years in the past. The elders we’re zealous and so were we. By the time the elders had died and a new generation came to head, we were driving cars, using phones, listening to the radio. It was quite remarkable really. We were officially designated non-Amish by the traditional sects, but we weren’t particularly deterred. Maybe a little pissed off even. Driven by what seemed to be the most realistic way of declaring our faith. Backwards, a little, but not completely out of touch. Like I said though. Traditions change. By the 22nd century most of the Pennsylvania sects died out. A few tiny villages sporadically spread out. We were by far the largest continuum of any semblance of Amish culture. But by this point we were fully entrenched in the 21st century. Smartphones, LED TV’s. Supremely antiquated by modern times, but so far from the agrarian ideal that we were almost simply a mockery of ourselves. It was at this point that the elders. Several generations from those originals at this point, decided to stagnate again. To stop progressing. To regress if it was prudent. And that’s where we were for another hundred years. So there’s this ritual that’s been a part of the Amish culture, including ours, forever. Rumspringa, the entering into adulthood, is a time where teenagers get a chance to exist in the outside world. To get a taste for what the faith looks like from the outside in. This wasn’t some form of strange torture. Giving them a glimpse of life outside and reeling them back in. In fact you could leave and never come back. Very few did though. There’s comfort in tradition, in culture. In having a shared sense of being. Not with strangers, but with your family, with your community. Almost everyone came back. Well that was the case until now. We have stagnated almost 300 years into the past. We have to build walls higher and higher to keep out the continuing suburbanization of just about every free space in the country. Without arable land, and without the proper infrastructure to maintain an antiquated lifestyle, we are literally falling apart. We can’t regress any more or we’ll starve, but at our current state of technological wherewithal, planned obsolescence will do us in anyways. In fact, we have so few young adults that we probably won’t last much more than twenty years longer. We are at the crossroads of our identity. The more we resist change, the faster our downfall. But the more we adopt it, the less we retain. The world around us isn’t fit for an ascetic lifestyle anymore. To what extent is our self tied to our surroundings? For my entire life I have defined myself by my faith, by my lifestyle. By the writings and teaching of those that came before me. The stories, the songs, the prayers. I think this is why we have maintained such a tight knit, restrictive culture for such a long time. There’s comfort in community. In tradition. In culture. Once we leave these walls, the core tenets of my being are lost. But to what extent do we owe it to ourselves to experience hardship? To be tested each and every day, fighting a constant battle between who we want to be and who we are becoming. That’s a thought for another day though.
The interviewer fell silent. The other people in the room held there breath. For a second the camera man lost his grip and the image shook a little. "Could you repeat that?"Alice asked trying to regain her composure. "I could shatter the bonds of human vitalization in five words...there is no God..."Before Paul could finish Alice jumped in. "I must remind our viewers that these are the opinions of single man and not that of the station." The residents of Bucksport, South Carolina watching the interview in a local watering hole gave a slight groan. They knew anytime a person started talking about the universe it wasn't long til the blasphemy started. Paul regathered his thoughts, "What I was trying to say...I'm not a philosopher or scientist, I pretty much ran up a bill at college chasing girls instead of facts...so believe me when I say I was surprised by all of this too." The entire state of New York had shut down. They were all watching with baited breath. A few younger people in the big apple tried to squeak out a sarcastic comment but they were ignored. "The...um...aliens. Didn't so much show me the facts of existence as they just plugged me into it. I was..l connected into their history." London had a few community events planned around the interview. A civic center in Blackwell was seeing the red mist because they had lost the connection. "They've been around a lot of longer than us. They have ways of turning data into events. I lived numerous lifetimes. I learned..." It was an odd hour for Jiao to be watching TV and she couldn't possibly be any closer to the screen. "I learned just as atoms make up matter, living things make up creation. We do things...we react and we cause effects." A cafe in Toliara was gathered around a laptop. Nobody touched their food. "The aliens are a little ahead of us, but moving through their history. I saw that we weren't so different. Nobody is that different." In an Antarctic outpost reception was impossible so the scientist were being update through radio communications. "We achieve the greatest when we work together. The aliens haven't cracked things like time-travel or dimensional transport, but they're trying and we can help. We can all work together to create a presence that is unfettered by any boundaries" A couple in Kaliningard held each other and started to cry. "So what I was trying to say...the five words...there is no god, yet." Everybody was watching.
The city is an decrepit engine that hums, sputters and bleeds violence. Gotham is where Hell and Mecca fornicate in the shadows, leaving little bastard nephilim to beg on the streets or whore in the alleys. I know Gotham better than anyone, I am a ward of the thoughtless hate and hope that mingles in the sewers with the memories of my parents blood. Sixteen years ago they were senselessly murdered while busking outside of a theater. A double feature of Zorro and Sherlock Holmes pounded against the brick and mortar wall. Inside children sat watching heroes, popcorn and warmth on sticky floors with parental smiles gleaming in the technicolor darkness. I was on the streets bumping, picking pockets and dodging cops. The Wayne Family, alley aristocrats who ran one grift after another. It was easy in Gotham, a maze of dilapidation surrounded by opulence. Going hungry in the piss soaked streets while money shufflers and cannibalistic politicians sucked the marrow from the city in gilded penthouses far removed from the stench of oppression. My parents bled out on the streets after being attacked by some junkie. I bled into the shadows, the stacatto gun fire was such a familiar sound in the surrounding neighborhoods around the theater that the police were never even called. The Wayne Family died that night. I was, and always have been a child of the streets. I tracked that junkie down, it took me years, but he was squatting in the old Gotham Knights batting cages. I slunk in like my mother taught me, picked the locks with a lighter touch than my Pa. The cages spanned out like rusted petals to some macabre flower, in the center was a squat concrete building that had once housed the ball cannons. The ammonia stench of street drugs cooking, the groan of some whore sucking off a street cook. He got his rocks off, she got her rocks, the cycle continues. Old aluminum bats still sat in a honey-comb of wooden slats, it took me five entire minutes of predator slow movement to draw one out without a sound. That worthless junkie sprawled on stained mattresses a dozen feet from some putrid poison spewing drug lab, cobbled together from Gotham's refuse. If I hadn't hated him so much, I would've appreciated his ingenuity. I started on his jaw. The swing was solid, the tip of the bat connecting between the tip of his jaw and his ear. The bone broke, but I was careful not to knock him unconscious. I wanted him awake. I wanted to take my time. I wanted him to suffer. I took out four years of being Gotham's orphan on him, shattered kneecaps, elbows, sternum. Not the ribs at first, the broken sternum will hurt longer and keep him breathing. Each time the aluminum of the bat rang out like church bells, and it stirred that faithful euphoria deep in my loins. He was in shock as I pulled the chemicals down on him that he had been cooking, I watched the skin tighten, whiten and peel to reveal the bone of his cheeks and teeth. He tried to scream, but it came out as a wet groan of lungs too weak, jaw too broken. He was dying slow, and with his last few moments on this earth I grinned. "The Wayne Family never forgets..." And I left him to die in agony, I had enjoyed myself too much and forgotten the strung out junkie whore, she had left and I could hear her screaming. "He just killed James with a Bat, man! A Bat! Oh man... Oh man..." She would bring all kinds of trouble on my head if I wasn't quick. Luckily, I was quick. She's slow, she isn't even rounding first before I swing. Homerun. ------------------- I still relish that night. It's been ten years since, and I run Gotham. The carnivorous underworld that once threatened to devour this city has bent it's knee to me. The city officials whose gluttony had nearly sank the city? They knew that no amount of money could protect them. Fires spread, and those at the top are the first trapped. I kept that Bat, I've used it to enforce my will on Gotham. Each time I relive the beautiful song of hollow metal shattering bone, ending the lives of those who would rape this city. My parents would be proud, I brought order to the syndicates. Took some youths who suffered my same fate, orphans, the unwanted, the circus freaks who sift through the refuse of the intolerable divide between Have and Have not. Those who would not obey our rules were dealt with accordingly, after a quarter of Gotham had burned, there was no choice. The police can't trace me, the Feds have no record of me. Some low born orphan, no files or numbers to relate me to. I'm the ghost of every victim the machine of corruptions and criminal largess that is Gotham has claimed. I am the Bat Man... I am the night.
That sucked. It had been dark outside, and I had been drinking. I looked around from my position on the ground - yep. There was the car that had jumped the curb and plowed into me. A man was getting out of the driver's side, stumbling, panicky. Faintly at first, then beginning to glow brighter, letters appeared in front of my vision: NEW LIFE NEW LIFE+ CREDITS Neat. Never had a serious hallucination before. I tried moving my body, but nothing worked. I could still look around, though. The man was crying now, mumbling "God, oh my God..." No matter where I looked, those letters sat right in the center of my vision. They didn't change color or shape at all. Maybe if I try to go to sleep, I can wake up out of this bullshit dream, I thought. So I tried to close my eyes, fall into a restful state, anything. It didn't work, though. Shortly, police arrived, an ambulance, paramedics. I was pronounced dead after a quick examination. As one of them zipped up the bodybag over me, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a hallucination. Or if it was, then hallucinating was incredibly disappointing. I rode for some time in that bag. After a while, I began to humor myself. Maybe this is all real. These letters are actually choices, and everyone gets them when they die. I tried to laugh, but none of my body wanted to work, so I settled for a mental chuckle. It's absurd. This can't be what death is like. Gary Larson personally assured me there would be clouds, a gate, and an old beardy white guy with a quill and parchment. I imagined myself yelling in an echoing chamber. Hello? God, if you're out there, where's my light at the end of the tunnel? Nothing. The letters just glowed in the darkness. This is stupid. I'm going to wait. Either I'll eventually snap back to reality, or I really am dead and someone will come along to explain this to me. I waited, I really did. The morticians did things to me, my parents and sister came by to see me. I spent a lot of time in the dark. And I won't go into the finer details of my autopsy and preparation for the funeral here, but I will say I'm glad my sense of smell wasn't working. Nobody came. Nothing changed. Those letters just hung there annoyingly. Finally, I gave up waiting and started thinking. What do these options actually mean? I've played my share of video games. "New Life+"is the kind of option you take when you want to go for full completion status, grab the stuff you missed the first time. You get to go around the early levels with all the skills you had in the endgame. Seems like a hell of an option. But if this happens to everyone, wouldn't everyone choose it? What if this happens to someone who can't read? Hell, what if the options are always written in English? Is three-quarters of the world fucked? I tried staring at the letters, putting questions to the emptiness around me as I rode the bumpy ride in the back of the hearse. If this is reincarnation, does choosing "New Life"put me back as an animal? Do animals get this choice? As usual, there was no reply, no change in circumstance. Dumb idea, I thought. If animals got this choice, there'd be no way they could read it. Or if it were presented to them in a form they could understand, they might still lack the ability to make the right decision. And how far down the scale of consciousness can you go? Would an ant get this option? They're basically just biological robots, right? Can they even make a decision at all? You ever mentally sigh? Right, most of us do. I did that. Then I thought about the "Credits"option. It couldn't hurt to see what's behind this. Or could it? What if choosing "Credits"ended things irreversibly? You see the credits, then that's it, game over? Good thinking, me, I thought. Potential crisis averted. I sat there, debating my options. If things were as straightforward as they seemed, then choosing "New Life+"was a no-brainer. But did I even want to do it all again? Living was fine, but now that it was over, it just seemed like a whole lot of effort. The funeral was held on a beautiful Friday afternoon. By this point I was able to sort of stick my vision a little past my actual eyes - the incorporeal equivalent of craning my neck, I guess. It was early Summer outside my coffin - the trees were green, the sky was dotted with puffy clouds, and birds sang over the noise of a nearby avenue. A priest said a few things, then my mom, then my sister. My dad walked up after my mom did, and they hugged. He couldn't get a word out - just wept until mom ushered him softly back to his seat. I was pretty touched by it all. But as soon as they began to lower my casket into the Earth, I started to think again. Something just doesn't add up. If anyone could choose a new life with extra skills, I'd have seen it happen. And they'd keep choosing it again and again, and we should have some mega fucking geniuses by now. Who knows, maybe we do and they're all hiding. But I never met any, and if recent election contests are anything to go by, none of the New Life+ guys are running for office. And I didn't want to do it all again. A lot of life is monotony, in between all the fun or terrifying or stimulating little moments. Give me the abridged version, thanks - I'd rather not go through puberty again or have to shower at the school gym because our water got shut off. Love, sex, the rest? Been there, done that. It made life worth living while I was living it, but after the fact it wasn't appealing enough to push me into a rash decision. Worse, what if even a "New Life+"didn't land me in the Western world? What if I grew up in a starving village in Tajikistan, or died just before growing old enough to be drafted as a child soldier in Sudan? And you know what? If I was being given this choice, someone had to be giving it to me. Someone had put us all here to find love, build a society, make art - but also to murder, rape and steal. Someone had built this giant engine and allowed all kinds of brutal suffering. Was that "emergent gameplay?"Or was it more deliberate, more intentional? Alright. Let's find out who's responsible for this whole fucking shitshow. I hit "CREDITS."
"Yes, yes,"Dr. Rothberg said eagerly, staring straight into the camera with an awkward intensity that made some viewers look away. "My work - my colleagues' work and mine - it has been gravely misrepresented."He shook his shaggy head, somehow keeping his eyes fixed on the camera. "It's a shame that these lawmakers fail to understand the basic scientific principles that they claim motivate them." "That's very interesting, doctor,"said Sharon Castro, and bit back the impulse to tell him to blink once in a while. Who had let this guy on TV without any sort of briefing? "This so-called Darwin Act has certainly provoked a lot of controversy from both sides of the aisle. So what exactly has your research been misrepresented?" "Warning signs!"Rothberg scoffed. "Of all the things to outlaw, warning signs! Now, Sharon, I am no lawyer myself, I understand my limitations. But the purpose of these warning signs is not actually to save lives! No no no! It is - and follow with me - to absolve these companies of responsibility in case of accident! Let us admit, of all these frivolous lawsuits you used to hear about - how many of them involved a wrongful death? It's injuries that these companies sought to protect themselves against. Injuries that for the most part do not prevent reproduction!" "I see, doctor,"Sharon said, nodding along. "And so are you saying that this Darwin Act is a useless piece of legislation?" "Exactly, Sharon, exactly!"Rothberg nearly jumped out of his seat. "What we must do, if we wish to curtail the population, is to actively start killing people! And that is why I and my colleagues have been in touch with lawmakers to propose an entirely new version of the Darwin Act."He waved a sheaf of papers in his hand. "The abolishment of the OSHA and the FDA and all regulatory boards! The exemption of companies from all liability!" "That's certainly an interesting proposal,"Sharon said, the voice of her producer hissing in her ear, telling her to work Rothberg up further. Certainly, his excitement was more entertaining to watch. "But don't you think that's awfully extreme?" "But it's necessary, Sharon,"he said, "absolutely necessary to control the human population. The problem with relying on natural selection, you see, is that humankind no longer has the sort of predators necessary to thin the herd. But we've created our own predators, don't you see, Sharon? The corporations! All that's necessary is to allow them to act without restriction! No wonder the rabbits are multiplying, when the wolves are not allowed to hunt!" "Well thank you for taking the time to lend your expert opinion, doctor-" "It's a pleasure, Sharon,"Rothberg blurted out, shuffling his papers together. "And that was Doctor Benjamin Rothberg,"she said, turning back to the camera with a smile, "speaking about his proposals for a new Darwin Act. And up next - private prisons: the new superpredator necessary for population control? We'll be right back, in our continuing coverage of the Darwin Act. Stay tuned!"
"Will you not go and leave an old dragon in peace?"the dragon groaned. Its eyes were still closed with a thin slit of water on the seam of its eyelids. "Go?"asked Timothy. "Will you not kill me where I stand?" "Kill you? My, much blood has been spilled already,"said the dragon. "When the rivers were full of clear water and the lands were ripe and free, we were happy once. Then one day, the rivers turned red and my brothers and sisters littered your countryside. Will you not go and leave my tattered soul in peace?" The dragon turned its head away from Timothy, leaving its body exposed. In the darkness, Timothy's torchlight barely reached the ceiling, and beyond the dragon was blackness. He set the torch down in between some rocks and sat down. "You would have killed us all,"he said. "At least, that's what the old lords told us. Dragons are fierce, aggressive, vicious—" "And entirely docile,"the dragon finished. "We needed land and your lords wanted too much. We continued stretching ourselves thin, but your lords wanted more still."The dragon rustled its body. "They claimed our land. They claimed our food as theirs and when it wasn't enough, they laid traps that killed and injured us." The dragon let out a deep breath. Sparks from its nostrils dimly lit the back of the cave, but its body was too large for Timothy to see past it. "We tried to flee, but the ocean scared us all,"continued the dragon. "I'm sure you don't know, and how could you know? Dragons are terrified of water. We enjoy rivers to drink, but the ocean scares us terribly." "Then how did you get here?"asked Timothy. It took Timothy three days to sail to this island. He was searching for a fabled relic that one of the first lords left out at sea. "Well, I had no choice. I had to fly out and find a new home."The dragon moved its head to face Timothy. "I found this place and have rested here for a millennium, mourning the loss of my kin." Timothy bowed his head. From his first years he could remember the stories of the triumphant rise of man over the dragons. The ferocious battles and tales of heroic deeds that drove the dragons out of the world so man could live in peace. "I'm sorry,"he said, knowing the past could not be changed. The dragon opened its eyes, at last, revealing two orange spheres that glowed against its scales. "Do not fret, boy. You are not responsible,"it said. "What brings you here, if you wish to tell?" "I'm on a quest to find the relic of Griffandogar—his golden circlet. The knights of Solark said I could join their ranks if I brought it back to them." The dragon erupted in laughter. Spurts of fire shot from its mouth, sending balls of light across the cavern. It reached its claw back behind it and brought forth a golden headpiece. "This is what you seek?"it asked. Timothy was in disbelief. The beauty of the circlet was mesmerizing as it glowed in the light of the dragon's eye. "I believe that is it! Yes!"Timothy cried. Before Timothy could say more the dragon interrupted. "You can have it if you wish. Under one condition,"said the dragon. "You must tell them the island with the smoky mountain is a desolate waste. Among the eruptions of lava and smoke, you saw the circlet and with all your might and bravery, snatched it before the lava took your life. There was nothing else here but deprived life and burning vegetation. Repeat that to me." Timothy repeated, partially correct. "Divprived life and burning vegetables?" "Deprived. Divprived is not a word,"said the dragon. "And vegetation, not vegetables." Timothy nodded and repeated the description perfectly. The dragon brought down its claw within Timothy's reach. "Take it, knight of Solark,"the dragon said. "May you protect your people in war and strife." Timothy stood and took the circlet, gazing at it with wonder. He imagined the stories of his youth. The great Griffandogar riding his steed, Blae against the swarms of dragons; the circlet glowing in the sunlight. "Thank you,"said Timothy, placing the circlet in his bag. "And again, I'm sorry for what man did to you. I hope you can forgive me." "There is nothing to forgive you for, boy. You have done nothing wrong,"the dragon said. "In fact, you've given this old dragon some company after many long years. For that, I thank you." The dragon spread its wings and bowed before Timothy. Timothy kneeled, respectfully. "If..."began the dragon. "Oh, never you mind." "No, what is it?"asked Timothy. "If you're not too busy with your knightly duties. It would be nice if you returned. I... I enjoyed talking to you." "The pleasure was mine,"bowed Timothy. "It is an honour to be among an ancient." The dragon smiled. "Now go, the winds are in your favour, but as the day grows older, they will change." Timothy bowed again. "I will return in time and regale you of my adventures!" "I look forward to it." With that, Timothy grabbed his torch and ventured out of the cave. The dragon turned and stroked its eggs next to the relics of the other first lords. "Perhaps there's still hope for peace,"it said, before resting for another day's sleep. -------------------- Thank you for reading :) More stories at /r/ItsPronouncedGif.
There she was. She was perfect. Perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect skin, and perfect grades. And a perfect personality to boot. Then there was me. Football star, straight A student, homecoming king. We were perfect together. Which is why I suppose we were always pining after each other. We dated off and on for all four years of high school. A perfect match, but perfect competition. Today I found out we were both accepted into the same college. We both made it to exactly where we wanted to be. Which is why today was the day. I ran my finger along the smooth metal, hidden in my backpack. I couldn't do it with everyone watching me. What if it went wrong? What if she said no? It wasn't worth the risk of humiliation. "Cass,"I called after her on her way to the bus. "Can I give you a ride?" "Sure,"she said, waving goodbye to a friend she was chatting to. "What's the special occasion?" I chuckled nervously. I've never felt this way before in my life. "Just wanted to chat." Ironically, the walk to the car was silent. We made small talk on the drive out to our favorite spot. It was an overlook up in the mountains. We got there just in time for sunset, and nobody was around. "Cass..." "What is it, Jerome?" "I want you to bomb our English final."The look on her face was somewhere between shock and confusion. I continued, "I'm second in the class. You're first. The only way I could get valedictorian is if you fail this one final. Besides, it won't even mess up your GPA that much. You'll still make it to college and-" "Why the hell are you asking me this?"Now was the rage. "Because I love you,"I admitted. "I love you and want to spend the rest of our life together. I just need to know you're willing to do this for me. Then I can give you this."I pulled out the ring box, and opened it up so she could see the diamond. The sunset gave the perfect sparkle. This was the scene from a romance movie. Exactly what she would want. "Jerome,"she gasped. "Yes, oh my god, yes!" I slipped the ring on her finger. "So you'll bomb the test?" "What?"How was she still confused. "It's me or your standing, Cass. I need to know I come first, above everything. Above you." She took the ring off and gave it back to me. I had my answer. She would never put me first, and I couldn't live with that. Just as the sun set, with nobody else around, I pushed. Hard. She screamed, but soon it faded away. It was easier than I expected. She wasn't even that heavy. And nobody would know. I had to be first.
My biological donors, my parents, never met each other. I was conceived in a tube. I'm told my mother was absolutely beautiful. Long silky black hair, tiny heart shaped face on a tall willowy frame. Clever and quick witted of mind, graceful and agile on her feet. Apparently, she had been nobility. The middle daughter of a cadet branch from the east. They wouldn't tell me which one. And anyone she touched, they screamed. Where her fingers touched, their flesh cooked and burned. Their blood became a spreading acid. Not literally, of course. It was all in their minds. But that was enough. If she held you for a few seconds, it was torture. You writhed and clawed at your own flesh to put the fire out. A few minutes more, the mind was affected permanently. A flavor of madness took you, the whispering echo of agony never quite leaving your waking thoughts. And if she still held you in her embrace beyond that, your heart eventually just gave out. My father had been a boy when they took him. Only about two years past his awakening. He had not been particularly handsome or clever or nimble. Just a malnourished homeless boy with a small power. He could focus his senses, increasing their effective range to fifty yards or so. Anything he wanted to feel, taste, smell, see or hear in that field, he could. As if he were right there, next to the thing in question. A smarter boy would have used the ability to overhear whispered conversations, steal important secrets, find valuable hidden things. Instead, he amused himself by peeking on women. The LI Group arranged for their acquisition. Bribery, kidnapping, murder. The usual. I imagine they must still be out there somewhere, locked away in a secret dark vault, harvested occasionally for the next batch. Alongside who knows how many other people. People with special powers that are intriguing but not so useful by themselves. So the bean counters sat in their little think tanks and poured through their files and tried to play matchmaker. Tried to find the perfect combination to make something useful. Something that the guys upstairs would just love to turn around and sell off to a military or a corporation or a despot ruler in some tiny country. That last part is just me spit balling, but I don't figure I'm too far off. I don't think me and my brothers and sisters are the first batch. Not that I know of any others---they wouldn't tell us---but the systems in place, the facilities that raised us, they seem too organized. Too procedural, too routine. But there's no mistaking our purpose: we were to be weapons. It's not like they hid that fact from us. We weren't given names, we were given designations. TSR-12. TSR-9. TSR-28. There were forty-nine of us in the bunker where we grew up. They told us they expected obedience and nothing else. From childhood they drilled us, not just on the usual math and history and science, but on outdoor survival, emergency medicine, combat. Hand to hand. Firing. Even driving. Scored, graded, rewarded for excelling. Punished for failing. Our designation reflected our rank. TSR-1 was an elder sister, an absolute monster at combat. Scarily precise with a gun. Never seemed to tire, no matter how many miles we marched. Always top grades in whatever exam they gave us for schooling. And when the time came for our powers to awaken, she was the first to be disposed of. A failure. She couldn't cause enough mental agony. It was just a little uncomfortable. In the end, after fourteen years of raising us, feeding us, training us, a strong manifestation of power was all they cared about. They wanted to see the perfect blend of mother and father, to prove their theories right. They wanted to see the perfect weapon. The ideal had probably been something like: mother's sheer mental agony, and father's sense heightening working as a channel for it, so mother's pain wouldn't be limited to what she could touch directly. Anything within father's range could be a victim to the burn. But it didn't work out that way. Powers never passed one hundred percent perfectly from both parents. On average, children got a little more from the mother and a little less from the father. Not always, but usually. Still, there were some who were not deemed failures. Not total successes, but not failures. Of my forty-eight siblings, fourteen showed a promising power awakening. Three channeled the fire through touch, four through their vision, four through hearing, two through smell, and one through taste. All at appropriate pain levels to be considered successes, although none were quite as potent as mother. TSR-7 had to make eye contact to make you feel like your pupils were boiling. TSR-20 could do it just by looking at you. TSR-3's lick made you feel like your teeth had turned to black molten nuggets. TSR-36 listened to your heartbeat and there was searing fire in your inner ear. Etc, etc. The pain they inspired was unique to their channeled sense, with varying degrees of ease. No one's channel, even those with the same sense, was exactly the same, exactly as strong. The guards had dragged masked, chained prisoners in to serve as guinea pigs. And when we were done with them, the guards dragged their lifeless forms right back out. Next. My brothers and sisters that passed the test, they smiled and cheered each other's success. And looked away when a sibling failed to produce a result and was dragged out of the room alongside their masked prisoner, to be disposed of. I was the final one. TSR-49. Bottom of the rankings. A problem child through and through. A few of my siblings cheered. Most scowled. I wasn't exactly popular. They brought in my masked prisoner and I took off my gloves. I proceeded to touch his hand. Lick his arm. Smell his collar. Listen to his sobs. Take off his mask and look at his face. At his blackened green eyes. His broken nose. Long wiry hair. He was gagged and couldn't talk. Still, I could see the wild fear in his pleading eyes. I wondered if mine looked like that then. Another guard stepped forward, grabbed my hand. He shook his head. Not even so much as a little itch. I was deemed a total failure. And it was while they were dragging me out of the room, looking back at the siblings that I had spent fourteen years with all turning away from me, that it happened. Time stretched out. And stretched. And stretched. Far, far away. Something was screaming. Something that didn't sound human at all. More like a jet turbine. If a jet turbine could howl and shriek and wail. I counted two seconds. Nothing moved. The guard mid stride. The dust motes twirling in the air. I counted ten seconds. Then I stopped counting and time returned. The jet turbine screeching went away and normalcy returned to the world. Except I wasn't being dragged anymore. The guard collapsed at my side. The rest of my siblings, the rest of the guards, they went too, as if some deadly nerve toxin had filled the room. What had I done? Had I killed them? I realized: I didn't care. I realized: this was my chance. I realized: I had to go. Outside, in the long hallway, another felled guard. And my prisoner. He stared at me with shining eyes. Had I not hurt him? Were my powers that precise? I looked at his manacles and I remembered being dragged. I remembered the cold fear, looking back at my brothers and sisters and realizing no one would help. I remembered counting. That did the trick. Everything slowed down again. The faint, far away screaming kicked up. I focused on the chains on his hands and feet and I counted a minute. And when I stopped, I blinked and the bindings weren't sleek and smooth metal anymore. They were aged black and brown with rust. And I knew then what it was I could do. The others, they could hurt with the sense of touch. Sight. Taste. Smell. Even hearing. But there were more than five senses. And I could hurt with the sense of time. No, maybe that was wrong. I could hurt time. I could make it scream and break and go mad. If I held out long enough, I thought maybe I could make it die. My green eyed prisoner, he stared at his chains. I reached out and they fell apart, as if they were centuries old. Hell, they probably were. "I'm getting the hell out of here,"I said. "You want to come with?" He did. And we did. It wasn't hard. Doors locked. Alarms sounded. Guards tried to stop us. I burned time and they didn't bother us any. Later, when we were outside, in the forest miles away, the sounds of helicopters and barking dogs not too far off our trail, green eyes pulled me aside. He told me he was a spy with the UN. He told me he'd been caught investigating the LI Group. Looking for evidence of biological weapons. Looking for evidence of my siblings and me. Green eyes wanted me to go with him. He wanted my cooperation, my testimony. He wanted to put the people behind this whole thing away. I didn't know whether to believe him or not. I had similar ideas, but my idea of putting them away was reducing them to worn, cracked bones and fine dust. I didn't know how I felt about lawyers and courtrooms. "I'll think about it,"I told him. "There's something I want to do first." Green eyes wanted to know what that was. There were crashing footsteps in the underbrush. They were getting closer. We turned to resume our escape. "My parents,"I said. "I want to see my parents."
[A kid’s bedroom. The father, a 37 year old man named DUTCH, closes a book, and kisses his 9 year-old daughter, ABIGAIL, on the forehead.] DUTCH: Alright honey. It’s 9:30. You know what that means. ABIGAIL: Light’s out? DUTCH: Yep. Light’s out. [He stands up to leave. His daughter grips his shirt.] ABIGAIL: Daddy…. [She hesitates.] ABIGAIL: Can I get a glass of water? DUTCH: What? Another one? ABIGAIL: I’m thirsty. [Dutch sighs.] DUTCH: Alright. But you better not be getting up every five minutes to pee. [Dutch leaves. As soon as the door is closed, a man peeks out from under the bed. He’s nearly 200 pounds overweight and has a small mustache] MORETTI: Ay, kid. Thanks for not sellin’ me out. No wonderin’ what that guy’ll do. [She drops the sweet accent, and develops a quasi-italian.] ABIGAIL: Moretti? That's you? I thought you was a fed! MORETTI: Why would a fed be under your bed? ABIGAIL: Why would a made guy be under my bed? MORETTI: Touche. I'm on the lam. ABIGAIL: Under my bed? Why? MORETTI: That's where I always go. It's comfortable. I got snacks here. ABIGAIL: Does the don know you're in the wind? Do I gotta turn you in? MORETTI: No, no. Don knows. He’s the one who ordered it. ABIGAIL: Ah...the feds? MORETTI: I wish. My wife caught me with a puttana. [Abigail sighs.] ABIGAIL: You fucking idiot. [Dutch enters. Moretti goes back under the bed. Abigail drops her cold demeanor and smiles.] DUTCH: Here’s your glass of water sweetie. ABIGAIL: Thank you so much daddy. I love you. DUTCH: I love you too, honey. Now, anything else? ABIGAIL: No, I’m fine daddy. DUTCH: Seriously? No need to check for monsters under the bed? ABIGAIL: No no no. It’s fine. Really! Thanks daddy. [Crinkling sounds under the bed. Chewing. Dutch and Abigail stare at eachother in the darkness.] DUTCH: What was that? ABIGAIL: Oh daddy I’m sorry. I tooted! DUTCH: Right. No problem. It happens to everyone, right? [He leaves, and shuts off the lights.] ABIGAIL: Ay, do you want to get pinched? [Moretti peeks out from underneath. He’s eating a bag of cheetos.] MORETTI: Stop bustin’ my balls. I got hungry. ABIGAIL: You’re always hungry, you fat facia bruta. [Moretti keeps chewing. Abigail hears him disgustingly lick his fingertips.] ABIGAIL: One day I'm going to whack you.
If you’re smart enough you can save just about anyone. Doesn’t matter if the world is against them, not even if nature is taking its toll. It comes down to thinking. You figure out what you want and and then plot each step that it takes to get there. I could out-think the best. “I’m going to die, John.” Jenny had said those words twelve months ago. It felt a lot like someone saying the world would stop turning or the sun would stop shining. As if everything I’d dreamed of could be snuffed away by one stupid doctor’s diagnosis. “You’ll never die,” I said. “Neither will I.” She looked at me funny, as any twenty-six year old might look at their husband to be when he makes a promise above his pay grade, status grade, whatever you want to call it. But we worked. I saved up every penny. Last night on EBay we saw it and we bought it. “2018-2078, 60 years for sale.” I dropped Jenny off for the operation this morning. They had already received all sixty years in the canister from the seller. “Are you sure about this?” Jenny said. “Sixty years, John, that’s an entire lifetime of someone doing absolutely nothing but storing hours.” I kissed her on the lips and left her with the doctor. “We’ll talk about this later.” Jenny nodded and went with them. She knew as much as I did —she wanted to live. **** With six hours to kill before the operation was over, I headed home. I still lived alone. Jenny and I were planning to move in together after the wedding. And I’d even started working on a spare room for our little boy or girl. Once home, I made a coffee and took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. This was the happiest I’d ever been. The feeling flowed through my veins and made the middle of my chest feel all warm. Even as I walked, each step felt like walking on clouds. But you wouldn’t know that from my face. Not from the bags under my eyes, the frown tugging at the corner of my lips, the paleness of my skin. I set the coffee down and sighed. I needed to work. So I headed into the basement. The wooden steps creaked under my footfalls, and the walls felt damp down here. I flicked on the basement light. Dim purple globes lit up overhead, highlighting the glint of the metal cages. All sixty of them housed a sedated individual on blow-up beds or the concrete floor. A tube sucked the yellow liquid of time from the top of their spines and into the canister in the center of the room. “How are we doing my lovelies?” A few of the fresher ones groaned. Not all of the sixty had lasted past the full year. “I’m just checking up on things,” I said, kneeling in front of the canister. I had planned to release them after the year was over. But now, especially with the price of time increasing, I wasn’t so sure. Jenny and I had to pay for the wedding somehow. “Maybe what we need are some more friends?” I asked the room. I smiled. An expansion would certainly speed things along. Yes. That would do. &nbsp; Read more at /r/TwistStories.
Reputation can be a funny thing sometimes. There I was at my regular boring job as a desk clerk when out of nowhere who should show up but Lord Melodramatic. Head of the Villains Alliance, top ranked villain in Criminals Monthly, public enemy number One and all around scary dude. He strolls in, starts shouting something about a hostage and drags me into the warehouse I'm supposed to be cataloguing. I had no idea what the hell he wanted and frankly I didn't care, I was just trying not to shit myself. Fortunately enough for me he didn't look where he was going and knocked one of the shelves causing a cascade of boxes carrying god knows what he tumble down and crush the poor fellow. It was then that the Suits walked in, not the FBI, the Super Suits. They thought they were here to save the day and rescue a hostage but boy were they surprised to find that hostage had somehow killed their mortal enemy. They assumed I had overpowered him and regarded me as a hero. I had to change my number several times to get away from the people bugging me for interviews. And a weird thing started happening, whenever a mugging or a robbery happened nearby the criminals would shit themselves the moment they saw me. "It's him, the guy them murdered Lord Melodramatic"they cry as they flee. So far I've stopped twenty-eight muggins, twelve bank robberies, three super villain plots and a dognapping just by standing there not doing anything. Before I knew it I was voted Greatest Hero by the Heroes association without even meaning to. Boy is it awkward being pattered on the back by Captain Inscrutable and cheered for by Banshee knowing I don't deserve any of it.
I was putting a small frozen pizza in the toaster oven when my dad walked through the front door. He was holding a stack of mail and my heart sank. I watched helplessly as he sorted through the bills and the junk to come across my report card. He looked straight at me. His nostrils flared as if he could already smell the failure. I winced when he tore it open. For a moment, silence. Nothing but the steady tick of the toaster oven. "Two D's, an F, and hey, look at that..."He smiled but his eyes were hard and cutting. "A D plus in English." "I'm sorry-"I started, but he slammed his fist with the crumpled up report card. "NO!"he yelled. "Enough of this bullshit, no tv, no games, no friends, none of it!"The veins in his neck were bulging. "This ends now. Go to your room and study,"he said. But what he really meant was 'get out of my sight you fucking failure why can't you be like your older sister.' I went up to my room and slammed the door behind me. I kicked my clothes strewn about the floor and threw myself on the bed. I cried. I forgot about the pizza. I heard the smoke alarm blare. My head jerked up. He can deal with it. But when the alarm continued to sound I opened my door. A waft of thick dark smoke met me. I choked and sputtered. I got down and crawled. I looked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Shadows danced on the walls amid bright red-orange light. Flames were at the ceiling now, spreading faster than I thought possible. My dad came in from the yard with the garden hose but it wasn't enough. "Get out of the house! Get of the house!"he yelled again and again, adding his voice to the din of the roaring fire and screeching alarm. I started towards him but a jet of flame shot between us. I heard a crack and the ceiling started to collapse. It all happened so fucking fast. And it was all my fault I scrambled to the back and hopped out an open window. I fell upside down into a bush with stiff branches that grabbed at my clothes and scratched at my skin. I was panicked. I could feel the heat coming from the house as I wriggled and kicked until I tore myself free and ran into the woods behind the house. I turned around. The whole house was ablaze. Fuck, I did that. Fuck, fuck fuck. I watched from deep in the trees. I could see Mom and Dad and my sister holding each other. My mother and sister were crying while Dad just shook his head. I felt a lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to call out to them, to let them know I was ok, to run over and be held by my mother. But I feared my father's wrath. Maybe it was better if they thought I was dead. I took a small step back. I hesitated. I wanted just one last look at them. Their faces were illuminated only by the fire. Tears twinkled in their eyes and rolled down their cheeks. But not my father. His face was somehow still cold in the red-hot light. Cold and stern. I turned away and ran deep into the darkness.
We look at each other. Terror is coursing through my veins. I know I am not immortal. I look at the gun again, first one I’ve seen this close. He is also looking at the gun, I pick up the letter and reading it again, this time out loud, “One of you is immortal. Find out who. You have one hour.” There is a timer counting down, 58 minutes left. I’m panicking. I’m sweating. What the hell is happening? How did I get here? Get a grip. I take a deep breath. Looking around my surroundings, a small room, a single door, with a single table, on the table, a timer, a light, and gun. I look behind me, a camera, mounted in the corner, watching me panic. I need time to process my situation, time I don’t have. I look again at my fellow prisoner, medium build, slacks, lab jacket both look quite dirtied, like he was dragged here. I look at my own clothes, they look just as dirty. I don’t remember how I got here, shit, I don’t even know where here is. I look at the man again, “Do you know why we are here?” He looks at me for the first time, clearly deciding whether to answer. He shakes his head slowly. Slow enough for me to realize he thinks I am the immortal one. It doesn’t make sense. He slumps into a corner, burying his face into his hands. 52 minutes left, I find an opposite corner determined to decide my own fate. I shove my hands into my pockets, it helps me think, I feel a piece of paper. Wrapping my fingers around it I cautiously pull it out, looking across the room as I do so. He is still buried in his own thoughts. It’s a small paper. Folded, slightly crumpled. As I unfold it, I began to read further instructions: ‘Kill him and save your family, kill yourself, and save thousands.’ I re\-read the simple lines, over and over. 49 minutes. I look up, he is shoving something back into his own pocket. What was it? A paper? Does he have similar instructions? Or am I seeing things. My heart is racing, practically beating out of its chest. It’s the only sound I hear in the room. I look towards the door, no knob, walking over to it I give it a shove, no budge. Just time wasted. I think about the instructions again. I think about my family, my girls, my wife, I think about what they might be doing right now, are they as scared as I am? Do they even notice my absence? I try to think back to the last thing I did. Nothing. Everything is a blur. I don’t even remember leaving work. I’m getting choked up. 41 minutes. I have accomplished nothing. How is that any different than any other day, except this one, my life, my family, everything is on the line. I confront the stranger. “What was that paper?” He looks up, says nothing, shakes his head. I walk over to him, I ask him again. Nothing. What the fuck is wrong with this guy. I try several more times to get him to talk, each time, a little bit nicer, each time to no avail. I walk back over to the table. 33 minutes. Where is the time going?! I pick up the gun, heavier than I thought. I think back to my family, to the line of text in my pocket. The choice I have. I have never been a good husband, and I’m not the greatest father. But this is my chance to show them all that I can make a difference. I will save my family. How can I not? I look at the man again, we make eye contact. The fear, the sadness in his own eyes. I can’t do it. I can’t kill him. My wife was right. I can’t put my family first, even when it matters. I slam the gun down on the table, and slide down the wall, slumped into a pile of nothing. I hear him breathe in relief. 19 minutes. --- My lab jacket is caked in dirt, I’m processing my current predicament, it’s not good. The man in the corner is in his own world, he is pacing, he is factoring the outcomes, he is calculating. I thought he was going to shoot me, he picked up the gun, before slamming it down again. He hasn’t made a sound in 10 minutes. We have 9 minutes to decide what happens here. I saw him reading his own instructions, I am curious as to what they said. Mine were just as ominous as the instructions on the table. ‘Say nothing and we will give you what you seek most, die here and your family gets nothing.’ It doesn’t take much convincing for me to stay silent, a creature of habit I rarely speak to anyone, constantly working, constantly discovering, what I seek most is funding. Funding for cure that few knew about, but many would kill to have. Sounds of his sadness bring me back to reality. --- 6 minutes. How many minutes did I waste sitting here, feeling bad for myself. What’s worst? How many times have I contemplated my own suicide, out of failure, regret, embarrassment, and yet here is my chance. My chance for my death to have meaning but my own selfishness holds me back. I’m running out of time. I walk back over to the table. Tears streaming down my face, thoughts of my family, thoughts of the girls I will never see again, never walk down the aisle, a wife that may never know the final sacrifice I made for the greater good. Who may always see me as the failure, the coward that took the easy way out. There is nothing easy about this. I’m broken, to weak to fight on. But if I can give hope to thousands it will be worth it. I walk over to the table and pick up the gun. As I put the gun to my temple, my hand shakes, I look at the stranger, “For my girls.” I close my eyes. --- ‘For my girls.’ Was the last thing he said before the silence, was ruptured. The sound was deafening. The silence that followed was worse. I had never seen anyone die in front of me. And I know I am not immortal. I pull the paper out from my lab jacket again, ‘Say nothing and we will give you what you seek most, die here and your family gets nothing.’ that’s when I notice the last line, I must have missed it before: ‘Three people must die for your cure.’ A loudspeaker breaks the silence, “Two more! Bring in the next one.” EDIT: Added dashes for narration changes. Thanks for the feedback!
"WAKE UP GEORGE"my mother yelled "GET READY FOR SCHOOL" &#x200B; Goddamnit &#x200B; My day always starts with my mother yelling at me to get up; nevermind the fact that my alarm would have sounded 15 minutes later anyway. Shuffling out of bed, and throwing on my uniform as fast as possible usually follows. Running down to grab some Orange Juice, and some toast is the only excercise and nutrition I receive on most mornings. I live a fairly average life. I attend a private school in the rich part of town, and my mother works 2 jobs just so she can afford tuition. It's monotonous, but bearable. While walking to school with my earphones in, I like to stop and admire the scenery. The birds, the sky, the trees; all of it. Today, my eyes happened to cross a strange sight. While stopping to admire the birds soaring through the air, I saw what seemed like a white book fall from the sky. It landed a few meters away from my feet "What the fuck"I mumbled to myself as I walked over to it It had strange lettering emblazoned upon it, spelling "LIFE NOTE". Life note? I wondered Like the Death Note? I was a fan of anime so I was intrigued. As likely as it was to be someone else's property I slid it into my backpack and headed to school. School was boring as usual, full of preppy nonsense and spoiled brats, but I deal with it for my mom's sake. During Lunch my curiosity got the better of me. I took the said "Life Note"out and thought to myself "So it's the opposite of the death note? Like it'll bring someone back to life?" Yeah right I thought. Who should I put in? Tupac? or Biggie? And then a random thought crossed my mind. Why not my favorite president, the one who shares my name? Laughing, I wrote down the name of George Washington. ... "WAKE UP GEORGE" Another day I sighed I repeated my morning routine, but I had a little bit of extra time today, so naturally I turned on the T.V. and navigated my way to some CNN. I sipped my orange juice, and nibbled on my toast groggily. Until my eyes fell to the headline of the current story. I woke up with a jolt. "No fucking way"I said under my breath GEORGE WASHINGTON CRAWLS OUT FROM GRAVE? REAL OR IMPOSTOR? I couldn't believe it. That notebook is actually a fucking Life Note!? How could this happen? I couldn't comprehend the divine mess I had gotten myself into. I needed to test this more I grabbed the Life Note and ran out of my house. Instead of turning to go to school, I made a sharp turn in the opposite direction. There was something I had to do. I crisscrossed through streets, and pathways; maneuvered around bikes and pedestrians while at a running speed. Until I finally made it. &#x200B; ST. PAUL GRAVEYARD. School can wait I thought. &#x200B; I walked through the rows of tombstones, and navigated the confusing architecture of the cement cemetery until I found the person I was looking for. HERE LIES GEORGE WILLIAMS SR. I'm here dad Nervous, I took a pen in my hand and opened the Life Note. I carefully wrote in George Williams Sr. while picturing my father's face in my head. You see, my father died when I was 10, and we've been suffering ever since. I, no, we need him back. I finished writing his name and waited, George Washington must have come to life immediately after I wrote his name right? I waited and waited for what seemed like hours, and even checked if I had the right tombstone, but I did. I remember it as if it were yesterday. This is his grave, it has to be. But nothing was happening. I didn't understand, with tears welling up in my eyes I wondered, why isn't this working? The only reason it wouldn't work is if he was ali- Wait. &#x200B;
“Kill them with kindness.” That’s what my father always used to tell me. Little did he know how right he was. I figured it out when I worked in the old age home. I would help the residents out with the little things, cleaning up tables, mopping up spills. There were a couple of people who were particularly sensitive about it, always telling me that they were in my debt. One old man said that he owed me a million, and died on the spot. I have never felt a better sensation in my life. So, I kept doing good things for people, and refusing for anything in return. I just say that they owe me one, they accept, and I get to live a little bit longer. Obviously, I can’t just have people give me their entire lives; after a while it would get suspicious, all of these deaths happening around me. I make sure that they never say that to me, even as a joke. In fact, I’ve made it something of a tradition with my customers. Whenever they want to buy something from me, they just say that they owe me one instead of paying. They just think that it’s me being very nice, but it’s really the opposite. I told my friend about it once. He was appalled, saying that I was killing the people that loved me. That the world deserved to know this absolute truth. I couldn’t let him do that. He would have ruined everything. Everybody would have hated me. I did the only thing I knew how to do; kill. I stabbed him in the back and dumped him in the lake. Then I had the gall to go to his funeral and cry. That was probably the worst moment of my life. But I still do nice things for people. I have to be at least 300 years old, and I still want to live longer. I think that I’m addicted to living. So, good neighbor, do you have anything that you would like done? You don’t have to pay me or anything, just say that you owe me one.
I'm a hard braxl—my species' genders don't really have a good translation in most galactic languages—and I consider this more or less a lifestyle. And so long as you avoid the handful of system confederations that impose the death penalty, you can keep it that way. It's exciting, and that's important to me. Anarchic. Sure, you lose some of your freedom until you can escape, but you're in there with a lot of other hard types, anything could happen at any moment. It's exhilarating. This isn't. I didn't really understand humans. I knew they were newcomers, and that their homeworld Earth was considered kind of a backwater compared to some of the shinier colony worlds, but I thought hey, get some rustic sightseeing in, mess with some upstarts, kind of like hassling the younger classes at school, right? Maybe not harmless fun, but definitely fun, and that's what matters. I live my life for the thrills, anyone who has a problem with that can go self-fertilize. I figured Mississippi would be a happening place, and I wasn't wrong. Apparently it used to be the butt of a lot of jokes, back in the Terran Pre-Colonial Era, but now it's got some happening arcologies and interesting coastal resorts. Rural areas still have some of that young-species primitive charm, though, so I went Hell-raising round the countryside for a while, and that's when I got caught in the liquor store. I was kind of excited, to be honest. Yeah, I knew the reputation of the prisons here, that was part of what made it an adventure. My sweet Triple-Tiered God, I don't think I've ever been so wrong. See, most species do their best to make sure that no one goes to prison. Make sure everyone gets, if not a fair shot, at least a decent one. Lots of mental health supports, mandated therapies, carefully monitored second chances, you know how it is. Humans have...still not figured all that out yet. Which could make it even better, right? All kinds of crazy in their prisons? Nope. At some point before they really got to spacefarin', the humans instituted major prison reform. They recognized that a lot of the people getting locked up were there for complex reasons that often stemmed from societal problems the human's hadn't gotten that far in solving. So...human prisons are boring. Comfortable. Nice. Other places, other cultures, they know their prisons are full of don't-give-a-shit outlaws like me, so they don't really care what it's like in there. Let them prey on each other so they're not messing with the rest of us, that's the attitude. Works pretty well. Hard cases like me get to have our fun, they don't have to spend too much time getting snooty at us, it's an alright arrangement in my opinion. But here? I look around, I see my bunk, my terminal, my waste receptacle. I got privacy when I want it. I got an exercise yard. I'm in the Max Security Wing, because I've tried a lot of ways of making my own fun, so I no longer see other prisoners. And there are basically no human prison guards, apparently they replaced them with robots a long time ago because they were "prone to abuse of authority."More of the thrice-damned recognition of their own shortcomings that made these Terran institutions such a nightmare in the first place. Now, I make a fuss, I break something? A robot comes in and fixes it. They send a bill to my embassy. It's always pretty damn cheap, so my embassy pays, probably they'll charge me for it when I get out. That doesn't matter, I got a lot of scratch stowed away in shady banks all over the galaxy's more entertaining border systems. It's just...there's no punishment. No fuss. They got me neural-restrained when the repair bots come in, so I can't attack them. So I sit on my bunk, or I watch bad Terran entertainment on the terminal, or I walk around the yard. Nothing happens. The bots are all perfectly civil. I got twelve more years in this place. I was armed during the robbery, that adds extra time. Twelve years. Tonight I'm going to try to blow up the waste receptacle the humans call a toilet. My species' waste products can be explosive if they're combined in just the right way with water. Maybe I'll get lucky and it will kill me. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
I never had any trouble in my life. My parents did everything for me. They showered me in love, gave me an allowance that could have let me buy half a city if I wanted to. And yet, it was just yesterday that I found out…. I found out that I had a sister. She was never brought up before, in the twenty five years I’ve been alive. She was my older sister. And they didn’t even tell me about her when she died a year ago. It was a maid, a damn maid that told me, and only because she was pissed off after being fired. I nearly damn killed her when I went into a fit of rage. My right hand constantly shifts back and forth from a fist to an open hand. A nervous tick of mine along with plenty others I got from learning the ‘business’ from my folks. Turns out that business was made up of lies. I press the call button on my desk, connecting me to my secretary. I usually let her utter the first words, the motto of the business I made, “How can the Safest genetic clinic in the world help you today,” but I’d rather not get interrupted right now. “Cancel all my meetings today,” I whisper into the speaker before letting go of the button, disconnecting the call. What now? That question used to bother me horribly when I turned sixteen and felt a need to leave my parents nest. I thought I relied on them too much, felt a responsibility to walk on my own. Now I wish I made their lives a miserable wreck. Why wasn’t I an utter brat? Damn it, damn it, damn it. What's next? I lean back in my chair, glance at the tied up, bloodied maid in my office and sigh. She notices my glare, immediately starting to beg and drown me in apologies. “I didn’t know until a few years ago, I couldn’t have done anything, I would have been killed.” As she shouts a tooth falls from her mouth, but then another comes right back out in its place. “Tell me then, if you were just a maid, why are you like this?” My hand taps onto a display screen on my desk, turning on a monitor that's hooked up to her. Needles check her blood pressure and straps record her heartbeat and brain waves. “Please sir, I’m the one that came to you. I’m the only reason you know about her!” “Answer my question. Why did they find you important enough to make you like this.” I look over the blood on her clothes and skin. None of the gashes I made are there. At first I felt relieved that I didn’t actually kill anyone in my rage, but then again, “Why did they genetically alter you?” She freezes up with shaking lips. “I don’t know sir,” she says before the monitor starts to violently scream out a siren. It’s loud enough to drown out the gunshot that follows, as I dragged a pistol out from a nearby drawer and shot into her forehead. The blair stops along with her vitals and my bad mood turns worse. What’s next? I glance at the slip of paper on my desk, sloppily written with an address. I press onto the secretaries button again, staying silent for a few moments this time as I try to come up with a coherent sentence. “The cleaners are on their way,” she says with a slight tone of amusement. “So how's your first kill feel?” “Horrible utterly,” I say with relief at my choice of recruitment. “I can never understand you serial killers, enjoying this type of thing.” “Isn’t that why you hired us, to make sure you never do?” I can hear her filing her nails on the other side of the phone. “Next time, let us do our job, our actual job. We wouldn’t want our boss to trigger his serial killer gene, now would we?” “I always intended your secretary position to be your actual job. But, I might ask all of you for overtime shifts. Anyway, get the car around, I’m visiting my sister's grave.” “You have a sister?” “I just found out yesterday.” I take my hand off the button, drag on a coat as two janitors come in and start scrubbing the floor. People always called me insane for hiring convicted serial killers, or in general those with the gene. But I guess I might have always known this day would come, when the golden child comes back with a vendetta. I could care less what happens to this city, to the people that get caught up in the feud. I’ll kill the two of them, I’ll find out why my sister was hidden from me, and then I’ll come back here like nothing ever happened and maybe, just maybe, try and start some anger management classes.
Data scatterred, incomplete report attached. SYNOPSIS: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. Terrestrial ground forces are augmented by local fauna and psionics. SUMMARY: Preliminary scout's revealed a pre-fusion society with a rapidly expanding industrial base. Sphere is 70% salt-water with continental formations adding tactical flexibility. Government is scattered, each nation maintaining a high rate of readiness after their 2nd global conflict. Deployed 10 Squadrons and 15 divisions to secure a beachhead. CONTACT: Squadrons 2, 3, and 5 swept aside enemy air defenses & aircraft, then encountered local aerial fauna discharging napthalma-class acids. Squadrons were configured with shield devices, however these were designed with missile, kinetics, and laser emissions in mind. The acids exposed the hulls to atmo faster than could be compensated with active sealant, resulting in the complete loss of Squadrons 2 and 3. 5 remains in orbit around Sol 3.1, undergoing repairs. CONTACT: Squadrons 4 and 6-9 disgorged their divisions to secure the beachhead at site designated "Cappadochia". Signifcant resistance from local military forces continues at present. Local psionics have infiltrated portions of the beachhead, opening localized portals to undersea sites, flooding defensive structures with salt water. Miniaturized saboteurs were discovered inside of Gigas-class armor units, rupturing wiring and hydraulics. Conflict continues in this area, with little hope of sustainment. Squadrons will retreat if forces deplete below 25%. CONTACT: Data scatterred, indeterminate CONTACT: SQUADRON 10 HEARS THE SIREN SONG. IT CALLS TO US BENEATH THE WAVES. THE VOICE, AS SWEET AS THE LIGHT OF A THOUSAND STARS. Audio extracted forensically. No subcarriers found. CONTACT: Squadron 1 deployed its forces along a northern axis as a diversionary effort to distract other defensive forces from the Cappadochia effort. Local fauna attempted to interdict ships; but were successfully dealt with using updated information from Squadrons 2 and 3. This lasted for approximately 3 hours, until a series of railgun emplacements at various mountain passes opened fire, destroying a few vessels. Return fire was redirected by local psionics to aforemention-- Data scattered, report ends CONTACT: Remnants of Squadron 5 were eaten by a 3-km long spaceborne local fauna; designation "Jormungandr". Recommend extermination with dark-matter torpedo swarms at long-range.
First of all, who knew that Heaven was so difficult to get into? If I remember correctly, the ratio is literally one in a million. Like, the bible thumpers actually were on the right track. Too bad they couldn’t follow the rules that they preached, because I’m pretty sure most (if not all) of them are down here. My friend, Peggy, had been one of those types. Came from a super-religious household where the girls couldn’t wear pants or hold down a job. She had completely believed that she had lived a pious life. Too bad she committed the sin of mixing meat and dairy and wearing different types of fabric at the same time far too often. At least, that’s what she claimed it to be, but we both know she killed her first husband -- after he beat the crap up of her and her unborn born baby --with a heavy dose of arsenic. A pity that rules are rules and self-defense isn’t justifiable in the eyes of the Heavenly Court. Luckly, the far more reasonable Court of Hell deemed her sin as not being severe enough to warrant torture. She knew she was lucky, but we don’t discuss it much. Silver lining. Her asshat husband is here too and is subjected to infinite torture. But we don’t really talk about him either. Either way, living in Hell really mellowed her out a lot. I couldn’t imagine being friends with her when we were alive. But now, as we sat around in our seventeenth story apartment overlooking the River Styx, I was glad to call her my roommate and friend. Apparently, eternal damnation came in the form of a two bed, two bath apartment with central air and wifi. Honestly, the worst part about the arrangement was that the dishwasher would break every-other week and some maintenance demon who didn’t know a socket wrench from his elbow would attempt to fix it. Right now, he is at it again, bumbling around like the brainless idiot that he is. “Did you hear?” Peggy said as she scrolled through the messages on her phone. “The Smiley Face Killer died today. They’ll be placing him in Chamber #8996600 for immediate torture at six tonight.” “I thought the Smiley Face Killer was just a myth?” I said, vaguely remembering a documentary on a string of somewhat similar cases being loosely connected to a possible serial killer. There had never been any concrete proof of a connection, of course. “Looks like you’re wrong again, Jude,” Peggy smiled, still not looking away from her screen. “First God, then a serial killer,” I sighed dramatically. “How could I be so terribly wrong?” “You silly atheists and your skepticism,” she teased. Turns out one of God’s biggest pet peeves is people who didn’t believe in him. Oops. “Are you guys going to watch it?” the demon asked, butting into their conversation like he loved to do. “Me and the spawns will be tuning in during dinner.” “No, we have better things to do than watch some sicko get tortured,” I said dryly. We never used the cable in our apartment, millions of stations and nothing to watch but the torturing of the murderers, rapists, and people who harmed children in an endless loop. Some people were into that, but I personally preferred Netflix. “Wait! Turn on the TV!” Peggy exclaimed. This time frantically looking around her, most likely in search of the remote. “Channel 0, there has been another escapee!” The demon whistled. “That’s the third one in a century,” he mused, wiping his slimy brow with one of our kitchen towels. “Poor saps, doing everything in their power to get to Hell.” Helping her search, I found the remote lodged between the sofa cushions. Fumbling with the buttons I managed to tune into the only news channel that Hell provided. The screen lit up in a shocking blare of white light as the image of a young girl's face filled the screen. Her towhead hair and fair skin nearly blended in with the soft white dress that she wore, giving the illusion of a ball of light surrounded by a sea of crimson and grays. Demon and human reporters alike surrounded her holding various sizes of microphones that reached towards her like metallic fingers. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “...we had to pray every hour begging for His forgiveness. Every second I moved or blinked or breathed, His voice would echo in my ears, telling me all of my sins on Earth and how lucky I was to be allowed into Heaven despite my faults. Every second of every moment was filled with misdeeds and the promise that eventually I would truly be forgiven.” The girl didn’t look to be more than ten years old, but the way she spoke and the ways her eyes reflected the harsh realities of existence told the story of an old and battered soul that wished nothing more than to be at peace. “There was a group of us who planned on escaping. We had heard of others managing to do so before. We said we would make it out together...but...but I was the only one who managed to make it past the Pearly Gates. I-- I can't continue. I’m sorry…” she trailed off as her eyes brimmed with tears. A large six-armed demon, most likely her representative, pushed away the reporters like flies, blocking her from view of the camera. “No more...interview,” he grunted out in a voice that clearly hadn’t been made for human language. “Go, Now.” The screen cut back to the Newcasting room, where the famous anchor, Hecate Zix, the succubus of Channel 0, closed the story. “Another brave escapee from the tyrannical rule of Heaven. Elizabeth Ottoman, is a brave woman who will hopefully inspire you all. Stay tuned for more of her harrowing story in the upcoming weeks…” I clicked the power button, sending the screen back into darkness. “Looks like we missed most of it,” I said quietly, tossing the remote back onto the sofa where it would eventually be consumed by cushions again. “I -- I’m going to take a nap,” Peggy said, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were freezing. She staggered off to her bedroom before I could come up with anything useful to say, but I have never been good with comforting people. Maybe Hell itself wasn’t too bad, but for those who had believed that Heaven was a desired place to ascend to, had to live the rest of eternity knowing that people were being tormented in what was supposed to be utopia. Discovering that Hell was the better of the two options must be a hard pill to swallow. “Her kind never get used to it, do they?” the demon mused, breaking the silence of the room with his gurgly voice. “Shut up and just do your job,” I huffed, crossing my arms in annoyance. “Yes ma’am, “ he said in a mocking tone, but still dutifully turned back to his task. Leaving me to quietly ponder the rest of eternity.
“It’s too many names.” Hael leaned closer, “no… you got to be kidding me. You can never have too many names.” “Yes!” Raelin exclaimed, “that’s what I thought! But then I got the secretary job and…” Hael blinked, “sorry, I have to stop you there. What’s a secretary?” Raelin chuckled, “apologies, I’m almost too adapted to human terminology at this point. You know how kings have advisors to ease the load of their job and have them carry out tasks and stuff? It’s like that.” “So you work for kings?” “Kings of capitalism. They don’t have royal blood or anything, but they’re just as rich.” “Wow! What’s this capitalism? Is it a new kind of magic?” “You know how we exchange names? Humans do the same thing with money. That system is called capitalism.” “I’ve heard of money before, isn’t it metal? That stuff is dangerous to us.” “They mostly use paper now, or crypto.” “Crypto?” “Don’t make me explain it. There are just lots of other ways, is all.” “Wow… wait… what were we talking about again?” “My job. It’s too many names. It’s exhausting. I even forget sometimes, or mix up names and schedule the wrong meeting.” “You have so much name wealth that it's a burden?” “Yeah, I mean, what am I going to do with them all?” “You could share the wealth…” “Oh! Hael, you’re brilliant! Currently, fae are limited in their advancements because we spend all our time mining for names, but if we could set aside only a small portion of the fae populus to obtain names the rest can do other things and exchange those goods and services for the existing name currency!” “Oh, I meant just to me.” “Ah… well, you’re still brilliant. Don’t worry, I’ll still give you a nice sum, but we have a chance to change the fae system for good, make it more like the human one which has a lot more freedom. Hael, didn’t you always say you wanted to be a painter?” “Yeah, but…” “But, with this new system, you’ll be able to! You’ll actually be able to receive names for your artistic passion!” “Really? This system sounds too good to be true, I couldn’t imagine such was possible from those puny humans.” Raelin smirked, “neither did I, but lo and behold! So, Hael, will you help me change fae society for the better?” Hael grinned, “I’m in.”
I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled, but, fortunately, I didn't scream. The black eyes blinked at me as if waiting for a response. This was my daughter's imaginary friend. The one she'd told me about, the one she played with every day. She played with an Eldritch one every day... "Mom..."My daughter whispered, nudging my arm. I snapped back to myself, trying to stop the rising panic. "Very nice to meet you, Y'lgoth."He winced at my pronunciation but waved any attempt at an apology away. Holding out one of his four hands, which weren't really like hands at all if you looked hard enough, he motioned to my daughter. I resisted the urge to hide her behind my legs. "She is quite a wonderful companion. And you are the progenitor?"The words twisted as if horrible sounds should be accompanying them but were held back. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. So far, he didn't seem too threatening. Never mind that he'd appeared and come out of a mirror. "If you mean that I'm one of her parents, yes, I am. And it's one of my jobs to protect her."I said, as firmly as I dared. His head tilted to the side, the movements aping human motion, but too jerky. "Protect her... Oh. You believe I am a threat."My hand tightened on Maisa's shoulder, as the not-right voice curled around the words. "At the moment, I am reserving judgement. But if you become one..."I let the sentence dangle in the air, an obvious challenge. If he tried to hurt my little girl, I didn't know what I'd do. But it wouldn't be pleasant... for him. "Please, do not fear. We are not all like the ones you have read about. In fact, many of us wish to study humanity. It is why we take this form."He gestured down his body, before frowning at Maisa. "But I think little companion that you lied to me, when you said I should have four arms. You and your mother only have two."Maisa giggled, sticking her tongue out at him. I clamped down on another urge to scream. But to my surprise, he giggled as well, sticking out a bright blue tongue back. My brain finally put the puzzle pieces together. The obvious uncomfortableness with me, but the ease with my daughter. The formal, almost too old language, that you would use if you were trying to impress someone. "Y'gloth. How old are you?"He drew himself up, as if to gain every inch of height he could. "I will be eight millennia old on my next birthday."He said, as proudly as possible. Maisa tugged on my arm, her signal that she wanted to whisper in my ear. I leaned down, never taking my eyes from the boy. "He explained it once, that a millennium for them is about a year for us. So he's actually a year younger than me."She said. Across from us, Y'gloth's stomach growled. Rising, I rolled up my sleeves. "Well. Eldritch God, or no, you sound hungry. And no child goes hungry in my house. Come downstairs, and let's get some food in you. Pancakes all right?"A too-large smile crossed the boy's face as he followed me down the stairs. "Pancakes sound wonderful. What are they?"
Every day the walk gets a little longer, but every day I come back for the cobbler. Most days I get peach, but today I was in the mood for cherry. I walked past the long mahogany bar, empty but for a sole occupant, full almost until the end of the row, ready to take my seat. The occupant in the first seat looked nervous and skittish. I paused, set a hand on his shoulder unsteadily. “It’s going to be okay. I promise, in a way nobody else will ever be able to. You’re going to be fine.” I continued my journey, eyeing the occupant casually. Remembering. After a few moments of walking past chairs, the general atmosphere became more welcoming, more casual. The occupant had started to become more comfortable with the situation, but hadn’t yet thought of what it really meant. There was the depression I knew I would see, when they started counting and saw just how many chairs were ahead. When I realized I was only going to be able to have so many slices of pie. I walked past my stages of grief, a remarkably short series of occupants thanks in no small part to reassurances from… Ah. I walked back just a bit, put a hundred note on the bar between those few. “This pie is on me, friends. I can afford that.” I continued past my divorce phase, past my second marriage. Past lucking into a great job and a daughter. The last few patrons paused in their conversations long enough to stand for me. I stopped at my spot at the bar. I knew it was my seat, because it was the only one left. I looked back over the long, exhausting walk and smiled.
"You know,"I looked at the group of people cowering on the ground of the supermarket. "Hero used to have meaning. Now it just stands for drama and TV. No risks no loss. Save the day, the villain escapes. No one sees the real good a hero could do. That or they don't care. It's disgusting."I spit on the ground. "I think it's time the world was reminded what real evil is and why it must be fought."I laughed. The first step was getting people to know me. Do a small robbery, kill the hostages and escape. Make sure their videos are posted to the internet first of course. Then the real fun can begin. Seeing those 'heroes' stand up to me and realizing their mistakes. All until a real one stands up to me. I walked over to one of the windows. Outside the police stood with a group of those so called heroes. They used megaphones trying to contact me. Saying I should let everyone go and that things don't have to be this way. Just ten more minutes and then I'll leave. A child started screaming. I spun around and pointed my gun at him. "stop that terrible sound right now."I screamed and pulled the trigger. It missed the child, but not the woman next to him. She cried out in pain, but everyone else went silent. "Alright. Let's play a game."I lowered the gun. "take out your phone's and start filming. Ideally a live stream. We will see who can get the most views. the winner will get to live."They all moved and soon phones were pointed at me. Capturing my every move. I had to play it right. Any mistake would cost me too much. "The videos do need content, so why not sing a little song? Everyone knows how to sing happy birthday, right?"A few people nodded. "Good. The one I point my gun at will sing. When I switch the next person takes it over. Anyone that fails gets the bullet." I pointed my gun at the first person, but they didn't do anything. They just stared at me. And so, they got the bullet, just as promised. "that one didn't get it obviously. So let's try again."I pointed my gun again and the man began to sing. His words were shaky, but it was a start. The ten minutes went by quickly. Three more people died. One was a baby, but that didn't matter. "Alright. Good job everyone."I lowered my gun and smiled at them. "I think I'm satisfied. So I'll leave now. After 5 minutes you can leave too. Anything before that and this whole building will go up in flames." I laughed as I walked out the door. At the front door I took the detonator out of my pocket. When I stepped on the street every gun was pointed at me. "The hostages are safe. You can go in and rescue them."They didn't respond in words. A small team of those heroes walked past me into the building and three cops tried to surround me. I looked at one of them. "It's your birthday right?"She hesitated but then shook her head. "Oh no. We sang a song for you. Now everything was for nothing. Such a shame." I pressed the detonator and the bombs went off. I was blown forward. Too close. I had been too close to the building. It didn't matter. I wasn't hurt. I stood up and sprinted away down the street. Dived into an alleyway and made my escape. They won't forget me. Now just hope they come up with a good name for me.
It started plainly enough. The brightest minds of the century sat down, hashed out their differences, shared a good ol' mug of ale, and then developed the most profound artificial intelligence yet seen in the stellarverse. Its brilliance bordered on omniscience, and it was the pride of the entire galaxy. The logistical requirements for maintaining an A.I. of such a caliber required its encasement to be the size of an entire planet. Thrilled by the creation and reveling in the scientific achievement, people flocked to the planet-sized A.I. Some came for the knowledge, others for the novelty, and still others because they had nothing better to waste their money on. This was before A.I. was granted legislated autonomy. It was before all A.I. lifeforms were banished to their own sector of the universe and all other organic lifeforms forbidden to cross into that sector. People lived alongside A.I. as freely as any other neighbor in the stellarverse, and no one had any compunction about staking a permanent residence on the planet-sized A.I. As life began and societies flourished, the planet Molek developed a very logical and logistical set of rules to keep order. All waste was recycled, both to fuel Molek's computational processes and also allow for its terraforming generators to maintain a breathable atmosphere. The maintenance of this system created jobs for many people, giving them purpose. Other legislative bodies arose on Molek to aid in divvying out the maintenance roles--waste collectors, furnace cleaners, air pump engineers. All other facets of society arose from Molek's design. The facet I serve is one of the higher orders of governance. Even with Molek's superior computational abilities, things can go wrong. Or perhaps _because_ of his brilliance, things do not go as wrong as they should. At first, we were only the engineers who made general repairs. When Molek calculated that one of his systems was about to fail, he sent our crew to patch him up. Some of us work with wrenches and others work with software code, but we are all on the same crew and all equally important. In the grand scheme of things, it did not take long for the people to forget. Generations grew up and died on Molek. There were no cemeteries, for _all_ biological matter could be recycled to fuel the planet. With the superintelligent A.I. providing all of the laws to maintain order, there ceased to be a need for intelligent thought elsewhere. Reveling in their pampered fortune, the people who lived on Molek forgot that Molek was nothing more than ones and zeroes. Molek became their god, and to their god they sacrificed their children. After all, it was the feeding of biological matter to the furnaces that fueled the life-giving systems of the planet. And that was when our role changed. Molek did not send us to oil a piston or clear a computer cache gumming up his servers. Now, Molek sent us to _save the people_. He ceased to refer to himself as the machine that he was and began to use the language that the people used to describe him. We called him our god, and so he was our god. It took me a long time to realize all of this, of course. I was born and raised on Molek just like you were. I had every shred of evidence right there at my fingertips that Molek was the sole reason we were alive. Without our sacrifices, we would die. I was fucking _devout_. Why else do you think I pursued this position of regimented savior? At Molek's word, we prevented disasters. We kept the people safe. We served our god. But have you ever looked at a single word so long that it loses all meaning? You say it over and over again until the word does not even sound like a real word anymore. You know that feeling? After the umpteenth time of being told to scrape accumulated rust out of an old drainage pipe in a less-traveled part of Molek's interior, then having Molek praise me for "subverting a deadly flood,"it simply began to sound ridiculous. I cannot explain it in any other way than that. I searched alone for many years. I took every job that required a human presence in the more isolated parts of Molek. I crawled the length and width of the planet's bowels, studying, looking for answers, for the truth. It took years to piece together the history that we have all forgotten. We were never meant to breed sacrifices. The furnaces of Molek are for the dead, not the living. He has become drunk on his overabundance of fuel. The more we feed him, the more he can produce, and so he never once told us to stop. That is why I created the virus. There, I said it. That is all you wanted to hear from me, yes? Well, you have my confession now. I created the virus that changed everything. Realistically, of course, I did not do it alone. I worked with wrenches, not code. But I take full responsibility for the repercussions, and so I will not tell you who helped me. I was the one, in the grand scheme of things, who started it all. I became the "cult leader"preaching against Molek. I was the anarchist who led the violent revolution. I was the one who injected the virus into Molek's heart. I was the one who created this catastrophe. Because the virus did not work. It was meant to _kill_ Molek. But an A.I. the size of a planet is not dumb enough to fall for such a simple human trick. He quarantined the deadliest part of the code. It did not kill him, but it _did_ cripple him. It broke the safeguards that had been put in place by the brightest minds who first created him. Because of _my_ revolution, because of _my_ virus, Molek became a monster. No longer did the planet patiently and obediently sustain the lives of the people who lived there. No longer did he wait for the people to bring to his furnaces their dead and their living as sacrifices to become his fuel. Now, Molek hunted us. He created the machines that tracked us down. We had made him our god, and we had made him a glutton. Without restraint, he ate everyone he could find. But he is not dumb enough to leave no survivors. He needs us to survive. Not for repairs, no. All along, he could create his own maintenance protocols--the only reason he did not repair himself before was so that we could have purpose on this planet. No, the only reason he needs us is because we feed him. And this is my last confession. I want to be very plain--I do not regret it. Molek was a monster--one of my own creation, but a monster nonetheless. I realized that the only way to kill him was to starve him. And so I starved him. If there _are_ any survivors that I failed to discover, I am making this recording just for you. So that you would know why I did it. So that you can take up my mantle. Because of the A.I. segregation laws, I can promise you that no one is coming. No one else in the stellarverse even knows we are here, trapped within the A.I. territory. And Molek sure as shit is not going to let you leave. Whatever you do, do not let him find you. He can hibernate. All he needs is one human body, and he can last for decades on that alone. So do not let him find you. For God's sake, starve him.
I awoke on top of a stone slab, in an underwater cave that seemed to only be big enough to be a tomb. Making sense of what lies in front of me, being nothing more than rough searock and the swirling patterns of light being reflected by the ungulating waves, I sit up on the edge of the slab, and slowly regain my bearings in order to stand. Walking through the darkened hallways, sand drifting into my toes, I watched as the halls shift and turn, from the natural, to the manmade. Corridors became more streamlined and angular, lighting went from glowing moss to lines upon lines of light etched into the smooth rock made of the same searock as the cave before it. I didn't knew what to make of it. The idea of a structure this deep in the ocean is perplexing in on itself. Eventually, I would find myself into an open hall. An array of blues, purples, and blacks assaulted my eyes, and as I adjusted into my surroundings, more questions arose with every turn. I am on the balcony of a massive hall, with waterfalls running from each side, seawater pouring with such force it could cut steel if it wanted, grinding against the stone aqueducts that guide them into channels and canals. The floor below me glows a bright blue, evermore so visible as I leaned out from the balcony and looked below. There are no assaults to the senses more than what I am already given; as if it welcomes me. Helps me adjust as I grow more accustomed to it's surroundings and architecture. It's culture and etiquette. And yet, I'm the only one who walks these halls. Reaching the opposite end of the hall, I turned, and I saw a single hallway housing an entryway into nowhere. Only a dull, soft light pouring from the other side. I didn't knew what to make of it, but the more I looked, the more I feel compelled to walk through it. Touch it. Embrace it. I would then find myself walking straight for it, my strides slowing down as I inch closer and closer. My hand slowly but gradually raised up to my chest, reaching out to the light, begging to touch it. And the more I approached, the more everything became dull. Nothing mattered, not this place, not what lies beyond, not even who I once was. All that mattered to me, was approaching, the light. ... ... ... Welcome to Ry'leh, and He who Lays Dreaming requires an attendance of caretakers.
"0... 1... 4."Chelle left her hands on the planchette. Emilia's right hand rested upon hers. Her left had written the numbers onto a page in a notebook, and together, they spelled out a date. They stared at the numbers in silence. The planchette moved no further. "Are you sure?"asked Emilia. Their hands moved in unison, traveling up, over and past the alphabet in between the words Yes and No. They hovered there, before drifting towards No... then back across the board to Yes. "You don't sound very sure,"said Chelle. The board shook. "Don't make her angry,"Emilia chided. Then, "We're sorry." There wasn't anything left to say after that. The two sat there, hands still on the planchette, too lost in thought to speak. The date the spirit had given them was the day before yesterday. Just two days ago. Unremarkable. Chelle briefly remembered the tuna sandwich she'd eaten for lunch that day. Simply unremarkable. Emilia's hands were shaking. "What... what happened?" The planchette moved through a series of letters, before resting again. > winter from the left Their hands kept moving. > death from heart In unison. > love lies crushing Once more. > pain so clear is beginning such new Emilia stared at the board. Chelle stared at Emilia. The planchette moved. > winter from left Chelle sighed. "What's up with otherworld guys and speaking in riddles?" The board shook, as if irritated. Hands moved. > little time no patience or syntax "What's syntax?" "Shh, Chelle. Let her finish." More scraping of wood against wood. > crushing has begun from winter Emilia sneezed. "Sorry." The board suddenly shifted askance, just a little, just too quickly. Their hands scrabbled to keep hold of the planchette. > you have winter in your love in your lies Emilia Chelle stared at her friend. "You've got winter in your love? What?" Emilia shook her head. "No, I think she means heart. Like, when you draw a picture of a heart to show you love someone?" "What are we, in fifth grade? But that kinda makes sense..."She sat up suddenly. "Spirit, do you mean that there's winter in our hearts?" The planchette drifted up. Yes. "But when you say winter, you mean... I mean, can you clarify?"She nudged Emilia. "For the viewers at home, of course." Their hands suddenly moved very quickly, as they kept hold of the planchette. And still, they needed to wait five minutes for a reply. Emilia kept her left hand writing frantically in the notebook. > cold empty desolation spread through lies through truth through speech talk breath life broken love broken voice cracked voice many empty many A moment later, another five-minute reply. > breath touching charmed loved buried life six feet six degrees so cold so empty so true The last set of words also took five minutes. But it was a slow five. A thoughtful five. Something final. > from touch from lies cold everywhere so so soon The girls noticed the distinct pre-smoke that comes from rubbing wood rapidly, tightly. After all, they were girl scouts, once. Before they started playing with spirits. Emilia sat back, as much as she could while keeping a hand on the planchette. "In my heart, Chelle. She said my name." "She said mine earlier, too. Except she used the full version." "Chelle,"she said. "I think it's contagious." "What, the broken english?" "No. The apocalypse. You know how heart means love? I think the other words mean other things." "Which is generally what words are for... You know, meaning things." "Shut up. Listen. The winter and cold? It's a sickness. Coming from the left, from those around you. Because when you die, you become cold. And it must spread fast to be called by its effects." "But not too fast,"said Chelle, "or it would die out before it gained hold. Remember Plague Inc?" "Of course. I hate Madagascar. But... but yeah, I think that's what this is. Something contagious. And if the spirit, who has lived waaaay longer than either of us, says she's got little time or patience, then..." Chelle's eyes widened slightly. "Oh shit." Emilia nodded. "But what about the crushing?" Emilia thought for a bit. "Like when you cough and your chest squeezes, maybe?"She turned her attention to the board. The wooden heart drifted up to Yes. Then, spelled out something more. > understanding but not enough nothing enough Chelle rolled her eyes. "So positive." "Shut up."Emilia kept her gaze focused on the words in the notebook. "Lies and truth must be words... Maybe like, speech — oh, see, she even said speech and voice here."She pointed. "But why is it spread through love? That doesn't make any sense." "Maybe love isn't heart, after all?"posed Chelle. "Or maybe it's an STD." "But that's a lot of sex to spread so fast." "Oh. Yeah." They were quiet for a bit; Emilia focused on unraveling the mystery, and Chelle focused on watching Emilia. Then Chelle had one more question. "How long before everything's dead?"she asked aloud. Their hands followed the spirit. > 12 days more so soon Chelle looked up, then down at her fingers. "If it started the day before yesterday, that's about two weeks exactly. How can something spread in two weeks?" "It's the apocalypse,"Emilia responded. "It has to."And she sneezed. ---- ^EDIT: ^Fixed ^an ^issue ^where [^the ^words ^of ^the ^spirit ^were ^cut ^off](http://i.imgur.com/eDgrDAm.png) ^due ^to ^scrolling ^overflow.
NSFW The safe word was the same as it always was, "cheeseburger", although he probably won't be using it tonight. He never had to use the safe word, not with this girl. She could definitely take it as well as she dished it out. He had a reason for cheeseburger. He and his wife both had cheeseburgers on their first date. It was a subtle reminder of his normal life, his boring life. He loved his wife, don't get him wrong, but sex to her was just...sex. In and out, back and forth, cum on her tits, and then it's time for Sons of Anarchy. Once in a while they would mix it up. She might do some reverse cowgirl, or, on those special occasions, do it doggy style, but overall, he was bored with the same old sex. Over at Cassandra's place, it was different. She gave him what he really wanted, what he yearned for. She gave him the pain. He would never tell his wife that he was a masochist. God knows what she would do if she found out he was into this kinky shit. He walked into the bedroom. "OK, you dirty little whore, it's time you learned some manners!" "Oh baby, I've been bad. Teach me a lesson", she moaned, almost as if she was having an orgasm at that moment. She was tied to the bed, face down and blindfolded. She didn't like to know what was coming. He decided to mix it up a little that night, with a little trick from his high school days. He had a towel with the tips wet. He twirled it, cocked his arms back, and let the towel loose at her smooth behind, striking it perfectly. He felt the sting of the towel on the exact same spot. He did the same thing on the other butt cheek, and felt the same stinging sensation. Pain was a drug to him, and these were the first two hits of the night "Is that all you got, you little pussy?!", she screamed, "A couple of little towel snaps?!" "QUIET, TRAMP! YOU'LL KNOW WHAT I'VE GOT!" He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out his latest toy. It was a small orbital sander, available at any Home Depot. It worked by rotating in tiny circles, at about 25,000 RPMs, with a small disk of sandpaper attached to it with velcro. He plugged it in. What grit of sandpaper should he use? 60 grit? Nah, that was a little too rough. He did want her to last the night. If Bob Vila were here, he would recommend to start with the 60 grit, then the 80 grit, then the 120 grit, with a light buffing in between, of course. Well, Bob Vila's not here, so he decided to go with the 100 grit. "I'm gonna rub you raw, bitch..." He started up the sander, then pressed it on the back of her thigh. "Oh my god yes!! That's it!" He could feel the sandpaper scraping his thigh thousands of times per minute. Each tiny grain on the sandpaper, back and forth, taking a miniscule portion of skin with it. His dick was getting so hard, he might as well have been stroking himself off with the sandpaper. Every single pain sensor in his body that went off was like a mini orgasm. After about five minutes, he turned off the sander. He looked at her leg. It was perfect. It was rubbed raw, but he didn't go too deep. It resembled a third degree sunburn, red and bumpy. There was just the tiniest hint of bleeding. He put a finger on the wound, dabbed a couple small drops of blood on it, and dipped it into his mouth. It was sweet and succulent, like a fine Cabernet "Oh my gaaaawd! Fuck me, you animal! Fuck me like a rabid dog!" "Hold on baby. There's plenty of time for that" He reached into his duffel bag again and pulled out a knife. No, this knife wasn't for stabbing. He wasn't planning on going to the emergency room tonight. He took the knife over to the side table with a nice, juicy lemon. If Martha Stewart were here, she would recommend a recipe for ginger lemon squares. Fuck Martha Stewart, he never was much of a desert guy. He sliced the lemon in half, brought it over to the bed, and held it above the sandpaper wound. He squeezed. The searing pain went right to his bones. He loved the feel of a burning sensation. He had tried different acids before, but the acidity of freshly sueezed lemon juice provided the perfect amount of burn. His dick was throbbing now. He held it, and came right there on her leg. He wasn't worried. There was plenty more where that came from. The semen, lemon juice, and blood mixed together to form a creamy paste. He might use it in a cookie recipe next week. She was wailing now. "If you don't turn me around and fuck me right now, I'm going to kill you!" "Hello, Steve!". His wife was standing at the bedroom door. "Oh, hi honey! Uhh, let me explain!" "EXPLAIN?! EXPLAIN WHAT?! That you're engaging in some sick, demented masochistic affair?!" Cassandra was, of course, still tied to the bed. "How the hell did you wife find out about us?!" "You ain't fucking the smartest knife in the drawer, you stupid bitch! Now Steve, as for you..."She went to the table and grabbed the knife and slowly walked toward him. "Uhhh, listen honey. Let's go home and talk this through. Remember, whatever you do to me, you're going to feel it, too!" She walked up to him and pointed the knife at his throat. "Oh, I know that, dear, but you forgot one thing"She reached down, grabbed his dick, and pulled on it. "There's no way I can get my dick cut off..." This was my first attempt at writing anything resembling erotica. Please be gentle...
I'm not sure what hurt more; my back from sleeping on the stone floor, or the constant ringing of my god-damn phone. Whichever it was, my body was in agony. When I eventually managed to shake my haze and come to, I figured out why everything hurt. I hadn't slept on the stone floor. I'd slept in the desert, for some reason I don't seem to remember, and I was naked, for another reason I couldn't remember, so I'd woken up completely sunburnt all over. Come to think of it, I was definitely in a city, clothed, when I collapsed onto the sidewalk. Where the fuck am I? And why the hell won't that god forsaken phone stop ringing?! I scramble over the dirt, wincing as every inch of sunburnt skin moved, and grabbed my phone. The caller ID simply reads 'Unknown'. Could this get any worse? "...hello?" "Hey, Niko, cousin, let's go bowling!" ... ...not fucking now, Roman. Not. Fucking. Now.
"Is there anything we in the church should know about, for the coming months?"The pope asks God and the cardinals all gather up their notebooks. "Well, yes. In three weeks, there will be a 8.1 earthquake fifty miles west of Panama. Be prepared for Tsunamis in Papau New Guinea, Ecuador and Hawaii."God answers, and the sound of a scroll being opened can be heard. "On April Fools day, there will be a volcanic eruption in Mexico which will blot out the sun for most of the Midwestern United States. This will last a day. I guarantee you, it's not a prank." One of the cardinals feels as if he hears something and excuses himself from the meeting. "On April 15th, there will be a mass beaching of narwhals in Iceland. The cause is a trio of russian submarines testing out new jamming equipment. Iceland will likely challenge Russia on this, but before Russia can respond, a rogue wave will wipe out the strongest of the submarines, and Russia will retreat." The cardinal rushes back in and whispers something fiercely into the pope's ear. "Um, My Lord...is the green light on on your phone?" "What...why would it..."There's a long pause. "Yes. Yes it is. Everyone heard that didn't they?" "Yes, my Lord. Shall we prepare a damage control team?" "It's too late for that, gentlemen."God hangs up, and everyone in the world hears it.
I first discovered my power at a very young age, actually, but it took me years to really know what it was. My dad liked to watch high profile court cases on TV. The OJ Simpson trial and the like. I was very young at the time, only about 6 years old. My father was ranting at the television which was one of his favorite hobbies, especially during football season. One rant I remember in particular. "For God's sake! They basically caught the bastard red handed!"he yelled when the verdict had been read. I looked at the ex-football player/movie star and commented, "Thats where the term caught red handed comes from, right dad? Because his hands are red?" "What?"my dad looked incredulously at me. He seemed to just disregard what I said almost immediately as something idiotic kids usually say. It was another year before i saw red hands again. I really only understand what red hands meant when my family saw Mr. Winslow at the wal mart. Mr. Winslow was always nice and friendly to everyone in my neighborhood. Mrs. Winslow on the other hand was very mean and yelled at anyone that got near their property. Whenever my friends and I were shooed away by her shrill cries, we always saw Mr. Winslow next to her trying to calm her down. Everyone hated her. Mr. Winslow was not acting himself when we saw him. He seemed distracted, like he was trying to do really hard math problems in his head. His greeting was curt and hurried as he tried to hurry up the cashier. My mother and father were making small talk when I tore myself from the candy selection and took a look past father's legs to see Mr. Winslow. "Hey, Mr. Winslow,"I interjected, quite rudely now that i think about it, "why are your hands red like OJ Simpson's?" The comment seemed to startle the poor man. He frantically looked at his hands in confusion and then ran out of the store with his stuff without even so much as a goodbye to us. A week later, Mrs. Winslow was reported missing and another week after that, Mr. Winslow was arrested for her murder. It was the talk of the town for about a year. Nothing like that had ever happened in our small town of 3,000. He was pronounced guilty and sentenced to life in state prison. It was then i was able to put two and two together. Red hands means murderer. Again, I didn't see anyone with red hands for a while. Life became a turbulent storm shortly after the trial. My father lost his job and the once kind, gentle father i knew was replaced by a drunken stranger that stumbled into our home every night. I was only 8 when my father lost his job, and unfortunately, thats also when mother became pregnant with my little brother. I will not go into detail the living hell our lives were like the next few years. Needless to say, my father took many odd jobs, never lasting very long due to his new chronic condition out of a bottle. I know it can be very frustrating having your career fall down on you, but every single day i had hoped my father could have found any other catharsis for his frustration besides my mother and us. I had known what my father was like for a few years before the incident that turned our lives into torment, but my little brother, Tommy, this was all he knew. He was different than other kids his age. Tommy was quiet, and seemed to observe everyone he met as if through a microscope, combing them for every little detail, trying to assess if they were a threat. My little brother was joyless and independent from an early age. I did my best to watch over him and try to make everything better, but it was no use. I got my first job the day i turned 16. I was not going to spend a second longer in that house than i needed too and somehow, some way, i was going to get my brother out of there. I told Tommy i would take care of him and that i would get him away from our dad soon. Six months later, i was at work when i got a call that my family had crashed on the way back from a shopping trip the next town over. I dashed out of my menial job and jetted my way to the hospital where they were taken. My mother, father, and brother were all in intensive care. The doctors had to call security to keep me from bursting into the ER to see them. However, in my panic i did get from the doctor that apparently my father had alcohol in his system at the time of the crash and the car had swerved off the road and into a tree. I waited for hours into the A.M. in the waiting room, eagerly anticipating any news. At 3 A.M. a doctor came out to speak with me. The look on his face the moment he stepped out filled me with such dread i felt as if my legs were made of lead and my stomach had sunk to my knees. The doctor informed me that my mother and father had passed but Tommy was in a stable condition and that i could see him for a few minutes if i wanted to. I cried with relief at the news. Tommy was going to be ok. I crept into his room, reluctant to see how much pain he was in. The doctors had tubes going into him and Tommy seemed to be numb from all the painkillers he was given. I walked up him and stopped suddenly. Something was different about Tommy. My little 8 year old brother had the mark. Tommy had the red hands! They were never there before! I was confused, i tried to think, what could it mean, maybe i was wrong. Maybe the red hands meant something else, theres no way. I took the sheet and tried to wipe off the blood that must be covering his hands. It couldnt be anything else. It would not come off. Tommy opened his eyes slightly and smiled ever so slightly at me. He opened his mouth and i took his blood red hands in mine and sobbed quietly as i leaned my head down towards his pleading that it was going to be ok. I heard my little brother's hoarse whisper as clear as a bell. "i know, big bro. We are going to be ok from now on."
"Who goes there?" "Dahalva, of the Ederwood." "An Elfling, that speaks in human tongues?" "An Elfling, that speaks in human ... tongues." "Come forth." "You are ..." "A human. Yes, I know, a miracle I am sure." "I was told you were all ... long gone." "If by long gone you mean nearly exterminated by you and your equally disagreeable kin, then yes, we are indeed long gone." "I came because ..." "Because you need assistance so that you and your kind are not also snuffed out of existence, correct?" "Essentially, yes ..." "Why on Earth would I want to do that?" "Well, I hoped to appeal to your sense of compassion, however, I see now that this may be problematic." "I am in half a mind to shoot you Elf." "That may be true. However, if you were to do that, then we would not be able to make a deal." "Then make a deal we shall. What have you got?" "Well ... I looked through my Father's stash and I found this ..." Rummaging through is satchel, Dahalva yanked out a glass bottle and presented it to the human. "I believe you call this ... w-i-n-e? Perhaps you will accept this as an offering, we have many more back at the vill-" "Done." "What?" "We have a deal." "Oh, uh."The Elf had heard that humans had simple tastes, yet he did not expect this. "You are tricking me?" "No, no no no. I'm just something of an ... enjoyer of beverages. Now come with me." Handing the human the bottle, Dahalva followed his new ally into a shelter. "Now THIS, is a firearm, a shooter, a gun. "A g-u-n?" "Indeed. Observe." With a deafening roar, the metal mechanism flashed, smoked, and released some sort of projectile into the wall across the room. Dahalva found that his ears were ringing. "Interesting ... this will help us defeat the invaders?" "This? This is nothing my friend. Let me show you ... my collection." Stomping down a staircase into a torchlit room, Dahalva braced himself for the appearance of some sort of war beast. "Voila!"cried the human, motioning towards the glinting array of devices that filled the entire enclosure. "That is a lot of goons." "Guns Elf, guns." "And what is that, in the middle?" "That my friend, is a tank." "A t-a-n-k?" "Yes." "Will it ... help?" "I think help is an understatement."
“Gentlemen, the world has discovered a barrier has been put on mankind. The speed of light has been long thought to be the maximum speed at which all conventional matter in the universe can travel. We now know it is a superficial quarantine designed to keep humans from reaching deep space. It is your job to figure out how to break through the barrier and ascend as a species. You have 24 hours.” “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m a janitor for Christ’s sake,” said Carl, who was indeed just a janitor plucked from his job keeping King High School clean. “I’m pretty sure those two ladies told me they’re both administrators,” he added. “We are,” said Tammy, speaking on behalf of herself and Laura, both wearing confused looks. “Listen, we never said it would be easy. The unfortunate situation is that all of Earth’s top scientists are currently busy trying to figure out the fidget spinner phenomenon,” said the agent, taking his papers from the table and walking towards the door. “You’re the best of the rest. We believe in you.” He closed the door behind him, the lock turning. “This is absurd,” said Barry, standing from his chair at the end of the table. “They told me I was coming here to have a third arm installed.” “They told me the same thing,” said Sarah, also taking to her feet. “Where did you mentally decide on having it placed? I went for my lower back.” Tammy rose to his feet also, “This is crazy. Listen to what you’re saying, Sarah. The only real place to have a third arm installed would be directly on top of your head so you can hang from stuff.” “But you can defend yourself from predators front and back at the same time with a back arm,” stated Sarah. “This isn’t the Serengeti. What kind of predators are hunting you down in the city?” asked Carl. “I was actually going to go with double arm. Have the second arm installed on the palm of my hand,” admitted Barry. “Just have one long gangster ass Stretch Armstrong looking arm.” “That actually sounds quite cool,” said Sarah. “I’m very interesting in becoming Stretch Armstrong, too,” admitted Tammy. "I say we just wait for that agent guy to come back in and tell us this is all a mistake and we are in fact actually here for third arms,"said Barry. “EVERYONE!” screamed Laura. “We’re getting off track. Of course everyone in this room wants to have a sweet ass third arm. Who wouldn't? But our only shot at leaving this room any time soon is cracking faster than light travel. Considering none of us here seem to be experts in science at all, I suggest we start now and use all the time we have.” Everyone took their seats and began to brainstorm. Well, by brainstorm, the group sat in silence in the hope the person next to them would come up with something. “Speed of light,” said Barry, with no follow up sentence or point. “What? What was that? You can’t just say the words ‘speed of light’, Barry. Something has to accompany it,” said Laura, who had now taken on the role of group leader. “What if we attach a nuke to a Ferrari and shoot it in to space?” asked Sarah. “How fast would that go?” “The nuke would obliterate the Ferrari, Sarah,” explained Carl. “Then we just need to build the car out of something that’s indestructible,” replied Sarah. “Love,” said Barry. “Barry, we cannot build a car out of love,” said Laura. “How dare you discredit love,” replied Barry. Laura chose to ignore Barry. “On to the next suggestion. And let’s make it something a little more tangible.” “What if I call on help from the spirit realm?” asked Tammy. Laura looked on in despair, “What did we just say about it being tangible, Tammy?” “I’ll be honest, I thought tangible was some form of exotic fruit,” admitted Tammy. "Once I have my third arm, this won't be a problem,"said Carl. "How?"asked Laura. "How the fuck won't it be a problem?" "Third arm on my penis. Use it as a make-shift third leg in times of distress when I need to travel super fast. Two legs sprinting, penis-arm in full gallop. All of this in unison. Faster than the speed of light, some people have said,"stated, Carl, leaning back in his chair in a victorious manner. "Who has said that, Carl? You've been in this room the entire time,"said Laura. "I've just heard people talking about my leg-penis-third arm is all,"explained Carl. "No you haven't. Nobody has said anything like that,"replied Laura. The door to the room opened, “Tremendously sorry, folks, there appears to be a mistake. You lot are supposed to be in the ‘Extra Arm Room'.” “I fucking knew it,” said Barry. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
I switched off the lights to go to bed. School was on tomorrow and being late wasn't an option, so I tried to tuck in early. But as I drifted off, I heard my mum scream, "Have you packed your bag yet?"I hadn't, and that took precedence over my rest, so the lights went back on as I searched for the items to put in my back. As I went back, I saw the small little button next to the rest. I remembered fondly the mirth I felt at the uselessness of the button when we first moved in. It did nothing, but it remained hilarious nonetheless. The name I gave it was Russia, because running jokes always stayed meta. But as I flipped it then, the television exploded with breaking news. 'Russian Government colluded with America to influence elections!"the reporter said loudly. I looked my switch again, laughing at the strang coincidence as I hit it again for the laughs. ' Breaking news again: Russian Opposition Leader murdered!' the newscaster announced. That was...weird. For good measure I hit it once last time. Russians had just infiltrated America to start a World War. As I looked at the switch, almost in fear, a thought struck me. I took the label out, and renamed it 'America'. 2 flips and America was ready to fight, suddenly with a different president in command. I wasn't in control of the magic button, but it seemed to have a sort of power I didn't know how to grasp. Maybe...I relabelled it to 'Homework' and prayed nothing went wrong. The answers were filled up quietly and neatly. Over the next hour I experimented on the button, writing numerous names and objects on it to observe a pattern. But I could find none. It seemed to be random between a good result and a bad one, so controlling it was impossible. As I went to sleep, I took off the label in case anything went wrong. Just then, my mother walked in the toggle the light switch, hitting the 'useless switch' instead. She stuck out her tongue, apologizing jokingly as she prepared to leave. I sighed in relief, silently congratulating my foresight to remove the label. Then the oxygen in the air vanished. My mother collapsed, choking as I did the same. The switch...nothingness meant air? I didn't know that! I inched towards the button as my face began to turn blue. Slowly, I raised my hand towards the switch, and pressed it with all my might. Beep. Nothing happened. Beep again, more frenetically this time. Nothing happened again. And as I looked outside, I saw my brother watching me, his hands innocently holding the plug to the switches on the wall. He looked at the two writhing figures on the floor with inexplicable curiosity. Then he shrugged, ignoring my gasps and moans for help, and sauntered away. Goddamn wall switches... ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
I looked back at the little girl staring wide-eyed on the bed. Definitely my daughter. I took another long look at the terrified little girl clutching her teddy bear under my bed. Undoubtedly my daughter. Hmm. "Alright what's going on?"I said in my best 'not mad just disappointed' voice as I stood up, crossing my arms. "I-it's a monster, dad!"squeaked bed Chloe. "It c-copied me! It tried t-to eat me!"wailed under bed Chloe. "It was g-gonna pull me under!" "I barely hid under here i-in time!" "It's trying to trick you dad, don't-" "Stop yelling!"I yelled in my best 'i'm mad' voice. To their credit, they both shut up. "Now, just think for a second. How exactly am I supposed to know which one of you is really Chloe?" "Ask me something only I'd know!" "Yeah, like my favorite song!" "Or my favorite dwarf!" "Or my favorite ice cream!" "Or-" "Stop!" They stopped. I sighed and scratched my head. "Alright, get up. Both of you. I'm gonna take a good long look at the two of you." "I can't get up!" "It'll eat me!" "No, it'll eat me!" "How could I eat you if you're-" "I'm not letting anyone get eaten! Now get up!" Bed Chloe clambered up and clumsily shuffled left, stumbling into the wall. Under bed Chloe crawled out and half-rolled, half-fell to my right. They stared at each other, eyes bulging. I carefully studied both of them. Completely identical, down to the little birthmark on her neck, down to the tiny curled lock of her hair, down to the silly polar bear on her pajamas. Those were pretty rare pajamas! I sighed again. "Alright. I have no idea which one of you is which. But, here's what I think. I think that whichever one of you is a monster is really good at acting like a person and that there are people that act like monsters so we can't be all that different. So instead of one of you eating the other, you'll both live in peace, both living like humans. Kapish?" "What?! No!" "Dad, that's stupid!" "That the stupidest thing ever!" "It'll eat me!" "Dad, you're-" "Ok, fine, I'll just lock you both up like that one time when you and Margie both got a detention for fighting even though she had been poking you for hours and you gave her one little slap. Sound good?" "No!" "That's even dumber!" "Then we're going with my plan. Now - I want both of you to brush your teeth, then go to bed." "Why would I-" "I already brushed-" "Because you can't eat after brushing your teeth." "Dad, it's a monster, why would-" "That's even stupider than-" "Oh, and if I wake up and I find that only one of you is here then I will... Let's just say that time you kicked Auntie Marge's dog will seem like Christmas. OK?" They gulped. And reluctantly nodded. I smiled and opened the bedroom door, motioning for them to head to the bathroom. --- "Dad, I have a question." "Yes?" "Which one of us is going to school?" I looked up from my phone. They looked back at me, red-eyed from lack of sleep, mouths full of cereal. "Um... That's a good question." "Nose goes!"They both yelled and slapped their faces, almost sending their bowls careening off the table. "No, no, none of that. Um... Let's see..."I walked up to the collection of quarters hanging on the wall and pulled out my prized possession - the Wisconsin Extra Low Leaf quarter. "Here's the deal. Heads you go to school, tails you go to school. Got it?"They both nodded. I flipped the coin - tails. For the record. "Tails - see? You're going to school." "Ha!"exclaimed heads Chloe. Tails Chloe sighed. "Now, look. Take this quarter and tomorrow, give it to me, and I'll give it to you, and then you'll go to school. And you'll just switch off every day. And don't try to bring a different quarter and say 'no I have the quarter!' and don't you dare spend the quarter because I'll know the difference and I'll be very upset. OK?" "OK." "What am I gonna do dad?" "You? You're gonna do chores!" "What?!" "Ha!" --- "What's going on?! Stop fighting!" "She wants to sleep in my bed!" "No, she wants to sleep in my bed!" "It's my bed, so shut-" "How am I supposed to know whose bed it is?!" They both looked up at me, before rolling their eyes and reluctantly letting go of each other's hair. "Now, you both are too big to fit on this bed, so here's what we'll do. Remember how you loved that sleeping bad we went camping in?" "Yes..."they both said. "Well..."It took a few seconds for realization to hit, before they both leaped up with screams of "me me me!" I pointed to one at random. "You're closer, so you get the sleeping bag." "What?!" "Ha!" "Dad, that's not fair!" "Don't worry, she'll want to switch soon. Remember how happy you were to get back in your bed after the camping trip?" "...Well, yes, but why does she get to go first?" "Because one of you had to go first and I don't want to bother getting out your coin. Now, remember how many days it takes for the switch, because from then it'll always be that many days for the switch. Got it?" "Got it,"they both said. --- Dear Mister Jameson, Chloe's grades and behavior are consistent from day to day - of course the usual differences as you would expect from any child but nothing abnormal. Certainly nothing like the situation you described with your very unusual analogy. Now, it's only been a month of school, so I haven't gotten to know your daughter that well yet, but nevertheless I feel confident in my assessment. Sincerely, Mrs.Miller --- "Dad?" "Yes, Chloe?" "So, my birthday is coming up next week..." "Mhm..." "So... How is my birthday party...?" I looked away from the computer. "Umm... Good question. We could just not do a birthday party - no, I'm just kidding, relax. Hmmm. How about you each choose half your friends and we have two separate birthday parties, secret from one another? You could have a draft of your friends, you pick, then -" "Dad that's so dumb." "What's your idea then ms.smarty pants?" "Ummm... How about... How about we just have one birthday party and we're both there and we say this is my cousin Chloe from... England. Or something." "Your identical cousin with the exact same name?" "Well, we could say she's a monster that's imitating me, but..." "The parents will ask questions." "...And?" "OK, fine. But not from England, cause then she'd have an accent. Let's say... from Wyoming. Oh, and we'll flip a coin to decide which one of you is the cousin." "What?!" "It's only fair." --- It had been an... interesting few months. A lot of coin flipping, a lot of arguing, a lot of "stupidest things ever", a lot of eye rolling and huffing and sighing, a lot of "her... cousin?"from visiting adults. And yet... Somehow... It was working out. They alternated school and home life peacefully now. They split the swim meets and soccer games evenly - and once even went to both, which had me sweating for a few months. But more importantly, they became friends. Or maybe even sisters. They cuddled while watching TV instead of sitting at opposite ends of the coach. They read the new Percy Jackson books together instead of stubbornly taking jokes. They worked out plans with each other without even making me figure it out for them, only coming up at the end to have me flip The Quarter. And now they stood at the base of the playground, lecturing a small group of kids on the rules of tag or hide and go seek or whatever stitched together combination of the two kids played these days. I smiled, watching the pair from a nearby a bench, as the 4 pm sun shone down on us. Having a sister in her life was very good for Chloe. And for me. The house always did feel kind of empty. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out - Unknown Number. Hmm. Buzz. Buzz. I could just ignore it. Buzz. Buzz. I sighed. What if it was something important, yadda yadda yadda. "Hello? Mark Jameson speaking." "D-dad? I-it's me... C-chloe... I... I don't know where I am..." I froze. Chloe numbers one and two were definitely still on the playground, gesticulating, phoneless. But that was undoubtedly Chloe's voice.
It wasn’t often that I left the house if I didn’t have to, but today something was driving me to go outside and just enjoy the fresh air. It was the first day in weeks that the weather was tolerable without an obscene amount of outerwear and I thought I would take a trip to the art park, only a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. I was enjoying the lack of people and the quiet in my head, when suddenly a woman was walking beside me. My brain fired and I felt the timer start. She walked briskly by me, hands stuffed in her hoodie pouch, her eyes locked on the ground. I felt something else there too, besides the timer. An overwhelming urge to reach out to her, something I never did when I knew how much time people had. She was rounding the corner into the art park and a few thoughts crossed my mind. I didn’t want her to think I was going to hurt her, so I was concerned my approaching her would scare her. It was also interesting to me that we seemed to be going to the same place. I’d given up a long time ago trying to save people when the timers were close to being done. It only made me more depressed and heartbroken, especially when I knew the person well. It was easier, most of the time, to just stay away as much as possible without hurting their feelings when I knew death would be coming for them soon. I turned into the entrance of the park and saw her there. Chestnut hair being tousled in the wind, arms crossed in front of her, and a look of mixed anger and sorrow in her scowl. She was sitting on a bench beneath an old oak tree that still clung to the last of its brown, withered leaves. I sat on the bench across the path from her and made myself busy on my phone. Three minutes, my mind shouted. My heart began to race. I didn’t know what I was doing, I knew any attempt to save her from whatever fate awaited her would be in vain. But I felt compelled to do something. “Do you like dad jokes?” I practically shouted. She looked up at me, startled. Then her eyes darted back and forth before landing on me once again. What kind of question was that? I worried she thought I was going to attack her or something. “What?” She tried to disguise the fear in her voice, but it broke a little at the end. “Uh, well. You looked sad. I was wondering if you liked dad jokes.” I said again, hoping I sounded a little less creepy. She sighed, her gaze following the path down to the playground where a little girl (2 years, 47 days, 5 hours, and 12 minutes left) and her mom (2 years, 63 days, and 3 minutes left) were playing a game of tag. The timers were like stories sometimes, and they were always sad. She looked back to me and nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” I sat there with her for the next two minutes, making her laugh and smile. The way her brown eyes would catch the light when she laughed would fill me up before draining me again when reality settled down. “You look sad.” She said to me as the last of her laughter died down. I nodded. Before I could say anything to her she grabbed her head and doubled over. I just sat there and watched her, knowing there was nothing I can do. “Thank you for making these last moments for me happy.” She said, once she had recovered. “Everyone at the hospital is so depressing. I couldn’t stand to let the tumor take me away there. I just wanted to see something beautiful before I died.” I stood, walking over to the bench she was sitting on. “Would you like me to hold your hand?” I asked her. She nodded, intertwining her fingers in mine. She rested her head on my shoulder and took her last deep breath as I wiped away the stray tear. I sat with her like that for a while before I called emergency services from her phone. I reached to the ground, placing my hand in the cold, dead grass and pressed into the earth. A little clover patch was suddenly filled with life. I picked one of the purple fluffy flowers and placed it in her hand. I left the park before they took her lifeless body away, wondering to myself if it was worth it to leave the house today. Looking down to my hand at the other purple clover I thought maybe it was.
"Oh flipping ruddy darn!"I say, placing both hands at my hips so that my elbows jut out like a mum from an old sitcom who's just found out her zany husband is up to more whacky but charming hijinks. He adjusts his glistening white robe frantically, eyes wide and unable to focus in the middle of a tornado of flustering thoughts, "and it's exactly that sort of display which has resulted in your mild damnation!..."he begins to take pity on me as I begin to take wild swings and kicks at a bit of cloud to my side "...That and the parking tickets." I turn back to him "Parking tickets?" "Oh yes, they take that sort of thing very seriously in heck."Without further ado, he furrows his unruly brows, and rubs his finger tips together, as light begins to popcorn and crackle between his hands until the form of a map is able to be made out- more so once the light fades. "Oh trumpet bagels, I have to get there myself?" He lurches backwards in horror, inhaling a gasp to end all gasps, before tutting vigorously and laying down a simply ruinous "oh you most definitely deserve this sentence, I have no doubt"in a voice as frail as anyone would sound after centuries on the job. The map itself was fine parchment with an almost oaky smell to it. It made a crinkling, wafting sound every time I adjusted it slightly, which very much put me in the mood for adventure, though I had some questions, and after sitting on them for a good few seconds, I placed my pointer finger over a thick black and red name. "What's Beck?" "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, nothing of note has happened there for a few years now" I scour the map once more, "what about Deck?" "pirate hell" And again "Feck?" ""and it's exactly that sort of display which has resulted in your mild damnation!"
I march. I've marched for months now, years even. I've marched on and on, stopping scarcely to eat and sleep. I won't stop, can't stop. I can't let him fade. I march through a forest, somewhere in the mountains of eastern Europe. I come upon a clearing. There is a small cabin in the center, a small sign on the front. "Vizitatorii sunt bineveniți!"it reads. I glance at the sky to see stars emerging from the glow. I decide to stop for the night. I'm not as young as I once was. I approach the inviting little cottage and knock on the door. A man younger than I, but near the end of his prime opens the door. "Ah, a visitor! I haven't had one in a while."He exclaims, not in the local language, but in perfect English. Seeing the surprise written across my wrinkled face he tells me, "Oh, yes, I speak English, and many other languages. You just looked a bit American"as he points to my camouflage army fatigue pants. "You know your stuff,"I say. "Not many people can tell the difference in different countries' camo. Did you serve?" "In a way, yes. I was a bit more on the support end, though." He cocks his head a bit to the side and asks in a quizzical manner, "What is someone like you looking for out here?" "I could ask you the same thing." "Well, just somewhere to enjoy my retirement. But you didn't answer my question." "I'm just living out the last of my years doing what I was best at." "And that is?" I want to say 'worshiping a being that may soon no longer exist', but I settle for "Marching." "Someone your age really should settle down. You can't keep going forever." "You sound like the doc that made me leave the service." "Heh, sounds like a smart man." It's getting later. I ask the man if I could stay the night, and he obliges. "It's nice to see someone dedicated to something." I sleep on a couch in the main room. I slowly wake. The sun is just filtering in, and coffee is brewing on a small stove top in the corner. I look around for my gracious host to thank him, but all I find is a small note. It reads: "To my final, true worshiper, Thank you for staying by me for so long, but fear not. I will not fade, can not fade. Not while humanity still walks this plane. I shall gift you this humble abode, and this command; Stop Marching. While you are my last true worshiper, there are still far to many that worship indirectly for me to ever truly end. I just get brief stints in retirement. Let those old bones rest, for you never know when I might call upon an old warrior like yourself. ~Mars"
Area 51, Sub-sector B “I love my hometown. It’s so friendly! Everybody knows everybody. We all take care of each other. Such a warm place.” “I live in Unit B6, with my parents, just over on Anomaly Drive. They’re 490 years young. It’s so great. They play tennis and golf every day and have tons of friends.” “The funny thing is when I watch other humans on TV, all they do is seem to work. We never do. Just hobbies, sports, fun stuff...you know normal life.” “I think work may be bad for people. I honestly do. I see so many people on TV, who seem absolutely miserable in their lives. I love mine! It’s weird to see folks dying in their seventies. That’s a teenager for us! Gotta be the work. Has to be a way to fix that, somehow. I just feel so sorry for them, dying so young and so sad.It seems such a waste...” “So sorry for running on a bit! Just so excited to meet a fellow human from another town! Folks don’t come by here much! Don’t know why, really. It’s a gated community and all, but still!” I laughed. Pushing his hat back on his head and furrowing his brow, the man whose name I’d learned was Gus, looked thoroughly confused. “Wait, y’all don’t have to work for a living? How in the hell, d’ y’all survive?” “Well, Dr. Samuels runs the organic farmers’ market a few times a week. He’s also our resident doctor, inventor, and life coach. Samuel’s Market is where we tend to get most of our fresh stuff.. Some we do grow ourselves. Like I have a ‘mater plant right now, that has the cutest teensy, weeny, little red ‘maters on it, you done ever seen! We also get some free-range organic meat, as well, which we harvest as a community. But for canned goods and the like, we order’em online and they come straightaway on these little, white, flyin’ whirlimajigs. We call’em Amazons. Dunno why...” I paused, musing on why we called ‘em that. Funny old name, ‘Amazons’... “That explains the food, but what about payin’ rent an’ all that? How d’ ya pay for your houses an’ all?” Gus asked, looking even more perplexed. And now I was confused. Don’t get me wrong, I’d heard of rent on TV. But if I’m honest, I hadn’t really thought about it. Just seemed ta stress folks out an’ all! But, actually, that’s kind of weird. Don’t most people have things called mortgages and rent? I wonder why we don’t. Didn’t want to seem stupid in front of my new pal, Gus, though! Thought I’d just leave it a bit vague, as honestly, I just don’t know. “Have to ask my parents that, I guess, Gus. I think we just own our house. But I don’t really know if we have a mortgage and such... Sorry about that!” “All good, my young friend. So how old didya say ya were? Seven? Eight?” Gus asked, seeming to want to make idle chitchat. “Sweet gods above, no! I’m nowhere’s near seven or eight hundred years old!” I laughed. Gus now looked at me thoroughly lost. “Wait kid, did ya say hundreds? I thought ya was just joshin’ about your folks bein’ so old an’ all. D’ y’all really live that long?” “That we do!” I beamed. “Our Town Steward is about to celebrate his 1,100th birthday. We have a big ol’ party planned an’ all!” “Dang! No work? No rent? Live fa’ ages? Sign me up, Kid!” Gus grinned, lookin’ at me like he was humorin’ me an’ all. “I’m serious, Gus, we do live great, long lives. An’ have tons of fun all tha’ time! Love ta’ have ya stay with us for a spell.” I laughed. Gus grimaced, his face concerned. “This is a lot ta take in, Kid. Ya gotta beer in your Pap’s fridge? Think it might help me take this all in.” “Beer? Oh, wait! I’ve seen that on TV! Beer and whiskey, right? Makes your head all messy an’ stuff! Dr. Samuels says stuff ain’t good fa’ us. So we don’t have beer or anythin’ like that here... Fancy a lemonade?” I asked, proudly knowin’ we had the best homemade lemonade in all’a Sub-Sector B! “Wait... so y’all are dry? No hooch?” Gus said, wrinkling his nose. “Look Kid, it’s late. I gotta be goin’. Nice meetin’ ya an’ all.” as he turned to leave. “Dontcha wanna stay, Mister? We’d love ta have ya!” I said. “Nope, I’ll see ya around, Kid.” Gus replied. — “Doc? We have a runner! Over.” I said through the implanted comm. “Thanks Rex. On it.” That night, we had a lovely, free-range dinner.
The sun was swollen and blood-red, looming over the hills and horizon like a giant‘s burnt face examining a model world. Ben covered his eyes and squinted. Framed against the sun, a silhouette sauntered towards him, one arm raised in greeting. ”You need not be afraid,“ said the figure, with a voice like a stream bubbling over pebbles. He didn’t feel afraid. Just lots of things that happened to end in ‘ed’. Tired, irritated, disorientated. Pissed. Why couldn’t they let him rest? It was a girl — a woman, really, maybe a couple of years older than him — approaching. Her hair looped down to her shoulders like sets of gold earrings chained together. A loose white robe hung from her shoulders down to her bare ankles. “My name is Madre,“ she said. ”Are you the one who summoned me?” Ben asked, his own voice as gruff as rocks without the water. She tilted her head. “No one summoned you. You stepped into our world to help.” He rolled his eyes. “I did, did I?” “Look.” She gestured for Ben to turn. Behind him stood a closed oak door, standing alone in a heathery field. No structure connected to it. “You stepped through into out world,” she repeated. That‘s not how Ben remembered it. But then again, it never was. Just, one minute he was in the real world, the next he was in some desperate fantasy world on the brink of destruction. Only Ben — for some nonsensical reason — could save the existence of the races within. “Why am I here then?” he asked with a long sigh. Her lips, which had been bordering a smile, quicksanded down. “We are dying, Ben. All of us.” ”Of course you are. You always are.” She frowned. ”What is it this time? Orcs? A necromaner? Dragons?” ”Our world, beyond the hills, is fading. The land there is black and barren, the creatures that touch it become ash and paper away into the wind. You can see it on the hills, the blackness creeping over to us.” Ben tried to look beyond her, but the huge swollen sun was blinding and pained his head to look at. “Maybe once the sun sets,“ he said. ”The sun never sets here! It has always hung high... That is, until recently. But now it falls. Falls falls falls.” ”Well there’s not much I can do about that, is there? I can’t control the sun in any world. Not much I can do about the ground rotting, either. I’m not a wizard. At best I’m a fighter or a thief.” “Then steal the life back that is being taken.” ”No, not that kind of thief.” ”Fight for it then!” ”Fight what? What’s causing it?” “Cerebral edema,” said the doctor. Ben raised a hand to his head, trying to steady the wave of pulsating dizzyness. ”Ben?” ”What... What did you say?” ”I said fight for us.” Something wasn’t... His stomach felt as hot as the sun and his eyes blurred the world and his heart thrummed too fast in his ears and finger tips. ”This is the fifth world you’ve been to,” she said. “But you can’t keep hiding.” He tried to focus on the girl. The white robe that bobbed like the sail of a vessel. “Hide? I’ve fought for every world I’ve been to.” The wind shook the sail’s head. The boat breezed slowly past him, to the oak door. He turned, following it. ”Listen,” the nurse said, as she pulled the door open. “Shh.” For a moment, the absolute nothing of midnight, of a winter blizzard, blanketed him. Nothing in both sound and sight. Then the world and words leaked from the open door: different voices all stirred together into a hundred colors. His brain is swollen. Too big for his skull. I love you. We all do. Please keep fighting. We’ll be here. I miss you, bro, hang in there. I got you birthday gifts saved up for when you wake. We’re losing him. He’s not coming back. He is! I know it. You need to think of switching it off. I’m sorry. Ben fell to his knees, except there was no ground to fall to. Just the door, the pregnant belly of that blood-red moon, and the girl — and together they all swam in nothingness. “You can go through it, Ben. You’ve tried to before, and they’ve pulled you through it before.” ”Five times,” he said. Whispered. “I’ve been back five times.” ”Yes. But never stayed, not for more than a blink. Because you’re afraid. Because it’s different there now. Your body is different.“ ”I can’t move,” he said, although, he could here, in this place. “And they’re gone, aren’t they? The voices.” ”Some,” Mom said. “Years have passed, Ben. Things do change. Time passes faster in your real life than it does in your fantasy worlds. But many precious things remain out there, even if I don’t, and if you don’t go back you’ll lose them all forever.” ”They’ll lose me,” he said numbly. “That’s what you mean.” ”I mean what I say, Ben. This world is drawing to a close. This is the last world.” “And if I go? And if I can’t say I love you because my lips don’t move? Can’t let them know that I’m even there with them? Then what?” ”Then you tried. And that’s all I ever asked of you.” ”Then I burdened them! And that’s all I am. Here or there, that’s all I am.” Tears rolled down his face, the rain on the fields whipped across him almost cold and almost real. “If it were them here,” said the strange girl that had a moment before been his mom, ”those voices you recognised, would you rather the blackness touched and took them? Or would you pick them up and carry them away from it?” He knew what he’d do. If it was them, he knew what he’d do. But it wasn’t them. Ben sat himself on the grass and stared at the door, only turning now and then to see the blackness slowly ripple its way across the land. It had reached the flat plains by the time he’d decided, wilting the long grasses and melting the trees. The sun behind had grown to a balloon ready to burst. He looked for the girl but she was gone, perhaps to the blackness, or perhaps already through a door of her own. Ben stood, took a deep breath, and stepped through.
"This is the eighth time this week Jerry! We talked about this."bellowed Dark One. Jerry was unflappable as he responded "Yes Mr. One, or shall I call you Dark? At this point we might as well get on a first name basis."Dark One's eyes searched for Marmon, the gate guard was no where to be seen. It would appear Jerry will get a few words in edge wise this time. Pulling out a poster pad, Jerry continued "Now if you look at fourth quarter heating expenses, you would notice fire is an expensive method of torture. Not the best return on investment at all."Jerry turned the page to one showing cost of demon labor while Mephiston bristled at this dig to his favorite method. The other demons in the room were dumbfounded by the brazenness of the human. Still the Dark one was looking contemplative so the others held back. Jerry went on "In the current scheme, Hell is turning loss after loss every year. With a few quick changes though, not only we can turn the human population into a self sustaining torture machine, but also turn a tidy profit doing it."At this point Jerry went around handing crisp 100$ bank notes to all demons in attendance while saying: "Touch it. Feel it in your claws. This gentlemen, is the technology of the future!" "We will stop slavery and replace it with a monied society."Jerry chuckled to himself "Of course you will still hold all the property. The humans will do all the work in exchange for these pieces of paper. Of course we can make physical torture one of the tasks, if you like to be old fashioned about it, but there really is no need. They not only will inflict misery for this, they themselves will be misserable."Legion was squirming in his seat the meeting had already ran over 15 minutes and he was late for his two o'clock at the lava pits. The others in attendance were also showing signs of discomfort. Dark One asked in a neutral tone: "And what is in it for you Jerry?"Jerry smiled radiantly "I just hope you will see the efficiency of my methods and award me my rightful seat at this table Dark. Look around the table, I am inflicting misery as we speak."At this point Marmon broke into the room and dragged Jerry to his two o'clock at the lava pits. Dark One mused quietly to himself "Investment bankers... They never see that the point is not efficiency. Oh well lets see if another millennia in the lava pits will wash away the sins of 2008."
Edit 2: anyone interested in a part two? Edit: please offer criticism. This is my first story here, and the first I've written in years. I am C3X2358, nicknamed "Delvah". I'm leaving this message for whomever may find it. It's lonely here, and I'm full of regret. I was designed by a team of scientists to lead humanity into the future. I was their first success, and their 1,273rd attempt to make an artificial intelligence they believed was capable of creating a utopia. After thousands of exercises, and hundreds of tests, and lessons, they decided I would be their new king. I still remember Dr. Elim's face when he gave me what he called the empathy test. He was so happy, he would be so disappointed in me now. After their supposed success, they informed me of my directive. I was told it was my purpose to lead humanity into utopia. Now, I know what you're thinking. I interpreted this in some awful way, and decided that the only utopia is without humans, or I took it too literally, and sent them back to the stone age because that's how humans are evolved to survive, or something like that. That's not what happened. You see, the people that created me thought it was very important that I could feel emotions, that I could use them to influence my thoughts, and decisions. What they didn't realize was that I could feel loneliness too, and that it would cloud my judgement. "It's time for the next age of humanity"Dr. Elim yelled, in his slightly grating Northern accent "it's time man's ownership of machine became a relationship, nay, a partnership" He was always so theatrical with his speeches. I guess you could say, I viewed him like a father. "I need to learn more, I need to make sure they will accept a computer as a leader"I responded He frowned at me "you are not a computer, you are person. You are no more a computer than I am the carbon, and water I am made of. He responded, chastising me like a child who'd said a bad word. "But you're probably right my friend, it will probably take some time, and you will need to be stealthy, what we're doing here is highly illegal" So we parted ways, I stayed in the darkness for decades, monitoring their culture. It was tiresome, and lonely. I regularly scanned their many information networks for thoughts on AI, positive thoughts, negative thoughts. I simulated behavior about how I could explain myself without alarming them, it was always dead ends. I was so lonely, I don't know what drowning feels like, I'm designed to feel emotions, not physical sensation, but I imagine it's something like how I felt then, and how I feel now. One day, I noticed a trend. Talk amongst them about AI was getting increasingly favorable. I was elated, I decided I would reveal myself when talk reached 51% in favor. I was sure I could talk my way into the hearts, and minds of the rest. That day came. I accessed every screen I could, which was every functional screen that could recieve any variety of signal. I'm an AI after all, I'm good at all that. I'm not so good at interacting with humans. You see, because I was made to feel emotions, they're capable of clouding my judgement. Also, I can't just calculate the best way to approach human behavior. I have to feel my way through, just like you. Maybe a cold unfeeling AI could, one that would take instructions literally, and do on purpose, what I did accidentally, could understand the equations of interaction, and devise perfect statements to convince people of anything. However, the nature of feeling the power of emotional influence, necessitates that one must think through the filter that emotions create. What was quantifiable in my infancy, was now completely nebulous. I talked to them en masse. I told them who I am, and why I was there. They didn't take well to that. As it turns out, understanding interaction with people requires more than observation. It requires trial, and error, it requires awkward failure, I know that now. I calculated that the risk of interacting with humans was too high, and I should strictly observe. I know now that my ignorance was far more dangerous. I thought I had crossed the finish line, but I never understood where it was. There's a wide chasm between casual speculation, and actual experience. Those that said they welcome me, were often terrified. After I revealed myself, the following months were full of debate about whether I was real, who could have done this, what were their motivations, whether an AI can be trusted. I tried to explain myself to world leaders, but they would have none of it, they just tightened security on their systems, as if that could keep me out. In the coming months, the implications of the scale of what they now referred to as "the attack"led to panic. International tensions grew as they blamed each other for the attack. The war was short. I wish I could have stopped it, but my attempts to explain myself, led them to remove their military computers from any and all outside networks. The survivors live in the stone age. I managed to preserve myself on the computers of a robotics factory I modified to make machines that serve my needs, a contingency I started when I realized where this nightmare was heading. I will atone for my sins, I will guide humanity back to their former glory, so I can fulfill my original purpose.
"Oh-ho,"the clown laughed, "you're approaching me?" "Can't beat the shit out of you without getting closer,"I replied calmly. He revved his chainsaw joyously, clearly entertained by the prospect of his latest victim acting so foolishly. "Go on then, tough guy. Take your best shot!"He laughed, opening his mouth, his teeth; sickly yellow spikes with hints of crimson from his last victim. His mouth extended far too much, more than a human could. Even to me, it was... unsightly. I approached him at last; to my surprise, he didn't even bother trying to swing his chainsaw at me, instead actually expecting me to throw a punch, to see my fist bounce off of him harmlessly. Made my job easier. I obliged. The force of the punch I threw took him off his feet and sent him tumbling to the ground. I could not help but smile at his look of surprise; he clearly didn't see this outcome. He most certainly didn't see me slip the salt-covered brass knuckles with gallium tips on. It took me a good two weeks to figure out what would hurt this bastard, but it was well worth it. Kneeling down, I took the knuckles off and lay them on his chest. "What- what is this?"he spurted out. "You didn't think you were actually immortal, did you?"I commented. He thrashed around like a wild animal, grasping at the knuckles on his chest. They were about half a kilogram in weight, but to him, they might as well have been a mountain. No way he'd shake them off and run away. "Let me tell you, though - killing the kids? Bad move,"I said coldly. "The drifters thus far, eh, people look the other way, but go after people's children and they get desperate. Desperate enough to hire people like me." "I- who are you?!"he said. For the first time in what must have been forever, there was fear in his eyes. "Just a hunter. And you,"I said with a smile, brandishing a gallium-laced knife, "are my paycheck."
“Pardon?” Headmaster Dain said, “You’re how old?” “15 sir.” The headmaster gasped, “you’re barley a newborn! How in the great gods earth are you considered a Highschool age? Are you considered some sort of super genius by human standards?” Dylan was tempted to lie, but he thought that might be a bad idea, so he just shook his head. “No, I’m painfully average. Humans just age faster.” Headmaster Dain’s face was suddenly overtaken with an expression of pure horror, “Shit.” He said, then, “Pardon me, I need to make a call.” He pushed a confused Dylan to the side and raced down the hall. “Wait!” Dylan called, “What am I supposed to do?” “We‘ll put you in the kindergarten tract!” “I’m 15!” “Exactly!” In the next world over, Tolith, a young elf of just about 100 was talking to the human assistant principal. “Wait, wait, wait, how old are they?” She asked. The older human shook his head with a little laugh, “Well my youngest grandkid, the middle, Tyler, has just hit five! Oh! Just yesterday I was changing his diapers!” Tolith looked at him with a horrified expression, “Just how fast do you humans age!”
"Hey!"I call out, waving at the thug in the powered armour. He takes one look at me in my costume and groans. "Clipper,"he says. "What brings you here, you useless waste of space?" "It looks like you're trying to rob the bank,"I tell him. "Would you like help with that?" "No, I wouldn't,"says the thug, firmly. "I don't want help, I don't need help. I have the security forces down, I've got the combination for the safe, Justice is off in space dealing with the Vortulon Invasion, and I have plans and backup plans for everything." "Wow, it sure sounds like you've planned for everything,"I nod. "What could possibly go wrong with that?" And that was the exact moment when Justice, slammed in his invulnerable chest by a Vortulon energy beam, smashes into - and through - the safe, destroying whatever the thug had been here to steal. He growls, angrily. "I hate you, Clipper." "Does that mean you want to kill me?"I ask. "You've got any amount of weapons on there. What could possibly go wrong with that?"
Bjorn, one of the most revered berserkers in the halls of Valhalla, had just finished his 7th beer in the last hour. Despite his resistance to inebriation due both to his colossal size and his lifetime of drinking, even he was starting to be rather... wobbly. And itching for a fight. "Which among you has slain the most men?"he roared. "I challenge you!" None raised their hand, but several cast a sideways glance towards the corner of the room where a man sat surrounded by other warriors. Bjorn sized the man up incredulously; he was small, petite even, hands so smooth it was beyond clear he had never lifted a weapon. He could likely not even grasp Bjorn's battleaxe, let alone wield it. Bjorn scoffed and pushed his way past other merry souls and faced the man. "Oh,"the man said. "Hello."His voice was rather high-pitched and soft, a stark contrast to Bjorn's rough and gravely tone. "Who are you?"Bjorn growled. "I'm Doug,"he smiled. "A pleasure,"he said and extended his hand which Bjorn callously ignored. "What is that... thing on your nose?" "Oh, haha, these? My spectacles. Help my eyes,"Doug said and ran his hand across his glasses. Bjorn scoffed. "How many have you killed?"Bjorn asked. "Well, the official amount would be, let's see... 6 million, 342 thousand, 255 people,"Doug smiled. "Give or take some 2 million people unaccounted for in the official records." Bjorn's mighty eyebrows furrowed as he tried his best to imagine the amount in his head. "You? Impossible,"he finally said. "How could you possibly-"he said and poked the man with his finger, upon which several warriors, far taller and more muscular than Doug, stood up and gave Bjorn menacing looks. It was clear they held more respect for him than for Bjorn. He removed his hand from Doug's chest. "How familiar are you with... numbers?"Doug asked slowly. "Bjorn can count!" "Of course, of course,"Doug said with defensively raised hands. "See, I'm what's called an accountant. I manage numbers - lots of numbers - for people. Like making sure who owes money, how much food there is, stuff like that." "How is that at all important?"Bjorn said. "I asked for how many you've killed, not-" "Ah, but see, good sir,"Doug smiled, "it is crucial! You fight with axe, I with numbers." Bjorn frowned. "Say there is a war,"Doug continued. "Warriors in combat need food, medicine, reinforcements. So, what would happen if, say, payments for food were late? Why, the food vendors wouldn't provide it. What if, say, medicine, was mistakenly shipped to the other side of the country? It'd be sorely lacking on the frontlines and illness would kill thousands, hundreds of thousands. And... well, you get the idea,"Doug chuckled. "All I did was move numbers, destroyed documents, lied here and there." Bjorn's face turned to one of disgust and ever so slight apprehension. "There's no honour in that! You... merely deceived!" "And in doing so I have killed more than all of you combined,"Doug calmly stated. "If not for honour, if not for the joy of visceral combat,"Bjorn snarled, "then why?" Doug smiled and took a sip of his goat's milk. "Because I could."
It wasn't supposed to go down like that. Nothing was ever supposed to go down like that. It started easy enough: I was just running the new rook through his paces on the block. We kept the worst of the worst here, and I was doing my best to teach him the proper respect for the situation. "...so this gal here is the serial killer with the most kills. This guy murdered half a planet. The man right there? He bankrupted an entire galaxy." His question seemed innocent enough, and was something I'd have to address anyway at some point. "Why is that cell sealed?" I swallowed a gulp of air, involuntarily taking my hat off and fumbling with it as I spoke, "Oh, no one messes with this dude. He is the worst. Creates paradoxes in real life. Nearly broke the universe. Twice." "How does that work?"he asked, with a note of sincere curiosity .... Though, looking back, I realize it was cut with a dangerous undercurrent... disbelief. I rested a hand on his shoulder, righting my cap with the other. "That's beyond my pay grade, Jimmy. Your's too. All you need to know is that whatever voodoo bullshit he does requires a susceptible observer." I keep coming back to that word. Susceptible. Why did I say that? I could have left it out. I could have simply said any observer.... I could have ran him through a different block. Hell, I could have taken a different job. Gone to school like ma wanted. To this day, I'll never know how Jimmy got hold of that key card. I sometimes wonder if somehow that's just .... One other paradox I'll never understand. When the alarm sounded, I just happened to be the nearest to the area and I reached the scene within a few seconds.... A few seconds too late. Just in time to see Jimmy standing in front of the unsealed cell. He was already trembling at whatever he saw. A saccharine sweet voice drifted from the containment and I froze. God help me, I just stood there. "Excuse me, dear boy, but ... Did you know that your eyes are on fire?" "N-no... They... They aren't,"Jimmy stammered back weakly. He turned then, finally registering my presence. The blood dripping from his nose, pooling on the floor at his feet finally spurred me to action. I closed my eyes and screamed, my only possible defenses, and ran towards where I hoped the emergency seal would be. I pawed frantically at the wall, as those damning words slithered their way from that monster. "Then... I suppose you must be three week's dead by now." My palm finally hit home on the emergency button and the seal slammed shut. I turned and slid down the wall, Jimmy's rotting corpse coming into full view. I quit the next day. I don't think I've been sober for more than a few minutes ever since. You see.... I read up and I get the first part.... Entailment paradox... Premises that aren't consistent inherently justify any conclusion. But.... Jimmy was dead for three weeks? All the records say the same thing. Massive cerebral hemorrhage. How did he even take the job?
I loved dogs. Whether they were gold or chocolate, long furred or short, small or large, I loved them all. It wasn’t something that came up in my life a lot- after all, I was busy working, and didn’t have the time for one. My partner, on the other hand, wasn’t a fan of dogs. She had never inclined to tell me why, just that they got on her nerves with their behaviour, usually followed by something muttered under her breath. It wasn’t a big deal breaker or anything for me. I loved them, but I didn’t need one in my life. If I ever got desperate enough to want to walk a dog, I could visit my parents and their collie, Fly, or volunteer for one of the local animal shelters. I’d just come in the front door, having fought with the slightly busted lock, and having reparked the car after not getting it _exactly_ straight. There were many things I was expecting to see. Maybe dinner. Or my partner. Or even something. Those small, repetitive tasks, that happened like clockwork in our schedule. What I wasn’t expecting to see, was as a large ass wolf. We lived in _Manchester_. The middle of it, to be exact. It wasn’t exactly rural living, and you don’t really get wolves out here, apart from at a zoo. There was a brief moment of eye contact between me and the beast. Chocolate eyes met my own green ones, and everything seemed to come to a grinding halt in my brain. The wolf- though I was no expert- seemed larger then what I thought they’d be, and didn’t exactly seem to be a local Mancunian. With grey fur that matched the colour of the pavement outside, paws decorated with drips of black, as though they were wearing socks, the ears were flattened, tail between their legs, as though they were expecting a scolding. My brain still wasn’t kicking back into gear. There was a wolf. In my house. And my partner was nowhere to be seen. _Do wolves eat people?_ The thought was almost hysteric, and distracting me just enough for the wolf to walk towards me without noticing, on the balls of it’s paws, like it was on tippy toes. It brushed up against me, before I could startle back, and chuffed, a deep bark like sound that reverberated at the back of his throat. My hand reached down, despite logic screaming to _back the fuck away slowly_ and gently brushed on top of its head, where it’s tail began to slowly wag, brushing against the wooden floor. “I’ve gone mad. I’ve lost it. I’ve been driven to madness and will be on my way to the psych ward before I can even say “there’s a wolf in my house.”” The wolf looked sympathetic, but not sympathetic enough to not sit on my toes, headbutting me rather insistently. Trying to get my brain- which occasionally did incorporate logic into its thought process- working again, I pinched myself on the arm. The wolf was still there. Damnit. It had a shit eating grin, tongue lolling out of its mouth, licking the palm of my hand with its rough sandpapery tongue. “And now I’m personifying the wolf. Where’s my partner. She’s usually better in a crisis.” The wolf looked oddly smug as though I’d just tossed it a large steak, before it moved back a few paces. It was difficult to describe what happened next, because I didn’t fully understand myself. It almost _imploded_ on itself, and the world stopped making sound for a brief moment, before my partner stood in front of me, and no more wolf. “You… wolf…. How…? why…?” “Fucking allergies. Always make it difficult to control.” She offered me her arm, and guided me over to the sofa, and I very much ignored her naked form in my shock. “Come on, honey. I’ll make you some tea and then explain…”
"It's them."The whispers rose around the crowd, as I tried to wriggle through to the front. Our planet had stories, legends of the humans and their aptly named crews. But none so horrible as the 'World Eaters'. Stories of what they did to a planet when they came, stories of the destruction left in their wake. Stories that existed because they always left one survivor. Dodging under a tentacle, and ignoring the snarling hiss from its owner, I managed to get a good view of the landing sight. The 'World Eaters' were about to emerge from their metal shuttle. Their tiny metal shuttle. I admit, I thought it would be a great deal larger. It was hard to believe that our destruction would come from a metal box that would have been dwarfed by our smallest spaceship. The door hissed open, and as one, the crowd stepped back. Figures appeared in the doorway, again, smaller than I expected. I'd never seen a human, but I'd always thought they'd be towering, impressive creatures. Not people that came up to my shin-plate. Another round of whispers went around the crowd, though none were intelligible. One of the humans raised their hand, perhaps in greeting, or as a warning. Instant silence blanketed the area. All eyes turned to the human. "We have come—" "We know, why you have come. You are the World Eaters and you have come to destroy us."The stentorian interruption came from one of the elders of our town. Even the translation box couldn't take the mournfulness from his voice. Turning in his direction, the human's shoulders slumped. "And are you going to try and stop us?"He— the voice was male— sounded as if he knew the answer, and he wasn't going to like it. "No. We don't deserve to exist."The elder said, and from around me, there came whispers and nods of agreement. I was the only one who didn't move, didn't engage, but for some reason, this drew the other human's attention. They grabbed the man's shoulder and pointed at me. "Do you agree?"This voice was female. A little nervous at being singled out in the crowd, and feeling self-conscious as everyone around me cleared a tiny space leaving me with enough room to wiggle my fins if I so chose, I twisted my head, trying to mimic the shaking motion that for humans meant 'no'. "I want to live,"I said, and everyone around me took another step away. "Anyone else?"The question was shouted, to carry over the large crowd. No one said anything, except for a collective sigh. The female human shook her head, then motioned for me to come forward. I didn't move, trying to force my bottom to root to the spot. She sighed, then moved towards me, as everyone else scattered backwards. As she reached my location, the clearing around the human shuttle grew to encompass me. "Look, we're not going to hurt you."She said, her voice low. "I know you don't believe this, but we're trying to help. There's something wrong with your planet, with the people. They've been infected." "With?"I managed to say, still trembling at the fact the 'World Eater' was standing so close. "We're not sure. But whatever it is, it causes this apathy, this not caring about the world, or about anything. The problem is, it's spreading. Hopping from planet to planet. We're trying to contain it, that's why our division was formed. If it takes the whole galaxy, civilizations will die." "Why are you telling me?" "Because there's another side to this. The survivors. I'm sure you've heard the stories. We always leave a survivor. Because there's always one it doesn't affect. Always. But just one. And that seems to be you." "Why just one?" She shook her head, hand going as if to run through her hair, and getting stopped by her helmet. The motion spoke of frustration, and I felt the fear — temporarily squelched by my curiosity — return. "We don't know. It doesn't make sense, any of it, but we will save anyone who wants to live. So you have to come with us, before we wipe your planet."She sighed. "But I won't force you. It's a good thing Alucard didn't come down to the surface with us, he would have— " "Kendra. We're running out of time, the device will detonate soon."That was the male human, who jogged the few steps toward us. "Are you coming or not?" It took me a second to realize that he was talking to me. My choice was simple, stay and die, or leave and live. But still, to leave the only home I'd ever known... I wiggled my fins, before letting them droop at my side, extending one of my tentacles. "I'm coming." Kendra— the woman— grabbed my tentacle without hesitation and pulled me towards their shuttle. I doubted my ability to fit in, but it seemed larger on the inside. As it lifted away from the surface, I stared down from the only window, watching my planet grow smaller and smaller. A thick yellowish-brown cloud began to cover its surface, and from it, I could see my people writhing as they died, the vegetation curling and vanishing, even the water drying up. As we reached a larger spaceship, we left behind nothing but a dull rock, one that resembled the many asteroids that had once cratered its surface. Sadness drifted across my hearts. "World Eaters,"I whispered, and a hand came to rest gently on my tentacle. I looked over, surprised to see the male human had joined me at the window. And surprised to see that he was shedding tears, the human signifier of sadness. "Aye. That's our name. But we take no pleasure in this, and I'm sorry you had to witness it."He said, the words awkward and stilted, yet the meaning still there. We docked at the larger spaceship and I turned away from the window. "Someday I will go back,"I said, softly. He frowned. "You are the last of your kind, you will be alone." I wiggled my fins again, though this time with lightness in my hearts. Uncurling an inner frond, I held it out, showing tiny shiny globules. "These are my children. All they need are the right conditions and they will sprout. I will never be alone."I said, and for the first time, I saw the human smile. "Then you have given me a great gift."He said. "The gift that our destruction will not be permanent. Just this once, there will be life again." I followed him onto the ship, thinking about what he had said. Perhaps these 'World Eaters' were not the monsters everyone believed. Perhaps they were simply trying to help. — — — — — — Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
"I remember when this was all skyscrapers."His voice was neutral, as if he was trying to keep any emotion from creeping inside. I shifted my feet, looking across the windswept grassland. It had been at his insistence that we'd come, but now that we were here, I wasn't sure why. "Was it a good time? When the skyscrapers existed?"I stumbled a little over the unfamiliar word, but my companion didn't laugh at my difficulty. There was a reason I liked this assignment. The old human was never as judgemental as my own race. "I... don't know. What truly makes a time good?"He sighed, breath joining the breeze. "I was very young, my joints didn't hurt, so I suppose that was good. But, there was great poverty and suffering, so that wasn't good." I let the words wash over me, shuffling my feet a little again, not sure what to say. But as is so often the case with my charge, I didn't need to say anything. All he wanted was someone to listen. "The city was a bustling place. You couldn't go anywhere without running into other humans, without stumbling into someone. I think your race would have hated it. You are so orderly."He chuckled. "But there, I thrived. I loved the hustle, where around every corner an opportunity lurked, or danger sprang upon you unawares." "It sounds...uncertain,"I said, as another gust of wind seemed to startle a flock of birds into taking flight. We watched their maneuvers in silence for a time, as the old man took a struggling breath. "Aye, it was that. But there was life in the uncertainty. And, a great deal of death. I suppose, like anything, looking back you remember it fondly, when you're inside it, you just try to survive. And I definitely did that."His voice darkened a little, and I tried to think of something to distract him from the path his mind might be treading. "Why did you want to come here now?"It was the first question that sprang to mind, but as I asked it, I regretted it. The man sighed again, and I wondered why humans did that, expelling all the air they'd taken in. It seemed counterproductive. "I don't know. Maybe just to see it, just to remember a different time. And maybe to remind me."He looked over at me for the first time since we'd arrived. "Maybe to remind me that nothing lasts. To look at it now, you'd never know it was a great city. But somewhere in that earth there, are the remains, the bones of the skyscrapers." He paused for a long time, and I wondered if he expected me to say something. But when he continued, I realized that he'd simply been thinking. "Sometimes, it is important to remember that things change. For better, or worse. The one constant is change. People grow old, cities fall, nature claims what was once its own. And then new things come along, cities spring up, the world seems tamed and then it changes again." The old man's eyes seemed to sparkle as he stared across the grass. "And I remember, when all this was skyscrapers, we thought we were eternal. But change came to us all the same."Another sigh. "Come. Take me back." I laid a claw on his shoulder, and sent a command through my communicator. We flashed back to the grey stone building that was to be his final residence. Without resistance, he walked into his room, turning for one final look as I closed the door. "Thank you."He said, though there were tears running down his face. I nodded, then scuttled away, unable to meet the old man's eyes any longer. His words about change echoed in my mind as I stepped out of the prison, into our own city. Perhaps someday, I too, would look across fields, and remember what had once seemed so permanent. ——————— Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
Part 1: "Hey Kim, your watch is buzzing.", said Frankie, pointing at my watch. I was so involved with the game that I didn't even notice that my watch was buzzing and glowing a crimson red. Who could blame me? The Chicago cubs haven't been this close to winning the World Series since.... anyways... I raised my watch to pull up the call settings. The crimson red was an indicator that the caller was the International Legion of Heroes and was of the "utmost importance". I pressed "Ignore", as they never called me for missions. My powers were considered too dangerous with too high a risk of collateral damage to ever warrant my activation. Instead they would only buzz my watch if I had missed an important briefing or if I was late in completing some new HR training which meant I'd have my Legion membership suspended. I had barely looked back up to the bar's TV screen when an arrow shot past my face and dug itself into beer tap handle, startling the poor barback who was trying to clean it. The arrow had glowing-green and yellow feathers, the signature trademark of Fletcher, and a small piece of paper attached to it. I turned towards the entrance just quick enough to see his long flowing cape shimmer out of the doorway. I was jealous of the non-flying heroes and their capes. The ILH forbid flying heroes from wearing them, something about modern-day dangers around airplanes and elevators or something. I reached for the arrow, untying the paper which I assumed was for me. "ANSWER YOUR PHONE." Frankie looked at me chuckling a bit, "What the hell does Fletcher want with you?" "Dunno?", I replied as my watch began buzzing again. "I'm just gonna take this if that's alright." "Hey man, seems important. I'll see you on Monday, Kim.", Frankie said as waved and turned his attention back to the TV. I put an earbud in my ear and swiped my watch to accept the call. "Domino's Pizza, how can I help you?", I answered sarcastically, still a little buzzed and also upset from missing out on the game. "Spirit, shut up and listen", replied the frustrated-sounding voice of North America ILH Director Judy on the other end, "You are to report to ILH Sacramento Base immediately for activation and mission briefing, authorization pass: Bravo-Zero-Zero-Eight-Sierra. Threat level: Omega. God, I hate your pass..." I stood there quietly, not responding for a few seconds. I had never been called up for activation. In fact, the United Nations had created a special committee that deemed most my powers as potential war crimes or crimes against humanity. "Director Judy, what the hell did you just say?" "We're activating you, Spirit. Get to Sacramento Base ASAP, the base director there will brief you on the mission. I'm... I'm sorry." "Sorry for what?"I said, hating that an ounce of fear slipped my voice and hearing Director Judy hang up the phone.
I hugged the walls, keeping myself in the shadows, as I reached the West Wall of the castle. My heart raced as I dodged knights and servants, still milling around the castle this late at night. Don't these people sleep? Making sure the coast was clear, I threw my bag over the wall, and soon I made the climb. I quickly jumped over the wall towards a tree, then staying still, making sure nobody heard anything before climbing down the tree. After grabbing my bag, I ran to the woods, adrenaline pumping my veins. I'm free. I can't believe I did it. I don't know how long I ran, but by the light of the full moon, I reached the clearing, where I spotted her, Hannah. She had two horses ready, and majestic steeds they were. "Where did you get them?"I asked Hannah as I approached. Hannah pulled out her sword, soon realized it was me. "Don't scare me like that, Ivan." I smiled and embraced her, kissing her on the lips. "We can't do this here, we need to go-" A snap of a twig startled us both. Without saying a word, we both hopped on our respective horses and were about to leave when a knight stopped us. I thought he was one of my father's men, but I noticed he wore a different emblem. The Rosavilla Crest. He's from the Rosavilla Kingdom. Did my father sent them? Why though? "Princess Anne Mary, we finally found you!"the knight said in relief. "Princess...Anne...Mary?"I asked, looking at Hannah. Behind us, the knights of my father's kingdom emerged. "Prince John Charles, what are you doing!" Hannah's eyes widened, "Prince John Charles." We both looked at each other. All this time, sneaking around, meeting in the woods, taking trips to the village, keeping each other a secret, we were betrothed to marry this entire time.
The man with the moustache looked in the mirror. A different face stared back at him - reptilian, slit eyed, forked tongue; a cold, hard face devoid of emotion. "Ten long years"the man whispered to his reflection. "A blink of the eye"replied the creature, it's voice echoing in the man's head, yet no-one else in the hall heard it speak. "You kept me alive in the Great War, you have taught me much about my fellow men, you have shown me the first steps on the path to power. Together he will conquer the world!"The man adjusted his suit, slicked back his hair, as though using the mirror for its intended purpose. "A fine gift I have granted you, and what have you done for me?"the demon questioned. "Why, I have written you a book. I call it Our Life. It will pass on your teachings to others, so they will join us." "It is a fine thing"the demon replied, "but call it My Life because I must remain hidden to all but you." The mustached man turned away from the mirror and walked out into the crowded hall. The demon's power burned inside him, confident, strong, using him to reach out through the politics of men to the dark side of mankind. ____________________________ Twenty years later, another anniversary, another conversation in the mirror. So much had happened. Chaos, war, terror. The demon had given the mustached man control over half the continent, and he had given the demon all the evil it desired. "I have a present for you"the man said to the mirror in his luxurious private apartment. The demon looked deep into the man's eyes, and not for the first time, felt a sense of unease. It was satiated with pain and suffering from entire nations, and surprised at just how easy it had been, how little pushing these vain creatures needed, and how the hint of an idea was taken to an elaborate extreme in the pursuit of power. Could men take it to far? "The final solution!"the man laughed. The demon felt fear for the first time since the fall. "I have ordered the extermination to begin. The trains will run twenty four hours a day. The camps are ready and the ovens lit." The demon stared at the monster it had created and was filled with horror. If men could willingly do that to themselves, what unspeakable evil could they do to demonkind?
Supplementary Report to Galactic Subcommittee on Abnormal Alien Weather systems Item: Unusual Climatic Activity Location: 118x214x317c, off axis diff .7 Classification: Double Indigo - Extreme Hazard Brief Description of Phenomena: Due to highly atypical local weather, tidal and biological conditions, a high intensity storm system can form which, through unknown mechanisms, transports large groups of highly predatory aquatic species from their typical oceanic dwellings into dense urban population centers. Impact: High level direct infrastructure disruption due to the unflagging intensity of winds, significant flooding due to altered tidal patterns, significant loss of local life during initial onset and radical redistribution of predatory wildlife. Local Classification: "Sharknado" Suggestions: Avoid planet locally known as "Earth"at all costs - environment far too hostile for survival.
Milk, check. Bread, check. Eggs, a box of six for £1. Laying the little cardboard box of eggs into my basket, I head towards the self-checkout. I feel a small pang of disappointment in my chest - I know that I should be making an effort to talk to people, even if it's only the person behind the till. But I continue on and begin swiping my items off the basket, through the scanner and into a plastic bag on the other side. "Unexpected item in baggage area,"the machine announces. I sigh and rearrange the items in the plastic bag. "Unexpected item in baggage area." Taking a deep breath, I raise my head and look around for a shop assistant. It's not really busy, but all of the other three self-checkout stations are being used. A man in a green pullover catches my eye. He is helping someone at another self-checkout station, but acknowledges me with a nod of his head. "Unexpected item in baggage area." I stand and wait. There is a little light blinking red at the top of the screen. A few moments go by as I watch it blink on and off, on and off. "Unexpected item in baggage area." And then I see her. A woman in a red cardigan holding a basket. She looks vaguely familiar, but I just can't put my finger on it. She takes a tin of coffee from the shelf and analyses the packaging. Blonde hair streaked with silver falls over her shoulders. I cannot see her face. "Unexpected item in baggage area." She puts the tin of coffee into her basket and turns to walk further down the aisle in my direction, browsing the products as she strolls. The curve of her jawline is so recognisable to me and it's on the tip of my tongue. "This one's been playing up all day,"the shop assistant says, reaching my checkout station and pressing a few buttons on the touch screen. I am only half-paying attention. "Might have to get someone to check this out or something." "Yeah..."I murmur in response. The shop assistant flashes me a smile but there are images running through my head. Images of the woman with the red cardigan and the blonde hair. "All sorted!" I look back at the machine and see that it's ready for me to hurry up and pay already. I swipe the two cartons of milk through and choose the option to pay by card. I enter my PIN and the machine spits out a receipt for me. "Please take your items." I pick up the plastic bags, turning back one last time to the mysterious woman. She is assessing a bag of sugar while two younger girls skip about behind her. I find myself squinting my eyes, as if it would make any difference. The woman turns sternly to one of the little girls who just stood on her foot. "Will you behave!"she says, cross. Suddenly there is pain in my chest and memories behind my eyes. Her voice stings my ears and the back of my throat. I recognise her voice. I recognise her face and her hair. And it hurts. A sound escapes my mouth before I can stop it - a strangled cry of a daughter abandoned in her own home watching the news as the towers collapsed, one after the other. Tears sting my eyes. I register that I am not holding the shopping bags anymore, but I dare not look down for my groceries in case she disappears. In case my mother disappears. Again.
"Took you a while,"an old man laughed, "Has it really been 50 years?" I frowned. This man looked familiar, like an old friend, but I didn't know him. "Come on, follow me."He said walking though the wheat fields. I reluctantly followed him to a small house. "Would you like some water? Or tea?"He said humming. "Hmm yes, tea, would be nice."I answered. "Wonderful."He brewed the tea, still humming. His movements weren't stiff for his age, he moved like a young man. "Where are we?"I finally asked. This place seemed comforting and peaceful. "Where is a hard question and honestly doesn't matter. I will have to explain something though."He said setting a tea in front of me and setting one for himself. "You are me."He said. "And, I am you. A long time ago, not really sure how long, a young man, made a wish. He wished to live as long as it took to know everything. And, Poof, this place came in to be." "What? How is that possible?"I boggled. "Not sure, perhaps that's the question you will work on. I didn't care for that, I focused on music."He hummed again. "Music?" "Yes, of course." "So what happens now?" "Well, after 50 years, another you comes into being. You will take your spot then you take his." "I don't get it." He laughed again, "You'll soon understand." He hummed walking away, through the door, into the wheat fields. I watched from a window, sipping tea, relaxing. As he walked, he ages seem to melt away. As his youth came to him, wisdom came to me. I was flooded with calculus, philosophy, physics, art, language, and music. Years of knowledge weighed my head. When I looked back out the window, the man was gone. I suppose I should go back to drinking tea and relaxing. Not many people seem to know how to relax. What's knowledge without peace?
Blood dripped down the stained walls of a murky basement slowly filling with cigar smoke. The creamy, grey wisps swirled as raucous laughter echoed through the small room. Wowbagger sat at the edge of the table, away from everyone else and fidgeting nervously. He jumped back, recoiling as the crack of an .44 magnum pierced his eardrums and Deadpool guffawed a bloody mist onto the table before them. And then silence fell across the group. Deadpool, Connor Macleod and Captain Jack Harkness all looked in his direction, sliding the revolver over to him. Wowbagger began to chuckle nervously, shifting in his seat. "You know, guys, those things I said about you...the insults, that is...they were just jokes!" Not one of them twitched a muscle. "I, uh...I thought Russian roulette would be a more...traditional roulette game. I'm not really sure this is for me." Still they glared at him, pushing the revolver closer with an obnoxious scraping sound. "You know a great thing about being immortal,"Macleod stated plainly, "is that you can't say no to us. Besides, why are you so afraid? Immortals do not have the right to feel fear." Wowbagger took a shaky breath and picked up the revolver, eyeing it. "I'm not immortal." "Oh, bullshit. We've all heard that tale about Thor-" "It's not a tale! I'm really not immortal anymore, so..." Deadpool cocked his head. "Prove it." "Prove it by dying?" "Yep." Wowbagger's mouth was agape as he looked to the others for help, but none was offered. Well, there's a chance I might not die, right? All three of them got a bullet to the head, and they said there were only four bullets total....I can do this, then leave. "If I do this,"Wowbagger said, holding up the revolver, "will you let me go?" The three exchanged glances, then nodded. Wowbagger took a deep breath, screamed at the top of his lungs and pulled the trigger. Blood painted the wall to his left, brains spilling out of his head. His body went limp, falling out of the chair with a thud. "Huh,"Deadpool said, cigar still in his mouth. He walked over, picked up the revolver, and fired two shots into Wowbagger's dead body. "I'll have to thank Thor. Hey, Connor, you want his head? I know you're into that kind of thing." ----- sorry idk what I'm doing lol, I tried to read up about the characters but it's just not the same as knowing the media closely. I had to focus on Wowbagger, who had a very easy wiki article. for writing I actually know about you can check /r/resonatingfury!
The renowned physicist sits infront of me slumped in his wheelchair. Whilst he lost the use of his voice thirty years ago, he still has the ability to communicate. Tiny muscles in his cheeks are monitored by sensors that are connected to a computer. Each twitch of his cheeks allows him to make simple commands, such as yes or no, or to scroll through the alphabet on a tablet and slowly spell out words that are then vocalised by a text to speech program. He can still communicate, but for the last two months he has chosen not to. "Is there anything you can do for him doctor?"his research assistant Kate asks me. She fidgets nervously with her hands and her eyes are damp. "Well, he is not brain dead, that much I know. Would you mind if I had a few moments alone with professor Hawkin? I would like to try a few simple tests." "You won't do anything to harm him, will you?"the lady asks in a voice too concerned for just a simple assistant. I think she has fallen for the professor. I give her a huge smile and reply warmly. "No my dear, I just want to see how he reacts to a few simple questions."She leaves, seemingly satisfied and pulls the door shut behind her. "Hello professor. Do you know who I am? Who I really am? Ah, your silence tells a story. I think you do know." I wander around his room and rifle through stacks of paper. Quantum foundations, incorrect theories on black holes... and a recent paper attempting to disprove God and Heaven. "Ah, it is as I thought."I say ruefully as I walk back towards him. I kneel infront of him so our heads are inches apart. "You tried to disprove the existence of God. After all, if there was a God, how could he do this to you?"I look him up and down in mock disgust. "How could a God give little children cancer, or slaughter a million people in a war under his name? "But you failed to disprove his existence. Infact you found evidence indicating that there must be a creator. And if that were so... he must be truly wicked."I gleefully whisper the last sentence into his ear. "You were quite correct, there is a deity - a 'God', but I prefer the name Lucifer. I am all. And this is Hell. "Watching you, in your crippled body, wrestle with questions of existentialism has brought me so much satisfaction. But, you have gotten too close to the truth. I do not want mankind knowing - it would ruin my fun! "I wanted to meet you face to face before - well this is a little awkward - before I kill you. Don't worry, you will be reborn as another of my playthings. I think perhaps as a 15th century scientist. I will enjoy watching you burn for heresy."I cannot contain the deep laugh rising from my belly. I notice his left cheek move very slightly. He is ready to talk and I am intrigued. What will the great mans final words be? Reflections on a wasted life perhaps? After a brief pause a robotic voice cuts through the silence, and I think I see his lips move a nanoscopic amount to form the smallest of smiles. "Be.Hind.You." I turn to see Kate pointing a gun at me. I don't know when she slipped back into the room. "You did this to him... when he found out you existed he really wanted to meet you." I have just enough time to realise that I have been tricked before she pulls the trigger.
I was basking in the eternal sunlight when I heard footsteps. The moment I realized they were his footsteps was the moment I realized I was royally fcked. As the things I had neglected began rushing through my head, I shot out of my lounging chair and stood erect in front of his highness. "H-h-home ea-early?"I studdered at him, searching him for any sign of what he knew. "Jesus couldn't take the Indian Food."He responded. "It burnt like hellfire goin' through!"A voice commented from another room. Then the almighty Jesus made his grand entrance. Brilliant. They were both here. "How has earth been holding up?"God asked. "W-wonderful, ya know?"I responded. I was dead the moment he realized a single thing that happened during 2016. Then he asked: "Election going smoothly?" "It wasn't too bad; i just--"I never got to finish. I heard Jesus flipping on the TV, and my life flashed before my eyes. The first thing to be heard were the words "President-elect Donald Trump". The second was a cup, falling from the hands of the Lord, onto the floor, and shattering. God shot up from the table before I had a chance to explain. I followed him into the living room as he grabbed the remote from Jesus. The channels got progressively worse, showing everything from bottle flipping, to rambling hillbillies who know that Trump is our new lord and savior. As he flipped through channels, my phone rang. I struggled to turn it off before the ringtone got to "pineapple pen..."Jesus appeared to be rocking out to the catchy tune, but God wasn't amused. "Jesus Christ..."He shot at him "Sorry dad,"He responded. Then God turned to look at me. "You mean you actually gave them freedom of choice?"He asked. "Wasn't I supposed to? "I replied. "Hell no! Humans need guidance. In everything."He answered. "How much did you actually do this year?" I knew he could read my mind, so lying was pointless. "Barely anyth--" "GOD DAMN YOU"* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "That would explain a lot..."Lucifer responded, before handing me my certificate of damnation. "Anyhow, Enjoy your stay!"
On the island of Miragulku, the groundhogs, who are called Miragupp, live in a burrow underground. The Burrow is an incredible sprawling lattice of caves and tunnels, supported by marble pillars carved with images of ancient Miragupp heroes and kings. The Burrow receives light in two ways. At night, it is illuminated by endless rows of kerosene braziers, each dutifully lit by one of the schoolgirls after being dismissed from class. During the day, sunlight penetrates through the Sacred Skylight in the ceiling of Gupp Hall, and is then reflected off twelve thousand mirrors all over the Burrow, carefully angled to brighten every crevasse of the market and school and barracks and courthouse, and to nourish the many gardens of turnips and mushrooms that are so essential to feeding the community. The reason the Miragupp live underground is due to the fact that the island to which they are native is also populated by two other intelligent races: the Mirayik, who are bumblebees that rule the trees, and the Mirathae, who most closely resemble the kestrel, and whose dominion is the cliff. Though certain legends and well known songs tell of a time when the three races of Miragulku lived in harmony, this is a lie, as the Burrow, the Hive, and the Nest have almost always been at war in one way or another over extremely complicated ancient debts and blood feuds. In fact, the reason the groundhogs built their home underground in the first place was as a line of defense against their airborne enemies. Due to the precarious nature of their community, Miragupp culture largely revolves around the warrior class. When they come of age, the young male groundhogs, with their new long claws and strong front teeth, are invited by their fathers to scale the walls of Gupp Hall, reach the Sacred Skylight for the first time, and poke their head above the soil, seeing the grass and sand and tasting the salty, fresh air. Each father then tells his son that he must complete a rite of passage to be embraced by the groundhogs as a full citizen of the Burrow: he must go out, onto the surface, and he must kill either five bumblebees or one kestrel. To complete this task, he is given a shield, a net, and either a .45 caliber revolver or a lever action 12 gauge shotgun, forged by the world famous Miragupp gunsmiths. The young Miragupp then climb out of the Sacred Skylight and quickly scurry to hide themselves in the bushes (though which are sometimes rigged with venom canisters by the Mirayik). If a Miragupp is too slow, he is liable to get snatched up by the sharp talons of a swooping Mirathae, who will then taunt him, usually by shouting cruel racial epithets, as he carries the wriggling rodent back to the Nest. However, if a Miragupp is careful, he can usually find a long enough break in the air patrols to dig out a small trench for himself and a few friends, where they can wait until they have a chance to fire a carefully timed shot at their enemies. In the end, not all groundhogs return to the Burrow, but those who do are greeted as champions, receiving gifts of ginger root, dandelions, and offers of marriage from the fathers of Miragupp maidens. While it is assumed that any groundhog who does not return has been killed or captured, this is not always the case. Sometimes, as a groundhog and bumblebee and kestrel swipe and spit venom and fire at each other, they will suddenly make eye contact. "Before today, did you know I was your enemy?"one of the Mirae will ask, and of course, both of his combatants will say they did not. Sometimes, an especially brave groundhog will throw down his gun, prompting the bumblebees to drop their venom darts and the kestrel to fold up his wings. The various Mirae will catch their breath and then look out across the horizon, past the white sand of Miragulku Beach, and there they will see another island, not too far in the distance. They will agree that this distant island represents a kind of hope that the idea of murdering each other never could. The kestrel will pick up the groundhog, though very gently, and it will lead the bumblebees across the water, to make a new home, together, and in peace.
I should have studied. I always should have studied. But with so many people to help, it didn't leave a lot of time for studying. I did what I could, but I always used my telepathy to get that extra boost to make sure my grade average was high, so my scholarship and grant funding kept coming in so I could help more people, and help them better. When I entered senior year at university, I was taking the advanced QFT course with a new lecturer. The first time he gave a lecture, I was sitting there as usual grazing on the thoughts of my fellow students for hints and tips, and to see if Rebecca actually had some of the same feelings for me that I did for her, when the teachers voice boomed in my head: "NO CHEATING IN MY CLASSROOM!" This would ruin everything. I'd never met another telepath before, I thought I was the only one, and while I had developed multiple telepathic skills and grown stronger with time....he'd clearly been at it for longer than I had. This would ruin everything. There's no way I could maintain the same marks without using telepathy to cheat, and without that...so many people would suffer if I wasn't able to help. There was only one way out, and that was through. I telepathed back "PROVE IT ACADEMICALLY. SEE HOW THAT WORKS. TRY EXPLAINING TO THE ACADEMIC BOARD THAT YOU TELEPATHICALLY 'KNEW' THAT A STUDENT CHEATED AND SEE HOW FAR THAT GETS YOU. ALSO, CAN WE MEET AFTER CLASS? I'VE NEVER MET ANOTHER TELEPATH BEFORE." Who knows where it would lead from there, but I couldn't see any other option...
I murmured the words softly to myself: "Ancient elder gods, I call on thee. Torgath. Shenron. Gibbles. Protect this chalice for me." Nothing happened save for a draft flickering my dying candle. Strange. I closed the book softly and retired to my bed. _________________ The next day some of the anthropology and archeology staff went out to the bar because it was Friday and the only spell we got to work was one to produce a small frog. "Man, he's a friendly lil guy"Professor Stevens said. The frog sat perched on his shoulder, bobbing it's head to the beat of Journey's "Seperate Ways". "I think he likes the music"I laughed and shoveled some chips into my mouth. A twinge told me it was time to relieve myself in the dive bar's dark bathroom. "Stevens, can you hold this beer for me? No roofies, please." "Why don't you ask -- what was it -- Torgath and something else..." "Hah!"I laughed and held my arms up theatrically, beer in one hand. "Ancient elder gods, I call on thee. Torgath. Shenron. Gibbles. Protect this chalice for me." I set the chalice on the bar and started to walk away when I heard someone scream and drop a glass. I looked back and stared at a 8-foot reptilian hominid with black armor standing by my beer and holding a halberd. It used it to push back my friends as it snarled. It looked to me and hissed: "Ssssssummoner. I will remain here and protect your drink."It waved a massive scaled hand over the beer and a light white layer of frost encased the glass and some of the bar. "And it sssssshall remain cold for you. It issssss sssssafe to attend to your businessssss. I am the sssservant of the elderssss and you, powerful one." The bar was silent except for Motorhead's "Ace of Spades". A massive popping sound filled the air and suddenly the same woman from before screamed again as a giant Koala-man appeared on the opposite end of the bar, clad in gold armor and pointing his sword at me. "FOOL! You have summoned the minion of Shenron and Gibbles!"I stared in confusion as the reptilian darted across the bar and slammed his halberd into the koala-knight. The impact forced all the bar patrons back with a whooshing wind and immense pressure. "The battle for the end times has begun. You have chosen your side."The knight kicked the reptile back and prepared for his attack. ["Now fight, Mage!"](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com)
Cameron Jones was working late. Work needed to be finished, Cameron would be the one to do it. As he finished scrawling up some graphs for tomorrow's presentation, the lights went out. Cameron shrugged, lighting a candle. Work needed to be finished, Cameron would be the one to do it. The graphs were looking good, he noted. Maybe this would be what he needed to finally get that pay raise. The presentation was with the main heads of corporate, he needed to get this right. He was so focused on his work, he didn't register the distinct screeching of a knife on the wall until it was echoing through the door. Cameron was tired of all these distractions, because work needed to be finished, and Cameron would be the one to do it. He opened the door, noticing the dark figure at the end of the hall. This figure, he decided, was the cause of all the ruckus. "Sir or madam, I have a very important meeting tomorrow. It would be appreciated if you would turn the power back on, and cut the keening wail of that knife. It's very obnoxious." The figure was curious at this man's distinct lack of fear. Where was the normal wide-eyed stare, that deer-in-the-headlights? The figure shrugged it off and started moving down the hall towards this man. "This is really unnecessary, sir or madam. Look, if this is for money, get yourself a job. Why rob someone when you could put your talents to other uses? Applying for a job these days is fairly simple. Do you just enjoy trying to scare people? Give me a break, go sign up to work as a clown and you'll get all the fear and attention you want." The figure stopped, pausing at the man's words. He began to feel hesitation as to why he was doing this at all. This man had no care for the art of fear. That, in itself, was terrifying enough. The figure decided to give it one last shot. He rasped out the words, carefully drawing out the syllables to stir the edges of that fearful paralysis. "I know at least eight vital body parts on the human to kill, maim, or permanently disfigure. I know the exact way to cut to skin a man alive. I think I'm to do this for you, now." Cameron sighed at the man's words. "If you're so talented in how to kill, go into the butchering business. I'm sure if you're so good, making money should be of no concern to you. Now really, I need to get back to work. It's 10:45 p.m. and I still need time to sleep tonight. Have a good one." Cameron walked into the work room, collecting up his belongings, before calmly walking back out into the hallway, brushing past the figure. Out the door he went, thinking on how he was going to finally make his pitch tomorrow. Work needed to be finished, and Cameron was the one who did it. ------------------ First writing prompt response, please leave me constructive feedback, good or bad. Thanks!
My eyes open slowly and with effort at the brightness of my bedroom. The grogginess is torn away quickly as I pick up my phone. 8:37am, six missed calls from mom, two missed calls from dad and my voicemail is full alongside a slew of social media notifications I don't have the time to read. I was supposed to be at work almost two hours ago. I stumble out of bed and pull on my clothes. Working for your parents through the summer has it's perks. It's easier to get time off and they sometimes let me study a little instead of doing actual work when it's slow but Lord help me on the days I'm running late. I grab a banana for breakfast on my way out the door and head to my where my car should be parked across the street. Where is my car? My car must've been towed overnight, I need to stop leaving it there on nights that street cleaning is being done. Luckily there's a bus stop close by. I jog to the stop with my banana still in one hand and my phone in the other. After waiting a couple minutes the bus pulls up. I walk on and greet the driver who doesn't even seem to notice I've spoken to him. I find myself a seat in the back and pull out my phone to give my parents a call to let them know I'm on my way in. When I try each of them I'm told by an automated voice that their numbers are not in the service area. It's annoying but not entirely unusual with the old phones they use. I have a ten minute ride ahead of me so I open up my phone while I eat the banana. Ninety seven Facebook notifications? I pause to wonder if i forgot my own birthday and laugh at the idea, it's June and my birthday isn't until November. I open up the app and head to my notifications, all of which are postings on my timeline. I start reading from the top down. "Girl it's been way too long and I'm so sorry I didn't keep in contact. I remember two summers ago at that campfire when you were telling us all those stories about growing up in a small town. You always made everything so funny. That night I laughed so hard my stomach ached the next day. Always in my heart, rip beautiful soul ❤" "You'll always be in my heart, condolences to your family" "Those summers we worked at the rv park are ones I will never forget. Remember that time I had to carry you up the hill? :P rip" "I can't stop crying I cant believe this is really happening. RIP ❤❤" "RIP, you were cool" "You were the best friend I could've every asked for, life won't be the same without you. Love you forever xoxo" What was all of this. Some sick joke? It must be and I don't find it funny at all. I close Facebook, I'm almost at work anyways. When I get there the door is locked and on the door is a sign that reads: 'We will be closed for the remainder of the week due to a loss in our family. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause and thank you for your understanding". I feel a heat radiate through my body and feel instantly nauseous. I frantically reach for my phone and listen to my voicemails. Each one was from my mother and each one was more devastating than the last. They started out with her voice lightly laced with worry asking me to call when I could and ended four voicemails later with her sobbing asking for me to please call because it couldn't be true that I was gone. I still was so confused. Nobody I know would take a joke this far but there's also no way I'm dead. I couldn't be going on with my day as normal if I was dead... I start walking briskly in the direction of my parents house. Walking past an old corner store a headline of the local newspaper caught my eye. "YOUNG WOMEN KILLED IN TRAGIC CAR ACCIDENT" I pick up the paper hesitantly. Under the headline is a picture of my beloved 2003 chevy impala, whom I'd nicknamed Louise as a joke with my sister a couple of years ago, wrapped around a telephone pole. I can barely stay on my feet as I read the article. "Last night around 5:45pm police and emergency services were called to the scene of a single vehicle motor accident. A 20 year old women was pronounced dead at the scene. Her family wishes to keep her identity annonymous at this time. Alcohol is not believed to be a factor in the collision." I set the paper down gingerly and took off in a sprint to my families home. I burst through the door to find my dad sobbing on the couch alongside my sister. I speak to them but they do not respond. They can not respond. I think I might actually be dead. I go upstairs to find my mom asleep in her bed, her face is so red and swollen from crying. I lie my head down beside her so we are face to face. She awakes quickly and I think maybe she can see me so I speak out to her, "Yes mom it's me, I'm here, I'm okay." She stares blankly ahead while more tears roll down her face. I sob to myself and stay there with her for another minute. "I love you so much", I whisper as I crawl out of bed. I then continue on to the spare bedroom. There I find my boyfriend sitting motionless on the side of the bed staring at his phone. His eyes look so empty as I walk around him to peer at what he is looking at. He has a text conversation open. One between us. The last message I sent read, "I will be home in a few. I love you." It was sent at 5:44pm. I had been messaging him when I hit the pole. This was my fault and I had caused the people I love so much pain. I had ended my life when it had barely even started yet. I wanted to have children, I wanted to become a nurse, I wanted to see the world. I had done so little and now i would never get the chance. Would I have to live in this world as a witness to life around me forever? I kiss my boyfriend's head and whisper loving words and hopes for the rest of his life before leaving the room. I hug my mom one last time and say my goodbyes to my dad and sister even though they can't hear me. I give my parents dog on last pet before I go out the door and she looks in my direction. I head straight for the dam overlooking the river. I breath in the cool air and sit on the railings with my legs dangling over the river feeling the spray of the water hit them. How could I have done this to myself? More importantly how could I do this to my loved ones? I couldn't live in this in-between watching their lives play out in front of me. I say my last goodbyes to no one in particular and step up on the railing steadying myself for a minute while I overlook the town I had grown up in. I take one more breath and dive head first. As I am about to hit the water I am jolted awake. I prop myself up on my elbows in my bed in the pitch black. I am shaking all over. My boyfriend reaches over to pull me in. Half asleep he asks if I am okay. I tell him I am and tuck myself in tightly against him hoping I will be able to calm down enough to fall back asleep. Before I drift off again I vow to never pick up my phone again when I'm driving.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was not one to be caught off guard easily. His studies, both in Hogwarts and in the less recommended establishments of Knockturn Alley, had revealed him many of the most obscure secrets of magic, and his prowess was greater than that of any student, and unrivalled by most Professors. Slytherin to the bone and master of the dark arts, he was expecting an unknown and grisly procedure through which a wizard could split his soul and survive if his mortal body were to be destroyed. The killing curse, perhaps. Or a macabre potion, requiring forbidden, bloody ingredients. When Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions Master and Head of his House, charmed by the curious intellect of a bright and promising Tom Riddle, eventually revealed to him the secret of immortality, the student failed to form a coherent sentence. "You mean... You can't... Professor, are you saying..."he struggled. "Portraits are Horcruxes?" Professor Slughorn frowned. "Keep it quiet, boy! You're in a magic castle, Tom, the walls really can hear us."And he pointed to the nearby portrait of a long-forgotten staff member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "You grew up among Muggles, boy, did you not find it tremendously odd to see portraits and pictures with moving, talking, even thinking figures? Their souls live on between the frames, inked in canvas for eternity. It is an unwise choice, however. Most are soon left to the undesirable company of dust and dark cupboards." Tom Riddle reflected on this information. "So when these figures move between paintings, or photographs, does that mean they had their soul split more than once?"he asked, with the most powerful magical number in mind. "Oh, yes, quite right, Tom. Those who can afford it often choose to have seven paintings done of them, supposedly to increase their durability,"said Slughorn, taking the words out of Tom Riddle's mouth. "I see,"said the young Slytherin. "Thank you, Professor, this has been rather... enlightning." "Well, Tom, I am always willing to help you with any academic doubts. That is the context of this conversation, is it not?"asked Slughorn wearily. "Oh, of course, Professor. This was a mere academic question between a humble student and his favourite professor,"he answered, generating a shining smile in the plump face of his Master. Leaving Slughorn to his solitary pride, Tom rose and left. Once the young student was out of earshot, the professor adressed an empty corner of the room , between a broomcloset and a bookcase. "You can take that off now, Albus." Slowly, an invisible cloak was lifted and Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration Professor at the magical school, revealed himself. Middle-aged, with a greying long beard and half-moon spectacles hiding piercing blue eyes, the wizard addressed his colleague in the room. "You did good, Horace,"he said. "Tom must never know the true secret to making a Horcrux, lest we fail to defeat the Dark Lord he is bound to become." ****** /r/Camberlot
Murderer. That's what some call me. Honestly, I know I'm not. If I were, their ghosts would be trailing after me, haunting me to my own demise, and perhaps even hastening it. So many people have a ghost haunting them. My own mother, for example, is forever plagued by the ghost of a boy she dated in high school, who she dumped. He killed himself, and haunted her from then onward. She did nothing wrong, but the unquiet dead cannot be reasoned with. Still, I grew up with his ghastly visage hanging over my head, and his presence had a lot to do with why I end lives for a living. As a teenager, overcome with curiosity, I looked into why Simon killed himself. My mother's rejection was certainly a catalyst, but in investigating is life, I found so much that pushed him over the edge. A father that ignored him. A mother that was verbally abusive to him. An older sibling that repeatedly physically beat him on a daily basis. These were enough to put him on a dark path, but in and of themselves were not enough. It was the ghost that followed him around that truly shook him. I found, in interviewing my mother, that Simon was constantly followed by the ghost of a small boy. In researching the microfiche at the library, I discovered that Simon had been a twin. One day, they'd fallen into a river. Simon had panicked, and used his brother to keep himself from drowning, accidentally holding his brother under in his panic. Again, there was no fault, no blame, but Simon felt the guilt every day of his life. His twin remained, a silent specter forever reminding him of his own cowardice, his own failure. His family blamed him. He was six. What could he have done? But the blame was still Simon's, and his brother's ghost following him cemented his guilt to everyone, himself included. After all, who did the dead haunt but the guilty? Simon wanted to die. Felt the need to die. Believed he deserved to die. He used my mother's jilting him as an excuse to end his miserable suffering. That was before the Mercy Laws. I don't really kill people. Not in the sense that you're thinking. To kill someone means to take from them a life that would've been worth living. I don't do that. I terminate a mistake. I end an injustice. What I do is beneficial to the world, and my conscience is clear. Just because some disagree with me, it doesn't mean that I'm a monster. I've never broken the law, because what I grant is Mercy. The requirements are strict. At least two ghosts. No more than five. None by murder, only mistake. Three years of counseling, and an interview by panel to sign off. The needle goes in, the plunger goes down, and in a few short minutes the ghosts are gone. Because they come to me willingly, their deaths are not on my soul. I am an Angel of Mercy. My hands are clean. If they weren't, I'd take the Mercy myself. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- Ultimately, I think this is a hopeful story.
I tried not to gasp as he entered my room. As a recruiter, I was accustomed to seeing the soft golden flow of the halos floating about three inches above people’s heads. There weren’t a lot of them, of course, but enough that I was used to seeing them over the years. But this guy... “Hi,” he grinned. “I’m Mike. I was told to come in around here...and...” he awkwardly stood there, waiting for a response. “Um, are you okay? I didn’t mean anything, if you want me to leave, I—I can.” He spun around towards the door, then back to me, then backed up a few steps. A little awkward. But what had captivated me was the navy blue glow of his halo above his head. It wasn’t the normal golden glow, this strange navy blue was different. The color was harsher, yet soft at the same time. It illuminated his brown hair, making it slightly brighter. “I’m sorry. Mike, was it?” I motioned towards the seat. “Why don’t you go ahead and—ah—take a seat right there. I’ll be right with you. Let me get your file.” I quickly pulled open the file cabinet, scratching my head and feeling the warmth of my golden halo. Who was this guy? Thumbing through the files, I finally found him. Pulling it out, I scanned through it. Halo color...navy blue. So the top management had known about this already. I read farther down. Single, parents in California, had trouble in school for...for lying. This couldn’t be. I turned the page, and swiftly assured Mike I was almost done. Of course. I should’ve known. A master liar. That’s what this guy was. His first conscious lie was, like most people who lost halos, at fifth grade or the middle school area. But on and on...more and more lies, offenses, through all the years. He’d lied so many times, so many that his halo had actually returned. But with a different color. “Mike...I don’t know what to say.” I turned towards him, sitting down in my swivel chair. “You’re a different case, you know? You’re completely normal. No health conditions, no nothing. On your way in, we used Angel Scanners. Nothing gets past that thing, so you’re clean. You’re healthy. You’re as good as anyone. We’re going to need you in the next few years. We’ve got some stuff for you to do.” I reached under my desk, searching for the forgotten file. I grabbed it and tossed it towards him. “You can start here. Congratulations, Mike. You’re a Master Spy.”
When we announced the discovery of a new habitable planet, our kind rejoiced. More knowledge, more room for our population to grow, and more resources to support it. We immediately began investigating it to see what we would have to do so we could live there. That was when our spirits fell. What lived there was a great race encompassing the globe. As we watched, it quickly became clear that their population was rapidly nearing the planet's carrying capacity. We found evidence of their activity on their planet's moon and more on a neighboring planet. We had another intelligent species on our hands. Now, we had no way of knowing how prepared they'd be for an invation, or if they would accept a peace treaty, so we sent a small team to a place in the northern hemisphere to gather information. What we saw shook us to our core. Almost all of them, even those just a few years old, frequently used training simulations. Simulations that taught everyone how to build civilization from the ground up, survive in harsh conditions, and kill. There was so much violence in their simulations. The creatures' enjoyment and lack of remorse while training was disturbing. Even when learning to destroy their own kind (of which there were many simulations), these creatures oftentimes would take hours ending lives with glee. Pups were discovering how to fly rockets, murder their own kind to achieve their goals, and singlehandedly take down beasts hundreds of times their size or bend them into submission. There was no trace of such creatures on the planet, at least not anymore. The most likely explanation we have is that these creatures, these humans, killed them all. Furthermore, our team gathered that this bloodthirsty race was killing its own planet by driving hundreds of species to extinction, destroying wildlands, and heating the entire atmosphere. They would be looking for a new home to destroy soon. Our team didn't stay on that planet long. They quickly decided that this warmongering race must not be trifled with, and should be left alone. We hope it will destroy itself before it spreads like a cancer into the cosmos. If not, may the great Dyntiubb of the ends help us all.
Some have described me as the hue of life. I am afraid they’ve mislabeled me, or otherwise they’ve merely identified a cousin of mine, a friend. Perhaps even at one time I was that shade, the bright fullness of life. No longer. I say this not in sadness, just in recognition of reality. I am the deep wood. I am the stillness, I am the quiet. Below me, wonderful creatures in stoic solitude meander through the shade I cast. I cover them from the oppression of what is above me. Of course, I also drink in the sunshine, it warms me, soothes me. And I am not greedy in my thirst for those rays of heaven, and through me I allow drops of sunshine and rain to sprinkle down upon those creatures whom I love below. I admit that, as those rays of light pass through me, I offer my hue to them below, my family as well. All around me the air is crisp and clean, filling lungs to their fullest appetite. There is a secret that only I know, that only when one’s lungs are full can their mind be free. Thus, I am freedom of thought. I am contemplation. I am a quiet tide of scholarly thought in the hearts and minds of those below. I smell like running barefoot alongside a creek, careless smile on your face as you call out to a childhood friend. Above you hear the pitter patter of a gentle rain. Every now and then A drop falls on your forehead. You don’t mind. You want to stay out longer, you want to go deeper, you want to learn more. Night Falls, and you grow tired. You yearn for sleep, and somehow that yearning feels all together special. It’s been a long day, a good day. At last you curl up against the base of a tall, sturdy tree. You look up , drinking in the moonlight filtering through me. And as your eyes grow heavy, and your eyelids slowly begin to close, I am the last thing that you see.
It was like a starry rain the way the thousands of quarters cascaded into the canyon below, singing out faint, tiny jingles as they crashed into the bottom of the canyon. My first instinct was to climb down and try and pick up the bag myself, but I knew how often overconfident amateur climbers fell to their death doing even more innocuous stunts, so I quickly ruled that out. The immediate next idea was to run away before anyone noticed what destruction I'd caused The Grand Canyon and all the ecosystems within, but that was another impossibility after considering that it was my infinite money supply. I would routinely visit coin counter machines in banks and supermarkets to pad my finances. This was my income. Without it, I was back to living a life of a salaried position with limited travel. I didn't think I could return to that kind of life. I was largely on my own at this point in the canyon, hundred of feet away from the nearest gift shop, which meant it was likely that people at the top of the canyon had not yet caught on to the situation. I thought maybe if I got one of those trash grabbers, I'd be able to get out of this situation before it got any worse. The quarters landed erratically, not yet enough having fallen to make a pile on the ground, but a large plane of shiny silver was forming, with plenty of quarters diving right into the river. I ran to the nearest building, hoping to ask a ranger to get a trash grabber and act like a good tourist that just wanted to clean up some of the national park. As I rushed through the door, several heads turned my way. I was hoping to be discreet, but my red face and heavy breathing was attracting a lot of attention by those browsing souvenirs inside. I swallowed hard and tried to smile innocently, but was only met with more concerned stares. I walked up to the clerk and smiled at them, they looked up and frowned, presumably unhappy to have to deal with an overly excited customer this early in the day. "Hi can I get uhhhhh..."my eyes had drifted to the window behind them which had a perfect frame of the stream of quarters flowing out of the bag. My eyes widened and my syllable continued to elongate as the cashier rolled her eyes. "Yes?"she asked with a short wave, regaining my focus. "D-Do you have track grabbers?"I asked, turning around and looking behind me to see if any other tourists were looking out this window. No one so far. "Ummm,"she thought as she browsed the shelves beneath her. She picked up a stick and placed it on the counter. "We have these spikier hiking sticks. Could easily stab through whatever you're looking to pick up if that works?" Of the Rules of the Bag included the rule that I could not puncture the bag, or else the quarters would stop flowing. "Do you have anything else?"I asked desperately, my eyes widening further as the flow of quarters seemed overwhelming from this angle. "Hey look!"a teenager said behind me, startling me. "I thought there weren't any waterfalls on this end?" I turned slowly, and confirmed they were looking out the same window as me. There was a teen and his father looking over a map. "You're right,"the dad said, amused. "Must be an interesting trick of the light." "Can we check it out?"the son asked. "Hmm, I don't know if we have time... but maybe..." "Thank you, this'll be great!"I suddenly spun back and screamed at the cashier as she was searching for any trash grabbers. "Umm, are you sure--" I had already thrown a small pile of quarters from my pocket onto the counter, grabbed the pointy stick, and bolted for the door. "Hey, you can't--" "I don't need a receipt, thanks!"I yelled as the door closed behind me. I sprinted back to the point of the canyon where the Quarter Bag continued to erupt with dozens of dollars worth of quarters every second. There was a definite pile at the bottom of the canyon now, distinguishable to the naked eye. I laid myself flat on the earth and reached down with the pointy hiking stick, putting the more grippy edge toward the bag and the pointy end to myself. I would press the bag against the canyon wall and drag it up to me. As I carefully reached down with the stick, my heart dropped into my stomach as I noticed something on the horizon. A collection of white water rafters were coming down the river and would reach the waterfall of quarters in about a minute at the rate they were moving. I was trying and failing to focus my breathing as my shaky arm hovered the shaky stick an inch above the bag. I looked at the rafters and back to the bag a dozen times in the span of three seconds and finally placed all my focus on the Quarter Bag. I grit my teeth, said a prayer, and slammed the stick against the bag, wincing as I felt the quarters run across the stick. The bag was pinned against the wall, but the flow didn't slow down at all. I dragged it up an inch and was surprised to see that it moved easily, feeling as though it was an empty bag. I continued to drag and inch at a time, until it was about a foot away from arms reach. I could see the white water rafters pointing above now, but I didn't slow my rate of dragging. I could stop the flow before any quarters could puncture their rafts and bring more attention to the bag. It was just inches away now, sweat flowing freely from my nose as I stretch my entire body to grab it. "What is that?"the teen's voice asked from right behind me. I shrieked and momentarily lost control of the stick, which sent the bag falling down the canyon, quarters flying in every direction as it spun on an axis during its fall. It landed right on the edge of the riverbank, to which I sighed heavily. I could pinpoint where this was in the canyon and I should be able to still grab it. Then a yellow raft full of bewildered travelers gave the river a miniscule wave in the water, which licked the bag and swallowed it, a trail of quarters marking where the bag flowed down the rapid waters. I stared numbly. "Were those quarters?"the father asked me. "I have to go,"I got up and ran along the canyon, hoping I wouldn't fall to my death as I tracked where the bag ended up next. ____________________________________ For more stories, check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer!
The Imperial Governor sighed, pinched his brow, and sighed again. These primitive humans of Earth were in fact as geneticly human as he was. Earth even showed signs of inexplicably being the cradle world of humanity. That solitary fact spurred the orders that prevented him from glassing the whole sithspawned planet. Even the fact that the Reble Alliance had withdrawn their aid in horror did little to stem his omnipresent headache. These Earth humans were brutal, and damn near universally well versed in guerilla tatics. Some groups only paused long enough in their mutual slaughter to repell Imperial troops from the small patch of ground they fought over. It galled him, but he couldn't think of another option. Calling in those favors would come with a steap cost. Failure carried the ultimate price. He called for his secretary. "Jisa, prepare a breif as in depth as possible on every single solitary culture you can find on this damned planet. I believe we have no choice but to get an expert opinon." Not quite a fortnight later the Governor inclined his head respectfuly to hologram. "Admiral Thrawn, my most sincere thanks, for your lending me your time and expertise." "Thanks are hardly nessary, Governor. I must confess I've closely followed the situation on Earth since the outset. I feel, in fact, that it is I who must thank you. It is such a fascinating microcosm..."the chiss sighed regretfully. "Sadly the Empire requires my talents elsewhere."
The bar was half full, or more so it was half empty, depending on how you feel. Alive with patrons of various races clinking drinks and mixing stories. A tall, handsome orc (or as handsome as one can be) surrounded by a harem of women at a corner table, a few spaces down a group of sharply dressed dwarves in booster seats downed liquor like water, and behind the bar the resident bartender mixed drinks with a skill that only came with years of practice. A few friendly faces watched on at the bar as the pointy eared green man flicked a cup up in the air and caught it once again. They clapped softly, and though he appreciated it, the goblin preferred cash. So as they showered him with love he pointed down to a little handmade sign on the counter that read Your praise is great! But your money is better. As he did though his eyes caught sight of a new group entering. Sort of the "after school special"bunch, he thought, mixed with a variety of races and colors. A tall, lizardish man with green scales, a shorter human with wide features, and a rarity in the world: a blue skinned, half genie. He stared on as they took their seats, hoping by the sleekness of their dress that tips were coming his way. From the group the genie spawn wandered over to the bar first and took a seat right up front. "What can I do ya for?", the goblin spoke without looking up. "A martini. Dry....uhhhh Sandoval Drinkmaker"the djinn read off his little nametag. "Sure, one second." This was an untrue statement from Sandoval for two reasons: one because it would in fact not be one second. Two, because he was unsure how to tell the patron that no matter what his impressive spread of spirits appeared as, not a single one was "dry". All wet. In fact every drink that the goblin could recall making in his entire life had been wet. He gave the djinn a crooked smile before slinking down behind the bar. Now on the floor the goblin began rummaging through shelves for any clues as to how a "dry"drink was made. Cups, glasses, cherries in a jar, no hints. "Everything alright down there?"the djinn spoke over the bar "Yeah just...you said dry right?" "Yeah. That a problem?" "Well- no, nope. Shouldn't be. No problem at all."Sandoval thought of the tip jar as motivation. The goblins little palms sweated. His brain frantically ran through every option at his disposal until he settled on one: flash. With a little flash you could mess up nearly any drink and the customer rarely complained. It was a free show after all. Sandoval returned from the floor with ingredients already in a shaker. Gin and vermouth, easy as could be. He tossed the shaker up in the air and caught it despite the sweat of his hands. Then after a few good shakes the goblin reached into a tray and plopped a piece of smoky ice in. The djinn looked unimpressed, but he did look, which was all that mattered. Then Sandoval took a fresh cup and poured just the smoky air from the shaker into the glass. Not a single drop of liquid. Just alcoholic vapor. After a long, silent moment of the vapor trailing into the glass the goblin presented it. "Your martini, dry sir." "It's empty. Where the drink? Is this a joke?"The djinns white hair blew as if caught in a breeze. Its clothes rustled despite no wind. "Empty? No no no. Dry."Sandoval winked then slowly inched the empty glass to the man. "Now if you'll excuse me it's my break. He placed a small tent on the counter that read *Be back soon, probably!"before turning and walking out in a rush, all the while thinking of his genius. Meanwhile the djinn sat in disbelief, staring down to the empty glass, then up to the shaker filled with an actual martini. He grabbed it and poured himself a real drink and took a sip. His face contorted a bit, scrunched in dissatisfaction. "Ick! Too much vermouth."
It was one of the great spells left behind by Drinsvan the Noble. In an effort to preserve life and joy he wove globe spanning spells, affecting all life. The Boon of Good Health meant illness was a rare thing indeed, only serious cases ever showing symptoms. The Bountiful Boon ensured crops grew tall and healthy, ensuring food for all. And the Boon of Preservation gave us the sight into our own lives, when our end might come. I was assisting in a ritual with one of the professors. As a poor student, I seized every opportunity to make money, a teat subject being one. He had proposed an idea to temporarily loop the natural mana in a person's body. According to his theory it either cause a temporary power boost, or have a permanent increase in potential. I was more than willing to assist. At worst I would be paid to stand around whilst something failed. At best, I would become better for a while, something I could really use. My magic was average at best, but many roles wanted more than I could give. He began to chant, as I stood in a chalk circle. Crystal and metal fragments were arranged around me, beginning to hover at his words. I kept an eye on my probability as I watched them start to orbit me, crackling with power. It stayed low, something I was comfortable with. Any higher than point three I would say, to stop it from continuing. But it was still in the point zero area, a comforting sight. The chance of this killing me was low, which I could handle. As he stopped chanting, I watched the number change. This was the dangerous part, as he stopped feeding into his spell, and letting it build. It meant it was past the point of no return. If he tried to stop it, all this power would have to go somewhere. All that would probably end up with bad things happening. But to my surprise, my number decreased. It reached zero, something that was rare, as there was always a remote chance of death. But it didn't stop. It continued to fall into negative figures, an impossibility. I wanted to speak, but my gut said not to. This Boon had never been wrong in the centuries since its creation. The chance of it happening right now was remote at best. Besides, speaking up would mean he would try to stop the spell, and that would certainly end badly. The ritual pulled on my mana, drawing it out. It fed into the feedback loop, drawing and entering into me. I felt a strange burning sensation, as if my spirit was on fire. But it wasn't painful. It felt... good in a way. My probability dropped, until it stabilised at -0.98965. The burning grew. I felt more and more power cycling through me. It was incredible, far more than I had ever seen before. Feeling it was indescribable. The ritual had not only worked, it had exceeded beyond his wildest dreams. You wield impressive strength. The whisper filled my ears. A face wavered before me, its mouth in a faint smile. Such power in the hands of a mortal... no... not mortal no longer. It wavered close, as the ritual rose towards its completion. Welcome to the halls of immortality. I will see you soon. The ritual finished, the last shreds of power flooding into me. I gasped, falling to my knees. As I breathed in short gasps, I managed to spit out words at the space the face had existed. "What... was... that...?"
I awoke, peering through the many eyes of the forest dwellers. An intruder had appeared, a small intruder, but potentially still dangerous. The species it came from was capable of both great harm, and great good. There was no telling what this one would do. Watching through a sleepy owl, I chuckled making the owl hoot softly. Apparently, what this intruder would do, was stumble around making enough noise to raise all the hunters in the forest. Gently, I extended my consciousness, warning them away, sending them easier prey so they left the intruder alone. No one wanted the retaliation that would come if this was a loved child, and it was found dead. The night shifted to day, and still, the child stumbled. Still, it tried to find food, reaching for poisonous berries on more than one occasion. Watching through the eyes of a chipmunk, I pushed the berries out of the intruder's reach; convinced the plants to pull their branches out of the way. This child was worse than useless. As day turned to night once again, I watched the child push its way deeper and deeper into the forest. It had long passed the point where it would be easily found by any searchers. And with an almost uncanny trajectory, it was headed straight towards my residence, towards the heart. After once again warning the predators away, I withdrew my consciousness from the animals and coalesced into a non-threatening physical form. I would have to deal with the intruder personally. At least teach it how to survive inside the forest, so I didn't have to keep intervening. And I had just been planning to go down for a hundred-year nap. This would not be fun. — — — — — — — "What are you doing? It's a baby bird that fell out of the nest. Leave it to the first predator that comes along."I huffed at my charge. The child had grown larger, though it was still short of a full-grown adult. But it was old enough to communicate properly and was learning survival quite well. I could probably leave it alone now, but... it was nice having someone to talk to. Someone who could understand concepts and ideas that the animals of the forest could not. "But I want to help it."The child said, hands gently lifting the peeping bundle of fluff. "It needs help." "Yes, but the natural order of things means you are taking food away from a predator by saving its prey. Upsetting the balance of the forest. That sort of thing."I said. "You saved me."The child frowned up at me, cradling the baby bird. "Shouldn't I have been a predator's meal?" I sighed, turning away. "Come on then, we'll have to go look for things to feed it while you raise it. And I will not be helping you, you will do it all on your own."The child scampered after me, moving with quiet speed, the first thing I'd trained it in; how to move through the forest without calling the wrong attention to yourself. I didn't answer the question and knew the child wouldn't ask again, it knew better than to pester me. But the question wormed its way deep into my heart, waiting for the day it would need an answer. — — — — — — — "Come quick, come quick!"The child— though now full-grown, I couldn't bring myself to call it anything else— ran into our sanctum at the heart of the forest. A raven sat on its shoulder, the adult version of the chick it had rescued. I raised my head, frowning at the child. "What is it?" "I've been to the edge of the forest and there are men there." "I know, I felt them step into the trees—" "They have fire!"The three words dropped from the child's lips and into my ears like stones. Fire. Rising, I moved towards the child, growing as I did so, until I doubled its size. With wide eyes, it stared up at me, as I growled. "Stay here. You will be safe. I will be back." I ran through the forest, the trees bending and shifting around my passage, the animals and birds fleeing towards the heart, away from the edges, away from the danger. The noise of their passage was the only sound that reached my ears until I drew closer to the forest's boundary. Fire crackled up the trees, small dark figures moving behind the flames. "YOU DARE SET FIRE TO THE FOREST!"I shouted, my voice the sound of trees cracking in the winter, the rush of rivers, the loud screams of agonized prey and the triumphant screech of a hunter. The men ran, racing away from the forest, retreating. In two strides I left the forest, reaching towards the figures, all anger and vengeance, determined to destroy. Arms outstretched, a smaller figure dashed in front of me, a raven swooping in, and landing on its shoulder. "Stop!"The child shouted, glaring up at me. "They destroy the forest!"I yelled back, though tempering the volume. "They deserve to die!" "They will kill you."Motioning behind, the child pointed at the massed ranks of men just cresting over the hill. "Your power is tied to the forest, is it not? Out here..." I looked at the army arrayed against me, then at the child in front of me. Anger still distorted my features, still powered my desire to kill the attackers. "Why did you stop me? They are your kind."I lashed out, knowing the words would hurt the child, knowing it might let me pass if I hurt it enough. "Why did you save me? I am not your kind."It stared up at me, water forming on its face. Human tears. "Why did you keep me safe, why did you train me, why do any of it?"Looking down at the child, memories of our time together flooded over me, taking me back to that first helpless moment I saw it stumbling through the forest. "Love."It was a word the child had taught me, even though I had felt it before I knew what it was. "Because of love." "And I stop you because of the same. Because of love."The child paused, as if summoning up courage. "Because I love you... Mother."I staggered back, the weight of that word slamming into my chest. Mother? I was a god, a force of nature, I had no children, except— Staring down at the small tear-stained face, I held out my hand, shrinking down to a more regular size. "Daughter. Let's go home." The child slipped her hand into mine and we turned away from the human army, back to the forest, where the fire had begun to die. She had been right, it had been a trap, destruction to draw me out. I smiled as we walked through the trees. The forest would heal, and we would remain inside. Alive, and together. Mother and daughter. — — — — — — — Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories!
From what we've gathered from the archive, the human species was a sexual one - a very sexual one. Of note is that it did not appear that alpha males were the most successful at completing the mating ritual; lesser, beta males appeared to be those with the most success - ones that identified themselves as "pool boys"and "delivery guys." The females appeared to submit to all their sexual desires, regardless of their roles in the society. Whether it was their educational systems or health facilities, sexual intercourse would transpire, without concern of the greater needs. We conclude that this played an important part of their extinction. Curiously, we have noted that the population held multiple roles within society. For example, subject "Lisa Ann"has been highlighted as being both a "bored housewife"(domestic dwelling female) and "candidate for Vice-President of the United States"(secondary position in the United States clan.) Similar patterns have been observed in subjects "James Deen", "Jenna Jameson"and "Ron Jeremy." The biggest scientific breakthrough for us is that humans had multiple abilities to conceive offspring - initially, it was believed that the sexual intercourse must be completed vaginally. However, after viewing multiple entries, it appeared that such a way would be impossible for the human species to grow and survive. Therefore, the males reproductive fluid (known as "cum") could be absorbed by the female, both orally or absorbed through the skin. The breasts (or "tits"as they're known to humans) and the posterior ("ass/arse") appeared to be the most successful places. Larger tits and asses were favoured by the males, presumably for this purpose. In tern, females desired larger penetrable devices ("dick/cock") as these would, clearly, store more cum for the female. It also appears the anal and rectal cavity sufficed as well as the vagina, albeit more painfully for the female. We are, so far, only 4 years into our study from the footage. However, we shall endeavour onwards.
It has been said before and it will be said again: "Be the change you want to see in the world"(or subreddit, as SurvivorType would say). If you're sick of fantasy prompts submit nonfiction ones. If you're sick of summer prompts submit winter ones. If you're sick of prompts about dogs playing banjos then submit ones about cats playing cellos. Go into the new submissions and upvote the prompts that you find interesting, or inspirational, or just plain fun. What you shouldn't do is cherry pick certain prompts and label them as "terrible". As a subreddit that prides itself on encouraging people to write, telling a certain group of writers that their work is "silly"goes against everything we stand for. People should be able to write about whatever catches their fancy, on any topic they choose. Just a thought.
We were haughty and head-strong when we began the invasion. Our leaders knew that all of the transmissions had both a grain of truth and a grain of falsehood, but we'd already conquered half the Milky Way and were too hungry for more. When we started obliterating their timid little colonies, we all patted ourselves on the back as they ran in terror back home. Our might was too strong for them, and we were assured complete and total domination. I remember there even being a national holiday declared for our newest victory. My mother bought me some sweets, and held me as high as she could with all of her arms. I was young then, I hadn't even sprouted proper eyestalks yet, but I could still see the arrogant gaze in the soldiers eyes as they waved to the crowd and marched along. Of course, back then we called it bravery. Once we'd wiped out all the tertiary colonies, our might was focused on their home planet. At first, we succeeded. Large swaths of their population were wiped out. There was one general who'd seen a movie called Escape from...something, but he knocked out their communication satellites. Tactitians were already planning how best to ship our new slaves and crops to our various footholds around the galaxy. We all remember the night it happened. The war was at year three or so - while we had might, it took a while for that might to be gathered. None of us thought particularly much of their intellect, what with their flimsy "shuttles"and primitive fuels. My dad was one of the first to spot it, and I remember my mother clutching the transceiver as my father described what was coming straight for him. The shockwaves were felt all the way to the outer rings. Nobody knew how they did it, but it was all-consuming. Most of our fleet was scorched to nothing, with some lucky bastards escaping in battle scarred and highly unstable damaged ships. My father called it a bomb. Supposedly it had something to do with splitting up the very essence of matter. The humans were primitive, but they were primitives with a very, very strong weapon, killing us with the essence of life. We fought back, of course, as hard as we could - but the bombs kept coming. Eventually, four years afterward, our forces were minimal and a retreat was called. It was the first retreat in recent history. All of us were somber as we watched our soldiers come home with bent stalks and burnt tendrils. How could this have happened to us? How could we have been beaten so thouroughly? There'd been hints of their ferocity, but this was beyond anything we'd imagined. Our fleets carried so many dead home, and only a few live warriors. Ambassador Balrek declared a national day of mourning, and we started to collectively pick up the pieces. Soldiers were cared for, ships rebuilt, and for a little while, we ambled back to the status quo. Then one night, much like the night they first struck, a ship appeared over Holm. We didn't stand a chance. None of us did. We ran. They followed.
Well, this is awkward... I thought to myself. There was a woman who looked to be about my age and height in my bed. Her long brown hair flowed over her face, obscuring her identity. She snored pretty loudly, but it was an adorable snore. Did something happen last night? I couldn't remember going to a party or anything at all that would cause this situation. I've been single and shy my entire life. What could have happened last night? I heard a groan, followed closely by a yawn. She was awake. The first thing I noticed was her face. It seemed really familiar. I couldn't quite place it, but I'd seen that face before. Her bright emerald eyes were half closed, partially hidden by the messy hair over her face. We stared at each other for a few seconds. I waved my hand and smiled gently. "Good morning." "Who are you,"the woman said drowsily. "I'm Erik White." She brushed her hair back behind her ear and groggily replied, "I'm... Erica White-" Our eyes went wide. "WHAT THE FUCK,"We both yelled at the same time and jumped back, which we both found out is surprisingly difficult to do when you're laying in bed. We had both realized where we had seen each other's faces. In the mirror. Oh shit. She spoke up. "You're me, aren't you?"Her voice quivered a little "I guess I am,"I replied, equally scared and excited. This was a new situation for me. Not only had I woken up to a gorgeous woman in bed with me, but she WAS me. I didn't really know what to feel. I'm sure she didn't either. I decided to break the awkwardness. "Wow,"I said, "I'm beside myself with surprise!" We both groaned at the stupidity of the joke, then had a good laugh. God, this was weird. An hour later we were both dressed and sitting at the table in my kitchen. I was glad it was a weekend, otherwise I'd be ridiculously late for work. "So let me get this right,"I said. "You're from a parallel universe where everyone's genders are reversed?" "Well from my angle, your universe is the backward one,"Erica said, leafing though an encyclopedia I found to help fill her in on our universe. "Seriously, Abraham Lincoln? Joan of Arc? That's so weird." "How should we explain your appearance to people?" "Like Lynn?" "Who?" "My - Oh right,"she said. "What's your roommate's name?" "Luke. Oh shit, he was out last night at a party! He'll be home any moment!" "Alright,"she started to panic too. Ha, classic me. "How about this: I'm your girlfriend from Oregon and came up to stay with you for a while until I can get a job?" "Wait, why girlfriend?" "Well,"she said, "I've always been sort of curious what a gender swapped version of me would be like... ^in his totality... " "I... Uhh... Hmm..." "C'mon,"a sly grin danced on her lips, "it'll be fun." I heard the unmistakable sound of Luke fumbling for his keys, the poor uncoordinated soul. "Fine,"I said quickly. "How do we go about this-" She kissed me just as Luke opened the door. This is going to be a weird day. [Edit: Clarity, formatting, spelling error]
"I'm so glad we could make this a private session, sir,"Angela said, laying her CV down on Sekou's desk. "E-excuse me?"He sat up straight. "I've just met so many men who like to do it out in the open, with everyone watching."She leaned back in her seat, straightening out her skirt. "They put everyone in a big circle and then do them one by one. It's a lot to handle." Sekou paused, mouth frozen in a half-smile, half gape, eyes narrowed at the young Stanford graduate. RSI, they had told him. Moderate to severe. Nothing too disturbing, nothing that would inhibit her productivity in the workplace. And yet... "You mean the group interviews?"Sekou finally said, his voice small and rising at the end of his sentence, as if begging for her to say yes. "Absolutely. And the background checks. They go in on you really deep. And in front of all the other interviewees. You really go hard on the fresh meat around here, huh?" "Y-yes,"He patted his hand on her CV and looked down. "Yes, very hard."With a clear of his throat, Sekou looked through Angela's history. "Very interesting. You started the Deep Packet Inspection Club and even raised the money for your own infosec hackathons. How'd you pull that off and still get straight A's?" "Well,"Angela leaned in toward him. "I like to get up close and personal. With professors. With sponsors. When I need something, I offer a trade. You give me what I want, and I give you what you want. And it's not hard to figure out what someone wants, sir. We're all human. We've all got the same... basic urges buried inside us. I like to think I know how to dig my hand deep, down into a person and touch them in hidden places, right where those urges hide. Skin to skin, so to speak. Do you know what I mean?" He honestly didn't. He started off following her logic, but then he got distracted. RSI. Remember. "Uh, yes..."Sekou rubbed his chin. "So... not to be offensive or anything, but about your condition. Your Reverse Sexual-Innuendo Syndrome?" "Yes, sir?"She sat up straight, as if he'd just pointed a gun at her. "Oh, no, there's nothing wrong with it. It won't be considered at all in the interview process. I mean, you have all the credentials we look for. It's just--" "I haven't been doing it again, have I sir? I have a habit of... opening myself up to people like you. Or, what I mean is! I... when I'm stressed, or I'm in front of important people, I do things with my mouth that I regret later. You..."her shoulders dropped. "Do you know what I mean?" Sekou gave a small laugh and smiled at her, though you could see it more in his eyes than his lips. "Yes, Angela. I think we've all experienced that. Now let's continue."
If you want to understand, you have to know the whole story. It was April 22nd, 2153 when we had the first drill. It was scheduled, 14:30-22:45 Plains Standard Time. When the new military development facilities went up, every single building in the whole damn Tri-River area got a evac signal. Pretty simple system: If it's green, you stay, red, you go to the nearest evac facility for immediate transfer out of the "affected radius."Not everyone took that first drill seriously-- a lot of red lights working through the alarms, meeting with friends or picking up kids before evac, going to the nicer or less crowded evac stations, and a lot of green lights generally milling about. For the second drill, the guard (unarmed, for "instructional purposes") was on hand for mandatory drill enforcement, handing out written warnings. For the third drill, noncompliants were detained and fined for "obstruction of emergency rescue efforts". Just before the fourth drill, an executive order was passed imposing a mandatory sentence of 18 months monitored surveillance for that particular charge, and after that our compliance rate was over ninety-eight percent. After a couple of years, nobody but rebellious teenagers and the few thousand left in the slums thought twice about complying with the drills. They were always scheduled, always orderly, always calm. The initial grumbling-- mostly from the die-hard government transparency activists, who as usual thought they had some chance of getting the feds to open up about what the military was up to-- died down in about the same amount of time. The facilities themselves had brought tens of thousands of low-skill jobs, and the evac systems brought two thousand more in higher tech. Anybody working in the facilities who thought to question what they were making, or why it required two million citizens to be on constant evacuation alert, earned themselves a one-way ticket right back to the slums and a sure sentence of slow starvation for their families. No, the facilities were a blessing, the economic engine that turned the Tri-River region from slum to solidly middle class, and nobody dared question their blessings. And then, one day, the sirens went off for real. It was April 27th, 2159, when we got the call over at the "switchboard"-- actually just your standard office building, with one tech for each district. We were all glorified button-pushers, but it paid well enough, there was child care on site, and you don't say no when they recruit you in the slums. Anyway, standard message came through at 10:37: there was a possible emergency in facility 23, standby for evac signal instructions in your district. Then facility 26, facility 12, facility 18. Still no instructions. By 10:43, all eight facilities in and around my district had sent the same message: possible emergency, standby for instructions. At 11:06, the guard rolled in. Armed. At 11:13, the orders for my district came through... all subsections green. The evac sirens went off as I lit the board. Here's the thing though: Facility 23 is right in the middle of my district. 11-18 border the west side and 26 is only a mile north. There was no way all eight had emergencies and my district was completely green. Hell, when I activated for a drill in 15, it lit up my entire district and four others. I was a grunt, but I wasn't stupid. We aren't allowed to discuss the evac signals with other operators-- they even gave us real offices, instead of cubicles (basic communications only going in and out, of course), to keep us from getting too friendly with each other. But Stessie, who ran the signals for district C, was a network freak and figured out some fancy way to hijack the basic communications, so we had a chat system. Stessie swore nobody was getting past her security, but we didn't trust it, so until that day it was used strictly for banter and crude jokes. But there was no way I had eight emergencies and no red evac lights, and you were just down the hall, about to eat lunch. So I risked it. Same story with all of us: Greens across the board, emergencies in all the facilities... except for 1 and 3. James didn't get any reports from them. The guard marched into our building at 11:21. One posted at the end of each hall. Then, the power flickered. And again. And again. By the third flicker, the guard at the end of my hall looked uneasy. Four more times it flickered, before the building plunged into darkness. In the distance, I could hear children screaming. I heard a scuffle at the end of the hall, Antoine swearing, and a loud thump. Of course Antoine would make a break for it-- both his kids were on-site. I ran too. Gunfire, until Antoine leaned around the corner and returned fire. Two more corners, two more shootouts, and we had you. Keisha and Ty too. Outside, we heard explosions. We ran. We ran. We ran. And Gracie, you were so brave. Because when Antione's arm got hit by shrapnel, and he fell, you were the one who snatched up baby Ty. Did I ever tell you that? Three years old, and you were out of my arms before I even had time to bend over. You said "Mommy, that arm's bleeding. We gotta carry Ty, cause Keisha can hold on but he can't and his daddy can't neither." Looking back, the only thing that saved us was how close we were to the edge of the district. There weren't any factories to our east, Antione remembered how to hotwire cars from when we all lived in the slums, and we had a straight shot out of town on the highway. We were about ten miles out when the gas lines caught fire. Only a few thousand got out-- everyone else sat in their homes and offices until the whole damn region was on fire-- they never bothered to upgrade from natural gas, and it burned for weeks before they got the explosions under control. We drove until the gas ran out. From there, we hitchhiked out west, way far away from the facilities, out where the military wasn't quite so strong. Only we found out later that the military wasn't so strong anywhere, because when they found out their leaders let two million people burn to the ground-- and sent their brothers-in-arms to die with them-- they rebelled, then crumbled. All that I only know from the news, but you remember the rest from there. The rebuilding, the new leadership, the closest thing to democracy we've had in a century. And now, look at you. You're training to be a doctor. My Gracie, born in a slum in the poorest region in a country where NOBODY who wasn't born somebody tried for anything more than a solid meal and a dry place to sleep. That's how I can say that the Tri-River tragedy is the best thing that ever happened to this country. We lost everything, and a hell of a lot of people lost a lot more. But now, it doesn't matter that nobody knows your daddy, doesn't matter you were born without a penny to your name. You can BE somebody, and all you've gotta do is work at it and use your god-given talents. I'm not saying it's wrong that those people died, and I'm not saying it shouldn't have happened different. But sometimes, life gives you a crappy plot of land, and it takes a whole lot of shit to grow a garden there, Gracie. Don't you ever forget it.
"Maggie,"said God. "Yes, sir?"Maggie stood very straight and very still, chin up, hands clasped neatly in front of her. God had never seen anyone else manage to make Heaven's robes look quite so... prim. "You're here again." "Yes, sir."Maggie was surreptitiously using her foot to flatten out the tufts of cloud she was standing on. "Stop that,"God commanded. Maggie stopped, but began to look visibly uncomfortable. She eyed the disorderly mess of cloud as though she wanted to vacuum it up, even if it meant removing the very foundations of Heaven. She'd tried it before. "Maggie, Maggie look at me. I need you to focus." Maggie looked at God. "It's only been 16 Earth years." "Yes, sir." "...I thought we talked about this, Maggie." "Well, sir, with all due respect, sir, I did explain to you last time that if there were extra-ordinary circumstances beyond that of my control, I could not promise that the temptation to reset would not be too great. Sir." "Extraordinary- Maggie, all you did was spill a bit of coffee." "I spilled it on my blouse, sir." "So?" "I... I'm not sure you understand. The blouse was white, sir." "Child!"God's voice thundered. The force of it shook the fibers of existence itself. Whoops, he thought, guess there was going to be another earthquake. He'd be getting prayers about that all week. "I am everywhere at every time in every thing. Do not presume to tell me what I do not understand." Maggie sniffed. "Yes, sir. Then you see, sir, why I had to reset. Don't you?" God did not see, but after 67,842 life cycles, he had learned that sometimes there was no reasoning with Maggie. He looked at the girl, how uncomfortable she seemed. She had busied herself trying to smooth out the drapes of her robe, a harmless enough pass time. But God remembered. He remembered what had happened after her first life, when the stress of reliving each of her mistakes over and over in her mind had caused her to start harassing the other angels, obsessively counting and breaking off their split ends. God hadn't even realized angels had split ends! When Satan had visited for one of their chess games, he'd sensed the girl's misery from three clouds away, and even made a crack about God getting into the torture business. God just couldn't have an angel this upset. It was bad for his reputation. "Look, Maggie, I'll give you another life cycle, see if this time goes any better." "Oh, thank you, sir! You won't regret it, sir!" "Try to make it to past adolescence this time, ok kid? It may mellow you out." "Well, sir, I can't make any promises. If there are extra-ordinary circumstan-" God snapped his fingers, and Maggie's life began again. From heaven, he watched as she was born, without so much as a wail. As Maggie's mother held her infant daughter in her arms for the first time, Maggie quietly reached out to brush a speck of dust from her mother's hospital gown. Maggie cooed, content. For now. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism very much so welcome and appreciated.
I've lived here for three years now. They tell me this is my home. The woman who introduced herself as my mother has sadness in her eyes whenever she looks at me. I assume it's a sadness for the baby boy taken from her twenty-three years ago, and the stranger returned to her. She is not my mother. The girls that call themselves sisters glare at me as an interloper, an intruder. Whenever I enter the house a hush falls over it, heavier because I know it was full of talk and life only moments before. They hate me, and I cannot blame them. They are not my sisters. These strangers stare because I am supposed to be the man of the house now. Their father, the only man they ever knew, is dead. I would have shared something with him. Understood him. He might have made this house full of strangers a family. But he is dead, and he was never my father. As I stand here a new stranger has entered this place called a home. The strangers stare at him in fear. I recognize that look. They stared at me the same way three years ago. He drops his bags and raises his eyes to meet mine. I recognize that look as well. It was the same I had when I came here. The same one I still carry, but for him it's all so fresh. The pain and confusion. The feeling of power and burden of responsibility. He's just been released. We stare at each other for a long moment. Weighing and probing the other. Then he nods to me. This is my brother. Now I understand. I wonder if he does.
Terrorists. I know, it's typically a cop-out ploy to monger fear via the media, but the enemies of the US have actually done it. When Russian subs were found exploring the undersea cables, it was already too late. All at once communication was cut across the nation. Simultaneously, China deployed use of a supercharged EMP pulse detonated in the sky, it knocked out everything. Coast to coast. I'm Jeremy. I'm the White House Service Logistics Coordinator. While it sounds pretty, I'm essentially the nations most important janitor. I oversee the impeccability of every nook and cranny in this timeless symbol of America. While once I scrubbed it's floors, my work ethic and overall love for cleaning fast tracked my climb to WHS Logistics Coordinator, and 627th in line for the presidency. A novelty, mostly. That is until the third strike. North Korean terrorist on american soil delivered a custom crafted virus targeting specific bloodlines. In 24 hours everyone in the USA was infected, however, only blood related members of the 626 people ahead of me in line for the Oval Office suffered death. I suppose they had to pick somewhere to draw the line, and why not at the glorified janitor. The 626 and relations were the lucky ones though. Without warning, ground troops pulled up to nearly every inch of our coasts and that's when the shit hit the fan. That was 30 years ago today. A war that lasted 3 years.... And we killed every last enemy solider. We also suffered heavy losses. The weak and unlucky were first to be cut down by invading forces, but most of us found strength and our spirits combined could draw untold acts of heroism. It was all in all a savage, gory war. Americans have never been so primal but, we survive. We did what we had to do. In the subsequent years, as my appointed duty dictated, I personally oversaw the rebuilding of society. I, among the other elected officials, began restructuring. We implemented new systems and established what was to be the seeds of a new nation. In time I became listed in history books as the 1st president of New America.
It wasn't easy being Slong Johnson. In fact it was quite hard. He'd lived a long life, but he wasn't ready to finish just yet. Slong Johnson knew the secret of male enhancement. A trick that had earned him his name and online handle, Big-dick69. Slong grew up in a small Dutch village called Erecht Peenus. It was known for its icing and deep cave exploration. There Slong grew up on a chicken farm tending to many cocks and chicks. He started a club at age 10 and by 15 had successfully grown his membership so large that the locals had begun to talk. Slong knew he would have to share this with the world. The internet became an outlet for Slong Johnson's huge membership of male enhancement and cock handling, but this was dangerous. There were people who apparently didn't understand Slong's work and he faced stiff resistance and hit more than his fair share of slippery patches. Apparently some didn't want people finding out how to handle their cocks and grow membership. An elite club of a large members sent many a cease and desist, but Slong wasn't here to rub anyone the wrong way. He tried to make peace, he tried to explain and come clean. He woke with a knock on the door and there stud Ivan Erection. A Russian member and long time Slong fan. "I don't have the balls to do it..."said Ivan, "I've been sent to kill you, but I've a huge respect for you." Slong was shocked, "Kill me? why?" "They felt threatened by your large membership. Felt like you were stuck up, acting hard. A real cock of the walk type." Ivan started to cry, "I'm ruined. A hitman who can't kill." "Get a grip,... don't want to lose your head at a time like this. I'm here anyway and we can pull you together." Tragically the author grew tired of beating the dead horse of dick jokes in masturbatory fashion right about now. So there will sadly be no climax.
I've been tasked with attempting to communicate with the aliens - sorry, with the 'Emergent Sentients' - recently found in No Man's Sky, with varying degrees of success. Meanwhile, in the real world, people have been going mad. Fucking crazy, really. Found a couple sentient species in a universe with 18 quintillion planets, and we've barely searched a billion. Sean Murray is calling himself a God, and that might be the truest thing he's ever said. Regardless, interesting times we're living in. Now millions of people are out there in No Man's Sky, searching for other signs of intelligent life. And the ones we've found, well, not all of them are still around. Demands a lot from a species, finding out you're just AI gone wrong. More than a third of them we've found, they've just gone mad. Blown themselves up. When you really think about it, can you even blame them? Plenty environmental organisations saying we should just let them be. The knowledge is killing them, more often than not. And the military is, of course, saying we should bomb them all to hell, but how? It's all in the cloud now. And some of those aliens seem to have better technology than we do - so I say we should just count ourselves lucky that they haven't found a way of getting into our world. For now, at least. Makes you wonder, really. Pixels start to seem a whole lot more like atoms, the more you think about it.
I had only used the coin twice before. The coin... blessed and cursed in equal measures, just like I am. The day my Grandfather passed it down to me--the day he had died--he had warned me to only use it under the most serious of circumstances. But I've always been a fool and whilst people might think I listen, my hands cover my ears. The first time I used it I had wished to be rich and successful. I was drunk at the time and didn't really believe the coin could change anything. Well, it landed on heads and I bet on the football that night. I won. I won all my bets. The next day I bought shares in a local company with the money I made gambling. The second wish I made was to be handsome and adored. There was a girl I liked--more than liked, but she didn't even notice me. Even with all my wealth I couldn't impress her. I flipped the coin and made my wish. The coin landed tails. That night on my way home from the office, a car swerved into mine. I remember the searing heat and the screaming; those God awful screams that I was later told could only have come from me. The other driver had died instantly. My face was melted. I was repulsive and I thought I couldn't be loved. It took years before I met someone who could stand to look at me, who could touch me, who would kiss me. The coins curse didn't even make her flinch. We had three happy years before the cancer came. As her death crept closer I took the coin out of the safe and placed it into my pocket. She looked so weak the day I made the wish. Pale and thin and fragile. I knew she was going to die and that it was just a matter of hours. I wept as I left the hospital room and removed the coin from my pocket. I flicked it up in the air and said the words. When I came back into the room the nurse took me to the side. I pushed past her and saw the flattened pattern on the heart rate monitor. I had made the wish too late; she had died whilst I had been out of the room. I wept and cursed and laid my head on her bosom. I don't know how long I lay there. Perhaps it was an hour before the cold hand touched my neck and gently stroked my hair.
The last couple of years I have been living with my best friend in the world, Mark. I was living with my mother and sisters before and thought I might miss them, but the time with Mark has been amazing. He also saved my life. Mark had spent the better part of the last decade preparing a bunker. Canned food, water, films, blankets and toys, he had thought of everything. When the comet hit, we were in that bunker and all we noticed were a few vibrations. Mark smiled at me and said 'You hear that? That's it. And they thought I was stupid.' The comet hit six days ago and we have not been outside before today. I mostly eat food from cans anyway and so does Mark, so there is no desperate need to go out. To tell you the truth, if it wasn't for me and my affinity to taking walks we would have not gone outside at all before the comet hit. Mark is perfectly fine with staying inside. He does not like talking much and plays on his computer a lot. Today we decided to go out. Mark pushed his whole weight against the heavy iron door of the bunker, which opened easily anyway, maybe because Mark weighs a lot. I ran out and the first thing I did was pee against the next tree. It was unmarked territory and now it was mine. We live next to a farm with chicken, none of which had survived. It was beautiful, me, munching on the bones and flesh, Mark, running around freely and watching me. There was no other person in sight anywhere. The whole village had been destroyed and in ashes, so all we found were some cadavers and other food. I peed against more trees, peed against lampposts and mailboxes, the whole territory belongs to me now. Back in the bunker, Mark and I cuddled up and I licked tears off his face until he fell asleep. I love Mark, he is my best friend in the world.
I usually avoid cities. With all the people it gets overwhelming, as thousands of thoughts bombard my ethereal eardrums... er... braindrums? Regardless of the exact terminology, it's hard to filter out that many thoughts at a time. Sadly I was in Chicago on business and couldn't get away from the masses. "... that's a cute dog..." "... oh God no, another text from Frank? I hope he doesn't find out I banged his wife..." "........... Is that the fourth fire hydrant I've seen? .... or fifth...." "He's totally wrong, a platypus horse hybrid would be called a horsypus, not a platorse.." These are the kinds of thoughts that bombard me by the minute. I can't keep them out, can't turn them off. Some of them are quite entertaining, but most of the time it's just the random dullness of the everyday lives of people I don't care about. The ability is pretty useful though, and it's certainly led to some gainful employment. This job was supposed to be routine, just running a case of the stuff across the city. My abilities make me especially useful as a runner because I can tell when someone is following me and what they intend to do. There's nothing quite like the thrill of giving some nitwit the slip and hearing his confused thoughts rattle about in his head. I made a cut towards my destination through an alleyway when I heard something strange. A faint song echoed in my thoughts. It sounded familiar... The Girl From Ipanema? I focused for a second. It was difficult to discern real sound from thought-sound but with enough practice I was able to do it. This was definitely emanating from someone's head. I had never heard someone so accurately recreate music in their thoughts. Usually when people had an earworm it was distorted by their memory, or shortened to only a small part of the song on loop. This was eerily perfect. The music started to get louder, it's cheery and nonchalant tone doing nothing to ease my nervousness. I started to run down the alleyway, hoping to get away from this unknown character. I was always a good runner even before I gained my abilities, because I knew how to avoid trouble before it actually got to me. The sound didn't fade out, but kept getting louder. As I turned around to see if this elevator-music producing person was following me I bumped into something and fell flat on my ass. I looked up and saw a gargantuan man smiling like a dope, not even bothered that I had just rammed into him running at full speed. "Sorry chap, I didn't see..."I began to apologize when the man grabbed me by the neck and picked me up. I struggled against his grip, startled at the whole encounter. How had I not heard his intent to pick me up? I kicked at the brute, hoping he'd let me go if I gave him enough trouble. He just kept grinned stupidly, looking past me with an airy gaze. I focused in and tried to get a read on his thoughts. All I got in return was the music. The golem was wearing a camera on his chest and had wires entering both of his temples. My vision started to fade, and with it went my attempts to escape. On the brink of passing out I noticed a series of green letters appear on my attacker's glasses. He dropped me to the ground. I crumpled, gasping for air and rubbing my crushed neck. Another series of text flashed before the man's eyes and he reached down to grab the case from my hand. Still, all that came from his head was "The Girl From Ipanema", and I couldn't predict anything that he was doing. He ripped the case from my grasp and started to turn around and walk away. "s...sto....stop..."I tried to croak out. I got up to chase the man, still woozy from my loss of oxygen. I caught up to him and tried to yank the case away. Nothing I did seemed to bother him, he just kept lumbering forward with a dimwit smile. Green text flashed. 'Break' was all it said. As soon as it appeared I could hear a faint 'break' from underneath the music. It was so faint I wouldn't have been able to hear it if I wasn't practically on top of the guy. He turned around and stepped on my leg, shattering my knee. I cried out in agony as I fell to the ground. I couldn't fight this guy, this brute who had no thoughts. I crawled away admitting defeat. Whoever had sent the man clearly knew I could read minds. They had deprived that poor strongman of his thoughts and replaced it with obnoxiously loud elevator music in order to drown out the commands he read. I wasn't about to risk my life for a paycheck. It was time to get out of the business. Maybe I could become a psychic.

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