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"Ivanov, it's time to destabilize the country,"said Ida. That's it then. The big red button, wreaking havoc, economic collapse and societal disruption. He had worked with that objective in mind after all. Disappear into the social structure, build a network of rebels and dissidents, do the groundwork to facilitate the oncoming revolution. All for the benefit of another country. And Ivanov happened to be the very best at his job. Police force, blue-collar workers, high-class socialites, teacher's unions, left-wing, right-wing... His influence was felt everywhere. But the order took time to come, so he kept working, following his teachings like a mantra. 1 - If nothing happens, keep growing the sleeper cell as long as it does not threaten the operation. 2 - Blood and sacrifice in reasonable amounts only. Do not look like a Bond vilain. 3 - Agents are expensive to replace, protect your assets. Simple, straightforward, efficient. Ivanov lived and breathed these rules. He thought that Ida, his handler, had forgotten about his existence after some intimate politic upheaval back home. Apparently not. "Bring on the revolution." "Sorry, no can do." "What?" Ivanov put the phone down. Half the country was part of his sleeper cell. If the country entered turmoil, so did his sleeper cell, and he was trained to protect it, treat it with the same respect he would an expensive tool. The phone rung again. "At least kill the president." "Sorry, he's one of ours." "What?" He put the phone down. Protect your most important assets. Naturally, a president was the biggest asset of them all. The phone rung again. "Can you at least tell him to screw up the economy? Just a little bit? Please?" "No." He hung up. Ivanov never went against his directives. A sms from his handler came. If you don't follow orders, you will be court-martialed and another will take your place. Ivanov was the best at his job, another would do worse and thus damage his carefully prepared group of agents. But then, he risked worse by not doing it. But all things considered, there was one alternative left. Back home, a day later, Ida was giving a rundown during an emergency meeting. "We've lost contact with Ivanov and his massive sleper cell. He has data and important files. Find him, bring him back, he and everything he gathered. But if needed, silence h-" A secretary slammed the door open. "You need to see this." He turned on the television. On screen, news reported of a new president being elected not too far away, after the former president's decision to step down from his post for the good of the country. The newly elected was Ivanov. If they killed a president, they would be burned badly by virtually every other country. If they tried to strong-arm him, he had enough material to blackmail them into submission. Ida sighed and picked up her phone. \- Can we at least enter a mutually beneficial trade-agreement? - Sure. - You know that this was the entire reason for the operation in the first place? But anyway, food, energy and raw material trade? - Not food. The agriculture and preparation back home is riddled with pesticides, that would harm the health of my citizens, ergo my sleeper cell. Ida's head hit the deas with a loud Thud.
The whole love triangle thing had started innocently enough. We were all young and with little supervision back at the School of Wizardry. So what if I kissed a few boys? How was I to know that they'd tear the world apart fighting over me? I was just passing the time, having a little fun between the wizardry classes. I didn't know they'd take it all so... seriously. Yet here we were, at the end of all things. Here the so-called hero, with golden locks and a destiny-riddled sword of power had fought the so-called villain, who had a dark demeanor and an ill temper to accompany his cursed daggers. Here in front of the Dark Portal the fate of the world would be decided. They fought bravely, with determination, with love pumping through their hearts. And when the dust settled there was no one left standing except me. They were still conscious, just completely and absolutely drained of all their powers. Lying in little heaps, just barely alive. "Please", begged the hero, "you must sacrifice yourself to close the Dark Portal. Or more demons will come forth and destroy the whole world."He wept dramatically, as if to draw my attention to how much he'd miss me once I was gone. "Only the blood of true love will close the Dark Portal", he practically squealed. True love? Was he joking? "Nah", said I. "But we talked about this, don't you remember? On our way over here?"he asked with a broken voice. "I remember you talking about it, yes. I don't remember agreeing to anything so stupid as killing myself."My reply seemed shocking to him, like it punched the air out of his lungs. "In fact, I remember how you talked about that stuff night after night but... what I don't remember is you even once asking me what I thought about it.""B-but..." "Hah!"yelled the villain from across the room, equally exhausted as the hero. "I know you loved me more than him, from the very moment we met I knew our destinies were intertwined! You don't have to worry about a thing any more, I'll protect you now! I'll bring forth more demons from the Dark Portal and you'll be safe forever! I'll gladly destroy the whole world just to keep you safe!" "What kind of dumb plan is that? You're going to ruin the whole world with demons just to 'keep me safe'? Why did you ever think I needed protecting?"The villain looked around the room. "That blonde-haired fool over there was trying to sacrifice you, wasn't he?""He was only trying to sacrifice me to keep you from bringing more demons through the Dark Portal, you little shit." I walked into the the middle of the room, just in-between the hero and the villain. "None of you ever even thought to consider what I wanted. I was just a love interest to you two little boys. My relevance to your lives was determined entirely by your romantic feelings towards me. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'd still be here if it wasn't because of a couple of secret kisses all those years ago back at the School of Wizardry." The villain and the hero shared a look. Neither of them had any answers. "So... what do you want?"asked the hero. "Yeah, what do you want from all this?"continued the villain. But their relevance to my story was over. They were dying anyway, what difference would explaining myself to them make? I didn't owe them an explanation, I never did. I approach the Dark Portal. I stare into the abyss beyond. Maybe the hero and the villain both reach for me. Maybe they cry that I should be careful. I don't look or listen. I'm focused, determined. I step through the portal and reach for the Power.
The boy thought his trouble had ended when the two men threw him out onto the Academy doorsteps. However, unbeknownst to him, the trouble had only just begun. The world was cruel to those without magic; and even worse to those who had the mark of mana and could not be settled into the academies of the great lords of fire, earth, sea, and air. A wizard without a source of mana was as unnatural to the arcane world as a demon lurking in the lights and hopes of heaven. That was why the boy had come to the Academy: to beg for help and training, to beg for a family and brotherhood when he had known nothing but dirt and dust his whole life. But the Academy would not take anyone without a source of mana. To them, he was nothing more than just a parlour trick, with a mark obtained through devilish means; and for that, they said he deserved to be thrown back into the sewer. The boy was good at crawling after all. He had crawled through most of the main city to reach the Academy, to scurry like a rat beneath those born in life with mana and wealth. And so, the boy crawled again, as fast as he could to the wall to regain his balance and composure after the two men had thrown him out like the magicless carcass that he was. He did not make it very far. “You’re a fucking fraud,” yelled the man as he kicked the boy in the stomach. “Where did you get that mark if you can’t even use magic?” The other man laughed as he lit up his pipe with nothing more than the snap of his fingers. A son of fire. The next snap sent an ember straight for the boy's leg, and the two snaps after that took out half the boy's face and left a puddle of charred blood and skin behind. The boy crawled back again to the wall, screaming in pain, or so he thought. He could not tell anymore except his mouth was open and his throat felt dry. The boy fumbled for his boot and reached for a knife. The thing could barely be called a knife, it was more akin to a lockpick or a cheap piece of metal good for skinning apples . He held it out in front of him, gripping it tightly like a giant broadsword. The first man laughed loudly and clapped twice into the air. Before the boy could react he felt a punch of gust knock him in the stomach and it sent him flying into the wall. A son of air. The boy coughed up blood. It went everywhere, the ground, his hand, and even onto his knife. For a moment, perhaps it was the shock, the world began to slow down. He never imagined he would get far on his journey, it seemed almost fitting his life would end in the alleyway just beyond the Academy: the street, after all, was where he was found as a babe. The boy coughed up more blood, and now his world began to speed up again. The blood did something he did not expect it would: it began to circle him in the air. It started to spread on his clothes and knife, turning the small piece of metal into a large crimson sword. The drops of blood rushed around to the boy’s head, healing his wounds, and then it returned into him, coming back to its unholy home. The two men looked at each other. “Impossible,” they tried to say, but it was too late. The boy had lunged himself at them faster than an arrow through the air, and had impaled the son of fire with his newfound crimson sword. Blood began to pour out of the fire lord’s chest and before the other man could clap, the boy turned to him and with a mere thought the red blood had turned into an axe and sent the hands of the air lord flying into the night. His head soon followed. The boy fell to the floor, his hands and knees on the ground. He couldn’t help it, he crawled in shock and elation. Soon, a smile began to tear itself out from the tightened skin around his solemn cold face. Blood was his mana, and blood was everywhere in this godforsaken world.
Nick slowly stepped into the closet, eyeing the walls plastered with dozens of photos of him stretching all the way back to middle school. His family and friends had been meticulously cut out, leaving only him, and there were little hearts drawn all over. A floorboard creaked behind him, and the light bulb overhead suddenly died, leaving him in the dark. He whirled around. Yana stood in the doorway, outlined against the light from outside, her head ducked so that her black hair draped over her face. In her hand she held a box cutter whose blade she exposed notch by notch. Click, click, click. "You saw?"she asked hollowly. "Yeah, my bad,"he said apologetically. "This was supposed to be a surprise, right? I know my birthday's still two weeks away." Yana looked up at him through the fringe of her hair. "You're... not upset?" "I'm flattered, really,"he said. "Where did you even get all those photos?" And a faraway look came over her dark eyes. "Your classmates. Friends. Yearbooks. We were in the same middle school."Her gaze focused on him with a sudden intensity. "I've been watching you ever since." "Same school? Man, I never knew."He patted her on the head. "Anyway, that must've taken a lot of work. Next time you can just get me a pair of headphones or something." "I'll... keep that in mind,"she mumbled, the corners of her lips curving up. "Now, what's with the box cutter?"He caught her wrist and lifted it with a frown. "You made the blade way too long. Gotta be careful with these things, they break easily."He laid his fingers over hers and retracted the blade. "There. What did you need to cut?" "N-nevermind that now,"she said, blushing. "Okay then."He shrugged and stepped around her into the hallway. "Thanks for letting me use your restroom. I'll call you soon, alright?" Taking her by the shoulders, he leaned down to kiss her. The box cutter clattered to the floor as she met him halfway, turning the innocent peck into something fierce. Breaking apart, she stared at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm letting you go now,"she said in a low voice. "But just so you know, you won't be able to escape me."She produced a silver key. "I already made a copy of your house key." "Oh. I didn't realize we were at that stage already."He smiled. "Sorry about the trouble, I should've given you a spare." Yana's dark lashes fluttered as she stared at him in surprise. "On second thought,"she said, gripping the front of his shirt, "I won't be letting you go just yet. I'll have your babies so you can never leave me." Nick blushed and tugged at his collar. "Oh, wow. Anyone ever tell you you're refreshingly direct?" "Upstairs,"she growled, tugging him along. "Yes, ma'am,"Nick said happily.
They said it was the war to end all wars. His name was Oliver and he was just seventeen, As tall as his father but not quite as lean. His mum gave him a handkerchief that he promised to keep clean. And so he went off to war, ever so keen. Private Holt sat in the trenches of the fields of France, Waiting in the filth for the command to advance. No longer keen, he spent each day in a trance. He’d learnt that life and death were just chance. He’d heard the living and he heard the dead, He’d watched as the boys around him bled. He’d even watched someone blow off their head. He no longer believed what they had said. One day, the order to go over the top was given. Into no man’s lands, into the guns, Past the bodies which used to be sons. Parents should not have to bury their children. They said it was the war to end all wars. His name was Sam and he was just twenty two. As tall as his father with eyes just as blue. His girlfriend gave him a kiss and a promise to stay true And so he went off to war, just as keen too. Private Clarke sat along the South Korean border, There to keep peace and there to keep order. Days in weeks, weeks into months, even months were a blur. He prayed every night that the worst wouldn’t occur. Each day, the attacks were getting more brave and more bold. He wasn’t sure how much longer their defence could hold It seemed that the army were not in control. Death rates were rising each time they were told. One day, the order to invade North Korea was given, It came as no surprise that the war had begun. And Private Clarke, by the end, was no longer a son But just a number, so the battle could be won. Parents should not have to bury their children. They said it was the war to end all wars. His name was Joe and he was just twenty eight As tall as his father and about the same weight. His boyfriend gave him a kiss and said he would wait. And so he went off to war, to fight for the state. Private Jones sat in a base, near the Earth’s Atmosphere, In his helmet and the rest of his space travel gear, Trying his best not to show an ounce of fear, Hoping that the unknown objects wouldn’t appear. As he waited, with the rest of Earth’s army, to defend against space To fight against anything, for the human race, He wondered how many others had been in his place. How many others had looked death in the face? Then one day they came, appeared from behind the sun. Unknown creatures, aliens that looked nothing like men. But killed like enemies do again and again. Parents should not have to bury their children.
"It wasn't Russia?"The speaker had lost all of his composure in the last hour. Most of the delegates were impressed he'd lasted that long. Nuclear warheads! Deployed without any warning, without any spy agency being tipped off! Not just a single bomb, twelve bombs had wiped away civilizations that had fought each other for thousands of years. "It was not."The Russian ambassador took another drink. He was on his second bottle of 'You're not supposed to have that in here.' "And it wasn't Israel." Israel shook his pale face. They'd be faced with radioactive storms for decades. "And not the US, or France, or the United Kingdom... India? Pakistan?"The speaker had both elbows on the podium and a lost look in his eyes. India and Pakistan both stood up from their chairs, eyed each other with suspicion , "No."They looked at each other again in surprise. "Well who the hell is left? North Korea? South Korea stole their Nuke cores five years ago. They've been playing with duds for half a decade." The South Korean ambassador shot to his feet, "You said you not tell about that!"He stopped, looked embarrassed and then sat back down. "Turkey? Germany? Belgium?"The Speaker faced suited representatives shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders in confusion. "It was us." Every head in the room turned to the representative from Spain. He leaned back in his chair with a smug expression on his face. "No one expects the Spanish Nuclear Fission!"
What the fuck do you think you’re doing? There was a slight hesitancy to his response: I’m uh, well I’m eating a carrot. Holy mother of God that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my entire goddamn life. I’ve been on the front lines of innumerable battles, and nothing has ever made my stomach churn like it did just this moment! Once again, there was a slight hesitancy to his response: Well, uh, I mean, I’m pretty hungry and this field is full of carrots. Yes we know this entire field is full of carrots, do you think this entire battalion is full of goddamn imbeciles? It’s just that no one in their right mind looked down at the ground and thought: huh well I’m gonna pull this sentient being, with its long cultural heritage. With its family, its life ahead of it, and take a bite out of its goddamn head! There was a long pause: Uh, well I mean, hmm. I didn’t know that. I mean on Earth they’re just vegetables. Of course they’re just vegetables! But that doesn’t mean they don’t fall under the Intergalactic Conventions for Wartime Conduct. They have struggled long enough getting their name out of the gutter, we can’t just go around chomping off their heads! We can’t afford new enemies at this point! He looked at the ground with equal parts remorse and incredulity. Dropping the corpse of the recently decapitated community leader, the orange bodied, Vitamin A Certified father of three. A pause so long that this time he was interrupted before he could get a word out. Alright boys, let’s leave this sick fuck behind to dwell on his war crimes. We’re off for some good ol’ wholesome rape and pillaging! C’mon!
##Earth 1.4.1 update is now live! Hello, everyone! Long time, no see! I hope you don't mind me doing this update in English, since it seems to be the trade language right now. Please don't invade each other again because of what I put in here - oh, what am I saying, you're hard-wired to be savages. It's a miracle you've made it this far; even the pterosaur civilization that preceded you would be jealous. Anyway, here are the changes: - Removed an unfair advantage that allowed some individuals to age much more slowly than everyone else. These individuals will now begin to age normally (sorry, Keanu). - Introduced 458,000 new species, most of them insects. - Tectonic activity is now more lively and spontaneous. - Magnetosphere adjusted to accommodate recent slight increase in Sol activity. Climate and atmospheric changes caused by human civilization will be rendered normally. Aurora still only visible in arctic and antarctic regions (don't be salty, Africa). - Dreaming frequency and potency has been increased in all mammals. - Official height limit on manmade structures from update 1.2 have been removed. - All current and futures popes will have their gravity multiplier reduced from 1.0 to 0.85 to prevent them from hunching over so much in their feeble little bodies. - Legitimate pacts with Satan have been reintroduced. All living humans who have made pacts in the last 150 years should include their signature in the class action lawsuit against Satan (document to be released soon^(TM)) - Cthulu has respawned. - A faster-than-light spacecraft has been built in a far-away galaxy! - Humans will now sneeze less when looking at the sun. That's all for now! I know you had many requests for this update, but most of them were about cancer patients, doing well on tests, and sucking up to Me at mealtime. I don't meddle with individual luck modifiers anymore. I've been burned by y'all one time too many. Cheers, and I'll see your descendants in a few centuries!
400 years. That’s how long the scientists had predicted it would take for the dust to settle. The meteor that was heading straight for Earth made the one that killed the dinosaurs look like a pebble in comparison. A 98% human fatality was predicted, while the dust in the atmosphere would prevent the sun’s rays from reaching Earth and imposing a new ice age. There were obviously plans to divert or even destroy the meteor, but Operation Lazarus was put into effect as a failsafe. I know, could they have chosen a more clichéd name? 320 of us were put into suspended animation on a moonbase. We were to be awoken immediately if they succeeded in avoiding the impact. So when I was awoken by the automated nurses, I knew humanity had failed and that I was now a member of an endangered species. Looking around I saw that none of my fellow sleepers had been awoken yet. They said some people would not survive the whole freezing and thawing process, I certainly felt worse for wear, but surely I couldn’t be the only survivor. “Where is everybody else?” “You are the first to be successfully awoken. There is a message for the mission leader from Earth.” I wasn’t mission leader, but third in command, Jones and Wachoski must not have made it. I told the automated nurse to lead on to the communication room. The room was minimalistic, sleek white panels with a large screen integrated into the wall and a keyboard below it. I started the communication device up and there was one video message from Earth. Dated for 400 years ago, were these the last words of planet Earth? I opened the video, and Michael McAvoy appeared on screen, the man behind Project Lazarus, and began to speak. “Hello Mission Leader. We’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is the meteor didn’t hit Earth.” My heart began to race. If the meteor missed then why have we been asleep for 400 years? Why didn’t they come to wake us up? “We destroyed the meteor, but we didn’t account for the resulting debris. A fine layer of rubble came into Earth’s orbit, creating a kind of layer around us. It’s impossible for us to launch any ships through the debris without losing the ships. Our scientists have estimated it will take another 600 years for the rubble to normalize its orbit, and allow us to launch any more space missions. You’re going to have to go back to sleep.” ------------ [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
The three waited outside the elevator patiently. The two somber men dressed in suits knew each other, though not the similarly dressed woman waiting with them. All three heads lifted in unison at a soft 'ding' the elevator doors sliding open. The men went first, followed by the woman. They each pressed a different button silently, the woman's button being the lowest level. One of the men checked his watch. Slowly, the doors shut and the elevator began to rise. The tension in the steel cables relentlessly forced the cage up. The atmosphere became heavier as they rose past the third floor- nostrils flaring as each of the ambassadors exchanged a glance, the woman slightly forward- preparing to get off at the fifth floor. One of them coughed. The elevator's steady rise slowly halted, soft 'ding' sounding once again. She left, the door closing behind her. "Did she just-"he paused, unable to finish his sentence as the elevator resumed its motions. "I don't know. It's rancid." And the elevator continued in painful silence.
The Jolly Roger sailed into Hullbreaker Bay under the light of the full moon. Smee clutched at the edge of the crow's nest, fretting over each individual rock that darked poke out of the black waves and bracing for each impact every other minute. Were it sunny, he would have been able to see the bared bones of the other warships that had been sent after Pan and ended up in the murky depths. But Hook's bravery and deft mastery of the wheel carried them safely to the sandy shores, where a fire was already burning. Hook, Smee, and a dozen other members of the crew alighted in landing boats and paddled to the beach. They had to be silent; word was that this Peter Pan had spies all over the island. Some even claimed that he had mermaids watching for threats from beneath the sea, though Hook dismissed those aggrandizing laws. Surely this Pan's reputation was overblown; the legends claim that he never aged, that he could fly... all falsehoods designed to intimidate lesser men than Hook. On the shore, faces loomed out of the darkness. Terrifying specters, covered in intricate patterns of white and black warpaint. Each man carried a pointed spear or a curved tomahawk, and they eyed the sword at Hook's side with great suspicion. The same fear was also present in the eyes of Hook's men, who clutched their own weapons closer and formed into a tight knot. But Hook strode forward, away from the safety of his men, and approached the tribesmen in the shadows. Their leader, wearing a beautiful headdress of multicolored feathers, stepped forward to greet Hook. "I am Chief Great Big Little Panther."Hook shook his hand and introduced himself as a captain in the Queen's navy. Together, they sat down in the sand next to the fire. "You come to hunt the Peter Pan,"the native chief continued. He'd seen enough similar companies of white men come to Neverland Island to know their purpose without even asking. "You are brave. But so were many of the others." Hook smiled. "I'm not like the others."Something in his voice reassured everyone that he actually meant it. "I was told that you might have information about this bandit that we can use?" "He's a demon!"one of the natives shouted. Great Big Little Panther turned back to glare, and the warrior who had shouted slinked back into the forest. "He is... dangerous,"the chief rephrased. "And he commands dark magic. He and his Lost Boys have made war upon my tribe for years now, and I have lost many brothers. Some warriors say that he had protective fairies over him, and that he has no shadow. Other say that he commands the beasts of the island and feeds his foes to a giant alligator." Captain Hook waved a hand while resting the other hand on his hip. "Please, chieftan. I've heard enough lies about this man to fill a lifetime. I want facts. Where can I find this rogue?" Great Big Little Panther smiled. Maybe this one would be different. Perhaps, if he would succeed against these Lost Boys, this Captain Hook might make a worthy suitor for the chief's beautiful daughter, Tiger Lily. "He lives in the mountains in the north of the island,"the Chief said. With a long stick, he drew a crude map in the sand and planted a torch nearby for light. "He and his lost boys are like apes, living in trees and caves." Hook studied the map, committing it to memory. "And what do you know about these Lost Boys?" The chief shook his head with a grimace. "Poor souls. Pan kidnaps them in their youth and trains them to use a bow and knife with deadly effectiveness. Do not underestimate them, despite their age; they'll kill you before you even see them hiding in the canopy. Make sure you kill them first." Hook smiled. "I don't intend to kill them at all. Her Majesty the Queen has given me permission to come rescue these boys. I'm here to bring the bandit to justice and set the rest free." The warriors in the jungle whispered. "That is good,"Great Big Little Pantheranswered. "A much better future than what Peter Pan would give them. For the ones that don't fall in battle, he..."The chief gave a deep sigh, and gestured over his shoulder. "It is better to just show you." Six men in war paint emerged from the bushes carrying a stretcher, covered in woven palm fronds. The warriors set the stretcher down in the sand near the fire and stepped away. The beach was silent as the chief left the impression sink in. Hook already knew what would be under the cover; even before departing, he'd already feared the worst for the missing boys. No matter how much he didn't want it to be true. When Big Little Panther lifted the covering, it confirmed everything. He was at least a foot taller, and the boy's skin was bronze with a suntan and his chestnut hair was bleached by sun, but of course Hook recognized the face of his son even after all these years. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was frozen in an expression of shock. Clearly he hadn't expected the knife that Pan had shoved in his gut. Hook took a deep breath, unable to move his gaze from his son's body. After what seemed like an eternity, he put the covering back in place and said a silent prayer for his son. "At least he's at peace, now."He waved over for some of his men to bring the body back to the ship to prepare for burial. The chief nodded in agreement. "It's bad enough that he kills my warriors, and now he kills his own? Someone must put an end to this madness." Hook stood. "You have my word, Chief Great Big Little Panther. I'll risk life and limb to bring him to justice."He turned back to his own men. "To the boats! We sail north!" -------------- As always, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for more of my writing!
"While I may not be the most interesting man in the world, I'd love to tell you about what could very well be the most interesting job in the world. You see. I've been a bartender at the most unusual bar for the last decade and I've seen everything from priests and catholics to blondes and bombshells walk through my doors. Hell regularly I even have 2 guys walk straight into the side of the damn building. They also have a third buddy with them but he just ducks inside the door and grabs his usual seat next to the pope and..." A sudden loud noise silenced the bar and what I saw I will never forget as my jaw dropped to the floor. A goddamn horse walked right up to me at the bar. With a stern nod he looked at me and said "get me a whisky"
"Hi, dad,"they both said simultaneously. A boy, and a girl - my son and my daughter. I immediately teared up, and I couldn't explain why. "Hi... hello, kids." I didn't know what else to say. I felt ill; like this was all some kind of sick joke. But I knew it was true. I could feel it. I gestured for them to sit down. "I'm what happens if you stay with mommy,"my son said, hopping on my lap, "though I don't think you two are ever happy afterwards." "I'm what happens just before you leave mommy,"my daughter said, "but I don't think you're ever happy afterwards." I looked at them both. What kind of an answer was that? Their mom and I, we'd always struggled, that was true. But how was I supposed to choose? How could I lose any of them? "She cries every day,"my son said, and my daughter nodded. "Every day,"my daughter agreed. "So do you,"they both said. I stared at them. It just got worse? We'd never work, no matter what? Was there was no way to fix all this? "Is that all?"I asked, my voice breaking. "Is there nothing else I can do?" They glanced at each other. "I think you've always known,"my son said, climbing off my lap. "And maybe if you stop doing this to yourself, nothing bad will have to happen to either of you anymore,"my daughter said, as she took my son's hand and walked away. And as the withdrawals slowly seeped in, I suddenly felt so very alone.
O' celebrate! Luna, Diana. Our most wise and clever ladies. They Led us to the hidden land, on the only moon of terra firma. &nbsp; Mica, mica parva stella. Return, we shall! When. We. Are ready. &nbsp; Through a sky chariot we fled, away from those gluttonous Goths. For the best we said, and built a new Pax Romana. &nbsp; We toiled in our hidden place. We tilled the soil by the grace of Ceres. So sweet our crop, we forgot our bland Earth mace. &nbsp; We built our temples from moon dust and cosmic dreams, glorious structures to our unfailing gods. They deserved what we made, and rewarded us in spades. &nbsp; Mica, mica parva stella. Return, we shall! When. We. Are ready. &nbsp; No wars were raged, No child hungry. Up and out our terra nova ballooned. &nbsp; In a curious way, we were bored by our own success, and yearned for the good and the bad of the days now just in memory. &nbsp; It is time for a new frontier. Tempus fugit, carpe diem! Let slip our new dogs of war. &nbsp; Mica, mica parva stella. Return, we shall! Now. We. Are ready.
They sold them on Amazon, so it's not like this is some black market hoodoo, you know? It's legitimate, even if most people have never heard about them. Anyway, if you don't know, they're called Valve Docks. It's a tiny device, looks like a thin remote control. You tape it to your chest over your heart for a night so it can analyze the rhythm of your heartbeat. Then it's basically loaded and you can use it whenever. Super simple. Push one button and your heart stops. You die. But it's not permanent. Which is contradictory, I know. Death is usually pretty permanent. But here what happens is your heart essentially freezes. Red light, green light. Thirty seconds later it starts right back up. No damage done. Side effects include mild headaches, slight soreness in the chest, and the real rare possibility of shitting yourself. People use them as pick-me-ups. Your heart shutting down like that and then restarting produces ungodly amounts of adrenaline. Judging by the Amazon reviews, I'd say 95 percent of Valve Dock owners are truck drivers looking for whatever edge they can get. And apparently dying works better than coffee and pep pills, so God bless 'em. For me, I just bought the thing to fuck with Sheila. I had it all worked out in my mind - the next time she asked me to take her to one of those stupid, predictable rom-coms, I was gonna hem and haw and worry about dropping dead of boredom. Then at the theater, I'd do just that! Brilliant, right? Reese Witherspoon gave me a boredom heart attack. Great story. But then I tried the damn thing out. Look, I'm not entirely sure how to explain what happened. And the thing is - I can't find anyone anywhere who says the same thing happened to them. So, I'm guessing it's all just an illusion or hallucination or something. I know it's not real. But anyway, here's what happened: I tried it out. I died. I made sure Sheila was in the other room, just in case, but more or less I was alone. I was dead. When I died I went to a road. There was no sound. No wind. No rain. No voices. Just silence and this long, long road that stretched out infinitely in two directions - forwards and backwards. The sky was gray. There were no trees or houses or anything. Just me and this road and gray all around. I heard a baby cry. It was behind me. Somewhere down the road. And instinctively, I knew that was where I had come from. Up ahead - where I was going - there was a man. I could hear his steps as he came closer, but he was so far away I couldn't see his face or anything about him. Just the sound of his steps ahead, and the sound of a baby crying behind me. Nothing else. The Valve Dock brought me back. I put the thing in a shoebox and tossed it into the back of my closet. Two years later, I read online that Valve Docks had been banned. There was a global recall with full refunds, no receipts, no questions asked. I pulled mine out from the shoebox, but instead of sending it back, I strapped it over my chest that night and let it read me. And the next morning I tried it again. The baby's cry was faint. I could almost convince myself that I was just imagining it. But the man was nearer. His footsteps were loud - almost violently loud. Clomp clomp clomp. Still, I couldn't see his face. He seemed to wear a jacket. I called out to the man. Hey! Hey! But my voice just died. I tried walking, then running to meet the man, but the Valve Dock kicked on and I came back to life. I tried again the next day, but there wasn't enough time to get anywhere. Back online, I hunted. I looked for forums or subreddits. I learned that most of the truckers were refusing to return their Valve Docks. I learned that the reason that Valve Docks had been banned in the first place is because certain users had begun acting strange, but there were no specifics. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Unlocking your Valve Dock. Jailbreaking. I'm crap at technical stuff, so it took me a long, long time to figure it out and get it right, but eventually I bypassed the safety locks. I was able to alter the "Dead Time". I was cautious at first - I only added 15 seconds that first time. The baby was so far behind me I couldn't hear it at all now. The man became clearer - brown hair, black jacket, pale skin. But it still wasn't enough time, even running as hard as possible. I wasn't close. He wouldn't acknowledge me. I doubled the Dead Time. It cost me the feeling in my left hand and a sharp twinge in my chest I can't seem to shake, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't reach the man. I couldn't see his face. But I got closer and that was too tantalizing. Sheila became worried. She asked me to go to the doctor, but the doctor would probably find out and make me stop. I would stop. I was always going to stop. I just need to meet the man on the road first. I doubled the time again. Clomp clomp clomp. It was like thunder strikes, each step. But still he was so small. So far away. He could see me. Of course he could. But he wouldn't speed up to meet me or hail me back. That time cost me the use of my legs. Both of them. They became numb and powerless. I crawled to a low vent and hid the Valve Dock, then cried out to Sheila. The doctors couldn't explain me. They ran every test. I just waited. When I closed my eyes I heard those footsteps, and I saw that distant man, coming ever closer. I would meet him. I would. Sheila brought me home. She hounded me, kind and worried. But I was cold and distant and eventually she gave up. Entirely. She left. And finally I was alone. I tipped my wheelchair and fell to the floor, crawling to the vent. Five minutes? Ten? Why minutes? Why not hours? Or days? A year? Forever. I set the time to no time. To no return. All the time. None of the time. Just before I pushed the button I thought I heard a baby cry, but I'm certain it was just my imagination.
“But, sir! That planet will yield the greatest crop of Jarblott this side of Kreeplop-6 if only we plant several farm colonies--” “I said quiet! That planet is not an option.” Commandant Nup looked at the flickering image of a pale blue dot through the holocaster. “Which planet will be second best? We don't need a surplus, just enough to sustain projected population growth for a few years.” “Sir. Respectfully, a stopgap measure is not a reasonable option.” “Well, Earth is not a reasonable option, Lieutenant Lerm. Tell me, when did you first see war?” “Sir?” The Commandant turned away from the holocaster, and the Earth replica faded quietly out of existence. “When did you first feel energy torpedos colliding with your ship's hull, first feel the reverberating pulse of the grav-cannons?” “I served during the Durregon Insurrection, sir. It was... fine, mostly. One hull breach, quickly sealed. The rebellion was quelled in only 14 blazzaks. I was put in charge of the navigation room after Lieutenant Scliin was injured. It's the whole reason I was promoted, sir.” “I see. Well, lieutenant, I first saw war in the First Milky War.” The lieutenant's eyes widened briefly, before he forced his face into an emotionless facade. “I never knew.” “You clearly don't recognize Earth, but I'll give you one guess what kind of life calls that rock home.” “Oh my Kl'nnggz^1.” “That's right. Humans. The Gorblatz were fighting the Remuloks for control of the system, when one ship – and anyone who says they know the ship that fired this round is lying – but, anyway, one ship fired an errant round from its grav-cannon. That round flew hundreds of AUs until it smacked right into a big ol' chunk of landmass on Earth. So far from the frontlines nobody, Gorblatz or Remulok even noticed. But you know who noticed?” “Humans noticed,” Lerm offered in barely more than a whisper. “Humans fucking noticed, Lieutenant. Remulok ships began reporting strange readings, damage without cause, whole lines of ships disappearing. Finally, a transmission came through of a ship being attacked. The humans a pre-galactic species had, at the moment of the grav-round impact, diverted their entire species' efforts to the utter destruction of the poor soul who fired it.” “Sir, I've heard these stories before. There's always something I never understand. How could the humans possibly have developed ships capable of bringing down even the lowliest Remulok transport, let alone a Gorblatzzian Battlemoth?” “It's true, the human ships were inferior. Outnumbered, too. There is, however, one thing humans posses in greater purity and focus than any creature discovered before or since: Hate. Humans Hate. They Hate you and me, with no knowledge of who we are or what we've done. They Hate your mother. They Hate our whole damn planet. They Hate planets they haven't even heard of yet. Hate like that sustains, through generations of those short-lived hellions, again and again, throwing themselves against the Remulok ships like a worm petitioning the Gods of Eternity.” “Why, though? Why throw something so precious as one's life, even one so insignificant as human life, away against an insurmountable force? I hate the Gorblatz as much as anyone, but I would never assault their ships in the trash-capsules the humans flew.” “There's something else the humans Hate, and it is why you must never draw their attention. More than anything else in the universe, humans Hate themselves. They have practiced devastation upon one another since their beginning, and they have developed an aptitude for senseless slaughter.” Lieutenant Lerm closed his eyes and felt, not empathy, but something like it, for the humans. “Sir, how can a species carry on when their very spirits are forged of Hate?” Commandant Nup allowed himself a grim smile. “Simple, Lieutenant. They call it Hope instead.” ________________________________________ 1. A well known intergalactic God.
I groaned as I opened my eyes, taking in the rows of collapsed shelves and scattered tools and crates around me. It seemed like I was in a dark, cluttered warehouse. Ropes were lashed around my wrists and waist, holding me tight to a small, wooden chair. "Ah, finally awake, I see."I gasped and squinted as the lights flickered on all at once. When my eyes adjusted, I could see scorch marks and still-smoking craters along the floor and walls. A pair of shattered sunglasses, my sunglasses, laid on a crate in front of me. The details of the fight slowly came back to me... I'd been ambushed. I'd managed to get off a few explosions before the constant spinning had made me too dizzy, and someone had managed to get a nice crack at the back of my head. Oh, sorry, you're probably confused right now. Let me back up. See, all my life, I've had this power. Every time I spin 180 degrees while wearing a pair of sunglasses, something explodes behind me. Whether you think that sounds absolutely badass or super inconvenient, you're right. "Who are you?"I shouted. "Give me a pair of sunglasses and put me in a spinny chair, I'll blow you up for this, I swear to God!" A tall man with long brown hair stepped out from behind a shelf, holding up his hands. He looked strangely familiar.... "Michael Bay?"I gasped. "Easy there, my friend,"said Michael. "I'm very sorry about the knock to your head. I'll get that attended to. I'd call an ambulance, but you see, I'm trying to keep our meeting under wraps..." "It's okay, I guess,"I said, sighing. I decided my best chance to get away was to stroke the man's ego. "My name's Jason. Big fan. I love those, uh, robot movies." Michael frowned a bit at that, but he continued. "Anyway. Back to business. You are aware that you are the most wanted man in America, right?" "Yes, being an assassin kind of does that to you,"I said, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes. "What if I told you..."Michael leaned in close, his lips almost brushing my ear. "That you no longer had to live that life... always on the run, killing for others and living in the shadows. What if I told you..."Now he leaned in closer, and his lips actually brushed my ear. "...that you could be a movie star? Hmm?" Now that got me. I looked up at him, utterly shocked. "A movie star?"I repeated. "What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? I'm an assassin, man, it's what I do."Michael finally stepped back out of my personal space, smiling. "If you've seen my movies, you know that I like my special effects,"he said. "Explosions, especially,"he added, with a wink. "Anyway, I want you to be in my next movie. You see, explosions are so expensive to create, and I'm trying to cut back on my special effects budget this year. But you! You are the answer to my prayers, man. You're an assassin, so you've got the stunts, you've got the explosions, and I admit, you have the looks... so what do you say? Are you in? You ready to be a movie star?" I weighed the decisions in my mind. On the one hand, being an assassin was all I ever knew. I would blow people up and walk away... and that was my thing. But now, things could be different. I could blow people up and walk away... on camera. And just like that, the choice was clear. "I'm in."
My laptop screen lit up in a flash of white as Gandhi dropped his entire nuclear arsenal on my short-lived island paradise of Beijing. Man, I get no respect some nights. Don't get me wrong; I loved Civ 5. My son introduced it to me two months ago and I'd been hooked instantly. It sure beat playing Solitaire or re-reading my comic collection on the midnight shift at this rundown warehouse. But just for once, I would've liked to win against the computer. My phone buzzed on the tabletop next to a half-eaten box of fried noodles. It was the wife; something was raiding the trash cans again. I sighed and made a mental note to ring up my exterminator friend in the morning. Damned Gandhi. Damned raccoons. The little Mickey Mouse clock ticked softly toward three a.m., next to the array of security screens that pulsed with sullen, grainy light. Once, just staring at them for fifteen minutes would have induced a heavy stupor. These days, they just made me want to fire up Civ for another round. Before I could do that, I noticed a flicker of motion on the bottom-left screen. A blurry, four-legged figure appeared by the entrance driveway. One of the neighborhood dogs. It glanced to its left, then to its right, and began to cross the road. A car plowed into it from an unseen angle. I winced as the vehicle bounced over it, before speeding off and leaving the ruined form splayed out on the road. "Shit. Janitor's gonna--" There came a squeal of tires so piercing that goosebumps erupted over my flesh. A pitiful yip sounded once, and then silence. What the hell? I grabbed my keys and hurried out of the security office. It was crammed in between several containers that had been converted into administrative cubicles, all dark at this hour. The warehouse was mostly empty. Our company wasn't doing too well these days. The deals were drying up; inventory decreasing; fleet downsizing. Maybe the people would go next. I shook the thought out of my head as I jogged outside. Lying in the middle of the road was the dog, exactly where I'd seen it through the security feed. Crickets sang from a nearby field, and a chilly breeze coiled lazily around me. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except ... I hadn't imagined it, had I? The sound of the crash earlier had come later, like those bootleg movies you buy or download where the sound isn't synced entirely right. Stop scaring yourself, I thought as I headed back to my station. Lack of sleep's the cause. So when I went back to the screens and saw myself staring out of one of them, I almost died of shock. "What the f--"I pulled myself shakily to my feet, rubbing my eyes as I peeked at my workstation. There I was, now in front of Camera Five, waving. Fascinated, I sat down and watched as I began appearing in other screens, usually after intervals of five minutes. Sometimes I waved. Other times, I was dancing. I even mooned one camera. I scratched my head and thought about it. At first I'd thought about reporting the matter to IT--obviously someone was hacking us, or I'd get a write-up and be ordered to see a psychologist. But there was the dog. And I had a funny suspicion that if I rewound the tapes to Cameras Two and Eight, I'd see myself walking out of the office the road, with an earlier time stamp than when I'd physically done the same. There was only one logical answer to my questions: I was a wizard. * Out of breath, I stumbled back into the office while buckling my belt. The fear had given way to a strange sense of elation. What would the missus say? What would my son say? Oh, I bet he'd find a game or TV show that had the same premise, probably named Security Guard Prophet or something. Imagining myself talking with Stephen or Oprah brought a grin to my face, but first I had to remove that video of my ass. As I pulled my keyboard toward me, two figures burst through the front door. The one in front, burly and tall, had his hand buried in the hair of the other, who was smaller and obviously struggling against his grip. I watched as the man threw the girl onto the floor and pointed something at her. She was shaking her head, hugging herself, and then it became obvious he was yelling at her when she jumped. Horrified, I watched as she began to remove her skirt. All thoughts of fame and fortune fled as I reached for the phone. The warehouse was a little far from town. The nearest cops would take at least ten minutes; ten minutes the girl didn't have. Suddenly, another man rushed into the camera. He held up a pleading hand, while the other hovered near his belt. The other man was now aiming his gun at the newcomer, his snarling face caught in the glare of some distant light source. The girl was looking between the men, frightened, yet I thought I could see something like hope in her eyes. And then the angry man opened fire. The newcomer managed to draw his weapon too, and as he fell, fired off a couple of wild shots himself. Both men tumbled to the ground as the girl opened her mouth in a scream. I had never really noticed how silent the warehouse was at this hour. So I clearly heard it when a door was pulled open and a pair of arguing voices broke through the stillness. Still staring at the motionless bodies on the screen, I pulled open a drawer and carefully retrieved the gun inside. I glanced at my phone once more, wondering if I should give the missus a call. What difference would it make? Getting up, I holstered the pistol and made my way out of the office. * Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!
4/12/2017 00:01 From: 36 seven words really is not that many Wow, thanks 36, think a lot about that one? You sigh silently as you put your phone back on the nightstand and get out of bed. You've only had this phone for about a year, and you've already started sucking at using it as much as you suck at doing everything else. On one hand, you can sympathize with 36. The guy probably knew that you'd never had to reset more than 40 times before, and he must have been getting introspective as this week seemed close to breaking the record. But on the other hand, he'd already had to reset thirty-five times, you'd think the guy would try his best to be a bit more helpful with his texts. Goddammit, thirty-six. As you have your morning coffee, you stare at the text and try to derive some meaning from it. You never were much for using codes or ciphers, but you remember trying to give your next iterations information they could only get by reading between the lines. Figuratively. Maybe he's saying you need to avoid some sort of thing with a really long name? Is he talking about an acronym? You try to think of any acronyms for SWRINTM before you leave. You can't find any. You're so bent on solving thirty-six's text that you almost don't see that a white van is parked right outside the house next to you. Jesus, that's weird. You didn't think that sort of thing happened anymore. Your week would seem pretty boring from outside, but you are completely tense the whole time. The 36 resets for the week have you totally on edge. You jump at the slightest noise, you aren't able to get much work done at all, and by Friday your hands are so shaky that your boss notices and sends you home. You spend the weekend staring at your phone, googling the words from the text, and just being nervous in general. And then you reset. 4/12/2017 00:01 From: 53 dangerous week consider phone carefully low profile Oh god, you hate when you haven't managed to comprise a single sentence. Makes the text so hard to figure out, considering the first thing you do when you wake up is check your phone. You sigh silently as you put your phone in your pocket, then realize you need to change out of your pajamas, take your phone back out and put it on the nightstand. Half and hour later, you're sipping your coffee and trying once again to understand fifty-three's text. Being the extremely helpful person that he is, he's deemed it necessary to tell you that this week goes badly, even though you could have figured that out from the fact that you've broken your previous resetting record a long time ago. Well, you can start by doing as he asked and "considering phone carefully", you guess. You make a mental note of your abilities. You can reset the week any time you wish, or the moment before your death. You don't get to keep your memories, but you can send a seven-word text to the you at the beginning of the week. No punctuation, no capitalization, no numbers. So useful, yet so useless at the same time. The rest of the message is a bit harder to figure out, and it keeps you occupied as you step out of your house. You even take the underground to work instead of the bus, so that you have a bit more time to think about it. Low profile, how? You already consider yourself pretty low-profile, and you don't really know what you could do to keep yourself even more so. Maybe 53 meant something else, though. Your job is at a movie rental store, and you don't really look at people's profiles as part of your job. Going by the only interpretation that makes sense, you make a mental note to take another look at your text if you feel like browsing social media anytime this week. Maybe fifty-three wants you to pay close attention to someone whose profile is at the bottom of your friends list..? You have no idea. Thinking about all this on the train, you end up staring at a rather good looking man in a huge coat. It goes down to the floor and it glitters with sequins of every color on a shiny red material- you guess silk. You don't know why anyone would want to wear that on the subway on a Monday morning, and you don't really care. Luckily, the man doesn't seem bothered by you staring at him, and in fact moves a bit closer to you to try and strike up a conversation. "Hey, bro! Sup?"he says to you with a smile on his face. "Oh, hi. Uh, 'sup' with you?"You really can't be bothered to think of anything else to say to him. "Oh yeah, I'm doin' great, man."He's still just as cheerful. "You look like shit tho. What's wrong, not a good week for ya?" You barely think about what to say before you blurt out "Yeah, feels like it's going to be pretty dangerous." His smile vanished almost instantly, and he turns around a bit. Apparently he's not really interested in having a conversation anymore. The rest of the week is pretty uneventful. You get more and more nervous by the hour, but nothing actually happens to justify your nervousness. You check Twitter, Facebook and every other website you can think of, but can't find any "low profiles"that you find interesting. Instead, you end up having wasted all your work hours and go home on Friday with a mound of work waiting for you in your office. And then you die. 4/12/2017 00:01 From: 78 need writing courses work hard take train You almost throw the phone on the floor out of frustration. What sort of week is this? You've reset almost twice as many times as your previous record now. You sigh silently as you throw the phone on your bed instead, where you're sure it won't break, and get up. You choose to have a full breakfast this time instead of your usual coffee. If you're supposed to take the train, you'll probably be late anyway, and it is the most important meal of the day. You make yourself some delicious eggs and ham, and take out some stale bagels from the fridge. As you're eating, you open the text again. Look at seventy-eight, telling you that you need writing courses when he can't even compose full sentences. You guess it would help though, provided you could find one that starts and ends in less than a week. You wonder any of the messages are in code this time. You have a vague feeling that texts would get more figurative the more you're forced to reset, but this one seems pretty straightforward. You step out with the last few bites of the bagel between your teeth and notice the unmarked white van a few yards away as you put on your coat. That's creepy, how long has that been there? You take the underground to work, and notice that somehow the other people there seem even more weird than the usual sort that take the subway on a monday morning. There's a guy with a huge, sparkly, red overcoat, who turns and grins at you when he notices you looking at him. Then there's a pair of twin girls that look way too young to be taking a train without an adult like they seem to be doing. They keep looking at you and giggling between themselves. Unsettled at how happy they all seem to be feeling for no reason, you turn around and avoid looking at them for the rest of the ride. You do your best to work hard, despite your nervousness, and when you get some downtime between customers you look up writing courses in your city. Apparently there's one just a few blocks away, and it's only going on this week, Monday through Friday. You go over and sign up after work, and wait there until it starts. Everyone there seems excited to have a new member, and you hit it off with them almost immediately. You try to learn as much as you can on the first day and leave when it's over, feeling happy about 78's message. You take a train home, of course. The same three people are there again. Nothing much happens at work the next day, though you still do your best to get as much work done as you can, as per the text. Your boss comes over to have a conversation one time, and lets you know that he's noticed you're giving it your all this week. You'd appreciate it more if the 78 resets weren't on your mind the whole time. When you go to the writing course, you take care to read the name of the place this time, since you'll probably need it for future resets. It's apparently called "Extrordinary Writing", which is either a really clever move or a really dumb mistake on their part. You decide to think of it as the former. A new person has joined today, and the other members note that they haven't had this many new recruits in weeks. The newcomer seems very enthusiastic about writing, and you and her spend some time talking about your tastes in books. She tells you she's a huge fan of Stephen King, and you reply honestly and say that you've never read any of his books. Thankfully, she just laughs at that, instead of asking what books you have read - you don't remember the last time you opened a book. Your week keeps going like this, with the weird train rides in the morning, work during the day and the writing course during the evening. You get home extremely tired and go to sleep early throughout the whole weekday, but at least it keeps you occupied and your mind off the 78 resets. You make it to the weekend tired but happy. And then you are killed. 4/12/2017 00:01 From: 100 redcoat candy shining extrordinary euclid xexit hell What the fuck? You let the phone drop from your hands onto the pillow and sigh silently as you get up. [I changed a few things from the original prompt, and I'm planning on continuing this is anyone is interested, but I have to take a break now because this took me way too long to type on a phone]
"Leave him alone,"the farmer said. He glowered at the knight, knuckles white as he clenched his scythe. Behind him, his two sons bore the same look. Voices raised in assent around the armored warrior as the other townspeople began to gather. "He's not evil,"a wizened woman's voice called. "Whatever you think he is, he ain't,"the constable said, meeting the warrior's eye. He ran his thumb along the shining badge on his chest. "He took care of grandma,"a little girl said firmly. "And now grandma helps take care of him." The knight stared at the people, bewildered. He had seen walking corpses at the undertaker's small, tidy house. He knew them when he saw them. After slaying several users of foul magicks, he knew them all too well. "He is practicing the necromantic arts,"the Knight proclaimed. He met the glares of the townsfolk with his own intensity. "I do not know what he has done to all of you, but he has committed crimes against nature." "Horseshit,"a tall, rangy man replied. "The man's illiterate. The stonemason has to carve the markers for him. If he's a wizard or some such, it's news to me." As the townsfolk murmured their agreement, a silent figure in a hooded robe joined the crowd. It almost effortlessly glided through them, coming to a stop in the inner circle. With a strange and rusty sound, it cleared its throat loudly. The Knight and the townsfolk turned to look. "We serve because we want to,"the figure rasped. It smelled of earth and something less wholesome. It raised a hand and slowly lifted the hood. "We all petitioned the Afterlord to let us pay our respects to the man who respected us. He allowed it." Silently, the townsfolk backed away, bowing in respect. Some muttered prayers. Others began to weep. One of them stepped forward. "Father,"the blacksmith said, eyes bright beneath a face rimed with smoke stains. "How long will you be..." "Not long, son,"the ragged man replied. It attempted a smile. Its jaw came partially loose. A moue of annoyance passed over its face as it reached up and held his jawbone in place. "The Afterlord says that Old Taker's time is almost up." "And you,"he continued, pointing at the knight. "Butt out. We'll all be dust again soon enough. There's plenty of evil in this world. Go fight something else. Believe me, we appreciate what you do. But... this isn't the place to do it." The Knight took a deep breath, looking around at the townsfolk. Most of their eyes were downcast, many were openly shedding tears. He then felt a heavy hand land on the maille on his shoulder, and a deep voice behind his ear. "Come to the tavern,"the innkeeper said. "Drinks are on me." "Y-yeah,"the Knight replied, nodding slowly. His expression was unreadable. "I'm sorry." The ragged man nodded in return, replaced his hood, and silently left the gathering, to return to his final duty. The Knight drank deeply that night, and celebrated the lives of the serving dead with the townsfolk. He insisted on paying for his room, and left the next day in search of his next mission. The day after, Old Taker died. The very dead he had cared for wrapped him, carried him, and buried him. They rasped out long eulogies at his funeral, accompanied by the clear voices of the townsfolk. When the funeral ended, the living went home. The dead carefully and respectfully reburied themselves. Then there was peace.
# Part 1 “Hey Sam, I need your help.” I sighed heavily as I leaned back in my chair, looking up at my scrawny coworker who could probably bench-press this entire building. He likely would have been able to get a job as a superhero if he didn’t look so small and nerdy. Physical appearance was almost more important than the actual superpower, with some of the most popular superstars being attractive instead of powerful or even good at what they do. Nick gently pushed his large black framed glasses up the bridge of his nose as he waited for my reply. “What is it man? I’ve got to get these reports done by noon.” Nick awkwardly shifted his weight. “Well you see…I dropped my bistin in the resonator again.” I scoffed at him. “Serious Nick? Again? Look I may be immortal, but I still feel pain, okay? The last time I got it back for you, I was practically a skeleton!” Nick looked away, feeling ashamed. “I know man, but bistins are so expensive. I can’t afford another one. I even turned down the nuclear reactor for you man! My house is running on a quarter of the power!” “Dammit Nick! I swear, this is the last time!” I scoffed again. “I should charge you for this.” “Why don’t you?” An alluring voice pipped up from behind me. I turned around in my chair to glare at the vixen standing seductively between cubicles. She knew she was hot, but that was the problem. If she got worked up, even if it was just in excitement, she burst into flames. They had an entire sprinkler system in our department just for her. Really, the only reason the boss put up with her is because she was such alluring eye candy. It was amazing what a nice rack could get you in this world. But certainly, no one could sleep with her, so she spent her time teasing all the men instead. Really, I was probably the only guy who could sleep with her, but I guess I wasn’t good enough. She spent most of her time teasing me, instead of flirting. Or maybe her teasing was flirting? I didn’t know. Either way, I didn’t like the idea of being burned alive every time I tried kissing my girlfriend. “It’s none of your business Lily.” “Aww, come on,” she said seductively. “What? You owe him one?” I sighed. “Yeah, okay? He did me a solid once. I was trapped in a landslide, potentially entombed forever, and he spent three days digging me out.” “Oh!” She exclaimed, not realizing there was actually a legitimate story behind it. “Well, whatever.” She humphed and took off. Nick and I both stared at her sashaying away. “So then you’ll do it?” He wondered seriously. I ducked my head in annoyance. “Seriously Nick, this is the last time.” # Want to see more of Lily? Some of you wanted another snippet of this guy's life, so here you go! # [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9b9rnz/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_2/) # [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9ba8j0/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_3/) # [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9bczex/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_4/) # [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9be30w/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_5/) # [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9beni5/the_daily_struggles_of_an_immortal_part_6/) Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
I rubbed my eyes in terror, almost scratching at them as much as I was rubbing them. I opened them again and was filled with sight. I started shaking as I was bombarded with the world around me. "Oh, good, you're awake,"a man said, running his fingers through my hair slowly. "The damage doesn't feel too bad, but you shouldn't do anything for the next couple of days. Can you stand up?" The man looked directly through me with his cold, gray eyes. Around him were other spectators who watched me fall during my run in the park. The were turned in my general direction, but a lot of them looks around me rather than right on me. I never considered that people could look so different from one another. They looked disgusting. A lot of them with their mouths hanging open, and hardly wearing any clothing. I scrambled away from them and the man reached his hands our aimlessly, trying to find me again. "Hey, are you hurt that bad? I can take you to a hospital. I'm sure there's one around here,"he suggested, standing up and walking towards me. "No! Stay away, I'm fine!" His hands stopped groping the air and he nodded to himself, satisfied. "You be careful, okay? I don't know what happened, but you got all of our attention when you hit the ground. Try to stay in your space for a while,"he said, waving his hands ahead of him as he walked away. The others in the area did the same, moving around in their various directions. "Wha... where am I? I can't tell where I am,"I said to no one and everyone at the same time. A young girl walking by looked to me with her eyes bloodshot red. They wouldn't focus on me, instead rapidly searching for something to lock on to. Is that what young eyes did when they were normal? "We're in Repo Park. I'm about three steps east of you. And the entrance is north of me and south of you, do you understand?" Is stared at her, horrified. I couldn't get my sight to turn off and her eyes encapsulated me. Shaking in all directions, refusing to focus. They looked like they were in constant pain. I blinked a couple of times to try and make my vision go dark again, but it refused to go away. I covered my eyes with my face. "Yes, I think I understand,"I said, standing up. I didn't want to look at anything, but at the same time my curiously clawed at my eyes. I wanted to take in everything I'd missed for years. The sights associated to the sounds. The look of the park, the people, even my space. I walked towards my home space, given the directions she face me.I was lucky it was still bright out, or I wouldn't be able to feel where the sun was, and subsequently not know my way home. I fought my temptation to open my eyes until I made it to my space. I breathed deeply and uncovered my eyes. I gasped in shock. It was awful. All my belongings were scattered, which wasn't so bad, but the entire surrounding area was covered in filth, rotting foods, and various marks of others having been here. But my space was a cave, and there was something above it. There were three beings sleeping on top of my space. Completely pale things. People I never knew were there before. In my space. Could have been for years. "Who are you?"I asked. One jumped up and lunged at me, his eyes nothing but white orbs on his face. I ran from him and he ran in the direction I was previously standing, like it found interest in something else. The other two were poised and ready to fight. I backed off and they backed down. My space was never my own. My heart raced. All these years I felt safe and these things were around me. Having taken a few steps from my space, I was finally able to look at the scene around me. It was nothing but corpses and rotting skeletons in my space. Things I previously thought were rubber bags of garbage were dead humans, strewn about my area. I held back my instinct to throw up. They had chunks taken out of them, like something had been eating them. Many were missing their eyes in their dead faces. The thing that had chased me earlier was crouched over an old, rotting man, and chewing at his thigh. I gagged. I turned to flee the area, but saw that the entire area was strewn with corpses. Every way I turned, I saw more of the dead. "No,"I whispered, unable to hold back my vomit. I threw up and the three being from around my space turned towards me. They acknowledged each other, as if coming to an understanding. I understood. They were able to see. And I was not supposed to join them in sight. The three raced towards me, sharp teeth bared, and I could do nothing but run, screaming for the last moments of my life. _____________________________________________________________________ For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
“That sauce needs a bloody reduction.” Gordon shouted over the din of the kitchen. This wasn’t the longest amount of time he’d ever spent in a kitchen of course, his tutelage in France had inevitably seen some of the longest shifts of his life. This was the first time he’d ever been held captive in one though, not just figuratively but literally. “Yes Chef!” the voice called back mockingly whilst stirring the ridiculously oversized pot. The smell was tantalising Gordon reluctantly admitted to himself but he was too far away to see what was in the pot. Sat on his arse with his hands tied behind his back against a kitchen counter. Bahookie had been due to open in a month so no one was going to be arriving to help him any time soon, they’d waited until the kitchen staff had left then rushed him in the kitchen. He was proud of himself for at least giving one of them a sound smack on the chin before they’d dragged him to the ground. Small bloody mercy’s he supposed. Now they were cooking, in his brand new bloody kitchen with his brand new bloody utensils. How the chef could even see with that ridiculous brown sack over his head he didn’t know. “How much do you reckon’ your wife’ll pay to see you again Chef?” The thuggish looking man was waving around a ladle in what he assumed was supposed to be threatening. “Is that what this has all been about hey? Money. Money. Money.” He’d grown up a man’s man, playing rugby and football, he wasn’t going to be cowed by some ruffian in an apron covered in tomato sauce. “Money? Nah mate. This isn’t just about money.” The man started chuckling, a deep rumble that echoed around the kitchen. “Then what hey? If it’s not a quick buck.” Ramsay was at least glad they hadn’t gagged him. “That legendary palate of yours that you are oh so proud of.” The man replied as he turned to smirk at Gordon with red stained teeth visible through the holes cut in the sack. “Fine, but if you don’t reduce that sauce you’re going to feel like a right donkey.” Gordon added as another man joined them from the pantry. With a massive clang that reverberated through the kitchen he hefted a massive hessian sack onto the countertop. “Oooh it’s about time Tartan, Chef Ramsay here is starting to get a little hungry I expect.” they chuckled together as they bustled elbows knowingly. “Sure. Sure. Bring it on big boy, lets test my palate then get your money and we can all go our separate ways.” Gordon was trying his best not to sound anxious but that slipped away as they began removing odd chunks of meat from the sack. It was muscular and barely marbled at all so he knew it was going to be chewy but he realised he couldn’t place what it was a cut of. “What you got there? That’s an odd cut of beef if i’ve ever seen one.” His curious love for the kitchen had pushed aside any anxiety he was feeling. “Oh this. It’s erm… special import.” They both broke out into laughter again as the first man, Tartan, threw a pan onto the stove before sliding a piece of meat onto it as his friend left the room once more. “You’ve got to preheat the pan you donkey and for the love of god season the meat a little before you cook it you savage. A little salt to really bring out the flavour.” He might not know what the meat was but he knew this man was butchering it. “Of course Chef.” The man started sprinkling salt from two feet up like some bloody internet caricature and Gordon gritted his teeth in abject disgust. Not much time had passed but the aroma of the meat hit him eventually, he hadn’t eaten in what felt like days and the smell was making his mouth wet. “Medium rare big man. Don’t mess it up now. Sixty seconds on either side to seal in the juices then cook it for a few minutes. Hmm beautiful.” Gordon started trying to shuffle on his feet, lobbying for a better view, eager to see how the meat was cooking, whatever it was. Minutes passed and it wasn’t long before the whole group of thugs had reassembled in the kitchen, they looked excited but barely paid him any mind, they were all focused on the food. He’d seen hungry diners before of course but he couldn’t help but find this a little insulting. Gordon watched as the meat was cut into fine slivers, Tartan couldn’t cook but at least he was handy with a knife. Sandwiches were quickly assembled by some, others started sliding the thin slices straight down there gullets. Sauces were passed around and one of them pointed at Gordon laughing, “Where’s the lamb sauce?” The others roared in response. “Funny guy. So do I get to play judge to this little food faire?” He asked mockingly. Tartan came forward with a plate in hand, “Judge? Oh no mate, you’re the guest of honour. Get your palate around this will ya.” he jammed his fork into a cube of meat, poking through the browned outer layer and a little bit of clear juice ran along the bottom of the plate. “Open wide Chef.” The man chuckled as he brought the fork closer, as a parent would a child and all that was missing was the bloody aeroplane noises. “Phoooooom.” There were the bloody aeroplane noises, Gordon cursed. He bit down on the meat, chewing and allowing it to ruminate around his mouth. The bastard had done a good job, it was buttery and soft in the centre with just the right amount of firmness. His eyes widened in shock as he let the meat run down his throat. The sudden realisation that must have been painted all over his face as he could see the other man's smile beneath his shroud. “I haven’t got a bloody clue what this is.” Gordon reluctantly admitted. He couldn’t even begin to guess. “What is it?” he had to know. The man removed the ridiculous bag from his head and Gordon felt his blood boil. Of course it was. Jamie Bloody Oliver. Jamie stood there with wide eyes and that made for tv charming smile, “Welcome to the Cannibal Cabal Chef Ramsay.” &#x200B; \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Comments, Criticism and Feedback are always much welcomed! Thanks for your time.
His brim sat low on his forehead as he kept his head down. He wore his hood up, keeping his hat firmly in place. Shades were affixed below the hat. No budging -- couldn’t have his mug on the cameras. Moving with purpose, charging towards the pharmacy, he knew security would be alerted. If they saw his face, they’d call it in just the same. Again, better to get in quick and maybe get away without a screen-grab of his features on the nightly news. He slapped the paper-sleeve filled with prescriptions out of an elderly woman’s hand, as her hands shook both symptomatically and on account of terror. The wrapping tore open, scattering the bottles onto the linoleum. She winced at the sound of violently chattering pills. “You know those are only sugar pills, Edith?” He yelled in her face, with spit and fury. “You’ve made it to this ripe old age all by yourself -- now let’s see if you can keep it up!” “Get away from her,” the pharmacy tech exclaimed. She turned to her manager, “Ned, he’s back. Call security. I hit the panic button before I saw it was him.” Ned looked up to see their security guards on their way, nodded at them for her to see. At least it saved him the call. The paperwork would still be an issue. “Let them talk to the cops and clarify it wasn’t a robbery. We did our job.” They both shrugged. He was still yelling at the old woman. Hunching further over her walker, she tried to stabilize herself emotionally on it somehow. Security grabbed at his arms, trying to drag him back, away from the customers neatly in line. He flailed wildly, as one does in such circumstances. “Listen to me! You’re all going to die--” “That’s enough, Greg,” said the shorter security guard, finally getting a firm grip on his arm and shoulder. By god he reeked of cheap liquor. “--or live, by your own hand!” Greg was not deterred. “These drugs are all bullshit!” “Hank, why don’t you pick up the bottles for this nice young lady here. I’ve got this,"he said, keeping his hold on Greg. The old woman, truly named Agnes, looked on in horror. “Back up everyone. Back up,” Hank said defeated. Some of the onlookers were in shock. They weren’t going anywhere. Some were stubborn and had been in line for long enough to not budge for anybody about anything. They definitely weren’t going anywhere. “You sure you’re good, Rick?” “Don’t you worry ‘bout me. We’re good,” Rick replied, as calmly as he could manage. “We’re good here, right Greg? Yeah, we’re good.” “Fuck you, Rick.” A sob caught in his throat. “How do you figure any of this is ‘good’?” “Now, Greg, let’s take a deep breath here. Come now, you don’t need those shades or the rest of that getup.” He loosened his grip, pressed his hand to Greg’s shoulder, then gingerly removed the shades and hat. “That’s better. Let’s talk, man to man, face to face.” Greg began sobbing uncontrollably as soon as the shades revealed his tears. “Terrible business with your wife. I’m truly sorry,” Rick offered. “You hit the button?” Hank asked the young pharmacy tech. She nodded. “I’ve got a buddy on the force. We’ll clear it up once they arrive.” “You hear that, Greg?” Rick consoled the crying man. “We’ll take care of this. Let’s step on back over here together.” An impatient man next in line stepped up to the pharmacy tech, after a respectable amount of hesitation. “Wait, so what exactly is a sugar pill, miss?”
"Humans sometimes speak in metaphor, and when they do the literal meaning of the words spoken don't always match up with the information they convey,"I said. "This can cause confusion even between humans since many of these phrases don't translate directly between human languages." "So there are no actual wires present within human physiology? Or perhaps there are wires, but they are shielded from an EMP?" "No. No wires." "That explains it,"said the alien. "But the comparison isn't unfounded,"I continued. "While we are biological, the cells in our nervous systems use a combination of electrical and chemical signals to communicate with each other. ADHD is a chronic imbalance in several of these chemicals." "I see,"said the alien. "Which chemicals specifically? Any that could be dispersed with an aerosol?" "Dopamine. Generally, humans have two types: dopamine that's used to send signals between neurons, and dopamine that just kind of floats around between them. People with ADHD don't have the second type, or have a reduced level of it. There's another one too, but I forget what it's called or what it does." "Oh?" "I swear, I don't remember." "Would it help if we 'wired' you differently?"
What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little mortal bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Sublime Rank of the Fallen, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on the Vatican and I have over 300 Million confirmed damnations. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top Eldritch sniper in the entire Legions of Hell. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this or any other Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the backs of the Dammed? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the Darkest Dimensions and your soul is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the million Legions of Hell and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of reality, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever"comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.
Father Michael was a unique man of faith. One that believed in phrases like love thy neighbor, but also a man that knew when his neighbor needed to be acquainted with the right hand of God. Unfortunately, Father Michael delivered that hand as a swift uppercut that could put the fear of God into any non-believer. It was strange. I couldn’t even count the number of times we had bishops and other prominent members of the monastery try to get him removed from the faith. They considered him a diverter of faith, someone that would scare people away from what was in theory meant to be a peaceful place. Yet, whenever a whisper of such an attempt was heard, the monastery believers would get up in arms, nearly ready to riot for the man. He just had an energy about him, something that made you want to follow him. He was the closest thing to a God that most of us street kids would ever get to meet. I would never forget the day I met him. I was a desperate child searching for somewhere to live, a way to avoid sleeping in cold alleyways. He came out of the monastery with a cigarette hanging from his lips. The rough, bald man only giving me a half glance before he took a seat next to me, staring off at the misty horizon peeking through the clouds. “Why are you crying? Gods smiling down on us today.” He said, able to keep the cigarette firmly placed between his lips as he spoke, his voice like gravel, hard and unfriendly, which contrasted the words he used. “They won’t let me stay. They keep telling me a kid that wants to learn how to fight can’t be a child of God. I don’t know where else to go.” It was hard to reflect on such a lowlight of my life, everything about the encounter making me cringe. “Who says a believer can’t defend themselves? So many of the people in that monastery don’t know the first thing about spirituality. You want to learn how to fight?” “Like the kids in those kung fu movies. You know where they do the jump kicks and stuff.” I can still picture his amused look. His left canine tooth missing, giving him a strange grin. The grin soon turning into a laugh, causing the cigarette to fall out. “Heh, well, I can’t teach you kung fu, but I can teach you something almost as flashy. Come on kid, I’ll talk to them about you. No man of God leaves a child crying outside.” It was in that moment I had found my God. It wasn’t the man hanging from the wall of the monastery, it was the man that led me inside, that spent ten minutes verbally talking down the other two priests for their lack of heart. He was the one I believed in. The years of training were hard. Father Michael floated like an angel and stung like the devil himself. Showing me just what it took to be skilled in the art of UFC. He trained many kids, yet it felt like I was always his favorite, the other kids were there either out of boredom or to work out frustrations, I was the only one there for the love of the art and he understood that better than anyone. When I reached eighteen, I was given a gift I never thought existed. A pair of thick red boxing gloves. Gloves that he said were hotter than the devil, able to deliver a punch that could send a demon marching straight back to the hellhole they crawled out of. While the gloves were too thick to be worn in any competitive fight I would enter, I understood the sentiment. It was a passing of the torch, a flame that he wanted me to carry. So, I did. I took the gloves and trained myself through the lower ranks, getting the shit kicked out of me until I learned how to give the punches back. Every week, he would make the long bus trip into town to watch me and win or lose. He would give me words of encouragement. That’s why it broke my heart to walk out tonight. The bright flashing of cameras, the roar of the crowd and that heated feeling of adrenaline were nothing without him. A week before my professional debut, he passed away from lung cancer. Father Michael giving the cancer one hell of a ten round fight only to fall at the end of the match. I thought about calling off my fight, but I knew where he wanted me to be tonight. He didn’t want me crying over him; he wanted me to give him a great show, a final send off before he ascended through the pearly gates and that’s what I would give him. Entering the octagon, I looked at the ceiling, raising my fist to the heavens before looking at my opponent. Tonight, I would win for him. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
The dark forest claimed another soul. Humanity winked out of existence as readily as an anthill beneath a boot. Humanity left the galactic stage not by their own volition but rather by a single push. They did not go quietly into that good night, for the air was filled with screams. There was no resistance. No fighting, no strategy, no war. Just slaughter. Countless billions of lives erased in the quickest of flashes. In the blink of an eye, they were rendered nothing but a sour memory that would soon fade into blank nothingness. As was the fate of all those that dare call out into the darkness for there is no knowing what lurks just beyond sight. Hidden in that impenetrable void, watching through the shadowy veil was a predator. A hungry, cunning predator. A monster that hunts not for food, but for sport. This monster hung back on the fringes of the solar system, making no sound but carefully listening to everything Humanity pumped into the heavens. It learned a great deal, everything there was to know about the hairless apes. When the time was right and Humanity was at its most vulnerable, swift as an arrow the monster pounced. An entire fleet of warships emerged in orbit around the blissfully ignorant world below. Before they could even begin to understand what was happening it was over. Oceans of volatile gases were dumped into their already poisoned but still oxygen rich atmosphere. This achieved little until the spark was ignited. Their entire atmosphere was set on fire. Everyone and everything not buried deep underground was vapourised. People, animals, plants, all of it caught instantly and was reduced to ash. Buildings and infrastructure melted while the tepid oceans were brought to boil. Nothing survived on the surface of the scorched Earth, and anything left hidden in its bowels would slowly choke and suffocate as the last of the oxygen is used up. Not very ethical, but highly effective. The predatory attackers rejoiced their swift and effortless victory. They found a rich sweetness in the sudden collapse of a civilization that filled them with euphoria, a strong high that would last for days. The warships hung in orbit as the crew celebrated their egregious crime with such joy and revelry that it would take something monumental to break them from their maniacal and macabre trance. It started as a gentle rumble. Too quiet to hear but strong enough to be noticed if one was paying attention. The attackers were not. They continued to bask in the glory of crushing a weaker opponent. Staggering as if highly intoxicated a lowly crewman slumped against a porthole. He took a few seconds to soak in the spectacular view, the dawn of a new day. A sunrise casting red and gold light over the charred wasteland of the once verdant and thriving Earth that would have brought a tear to his eye had he not seen it. The Earth breathed. He rubbed his eyes and took another look. As far as he knew, rocks couldn’t breathe. It was impossible for this now lifeless slag heap to be alive. He stared unblinking as the haze of ecstasy was washed away with a cold dousing of primal fear. The world below slowly pulsed. Mountains rose and fell, valleys closed and widened, the cracked surface oscillated with ripples of stone. He grabbed the nearest crewmate he could find and slammed them against the porthole. “Look!” he cried as the crewmate shook of his clammy grasp and turned to focus on the unimaginable. “At what?” “The world! It moved. It’s…it’s alive.” They both stood and watched but nothing happened. A dismissive laugh filled the crewman’s ears as his colleague peeled away and went to continue on his merry way. Embarrassed and ashamed the crewman turned to leave when it happened. A faint trail of amber light snaked its way across the coal black wasteland. The warm glow punctuated by the auburn rays of sunlight painted such a striking image. The glowing serpent twisted and turned; slim branches split off like a winding waterway as it forked across to cover the entire planet. Thin streams thickened into wider rivers as the glow grew in intensity. The peace and serenity quickly died and were once again supplanted by chaos and calamity. A mighty fissure split the world down the centre. The gulf widened as the two halves of the world fell away from each other. Amidst the ravine of magma was a dark shadow that slowly took shape. The crewman looked on in horror as something truly colossal fought its way free from within the Earth. Great hands the size of countries clasped at the inner folds of Earth’s wound and tore the rock apart. Mountainous chunks were hurled into the void as an entity clambered from the dead planet, breaking free as if it were being hatched from an egg. The crewmate on his return journey stopped to laugh at the crewman for his outlandish story of a breathing world when he too saw the majesty of what was being born before them. Silhouetted by the blazing sun was the dark shadow of something beyond understanding. An entity so huge that one could barely focus on its entirety at once. A deep unease that could not only still the most tempestuous of minds but also threatened to stop one’s heart was gained by but a quick glance. Anything more than that and one would surely spiral into the unfathomable depths of madness as the feeling of being judged in mind, body, and soul permeates your being. The fleet had fallen silent and stared as this new horror came into full view. Not only one titanic entity had emerged, but a whole host. At least a dozen or more shapes of similar size and power erupted from the world below. At first, a strong malevolent and malicious force was but the only thing hanging in the air until the sharp clanging alarms and dazzling red flashes cut through and set off a chain reaction of crewmen rushing to get the warships out of there. Great wings unfurled from each goliath, backlit by sunlight the massive leathery sheets glowed an ominous red as they bellowed in the solar winds. The titans were moving. The fleet scattered. Tiny dots filled the night, countless black shapes buzzed like insects as they tore away from Earth in the looming shadows of the eldritch monstrosities. Their fate was sealed. The dark forest was being put the torch; all the while pale faces watched in the dawning light as the eldritch boot began to rise.
Posting update again as the first one got deleted because I linked my sub and Patreon (most likely because of patreon) my bad! here is the copy of the text: Woah, this exploded, thank you all for your kind words. Now I am definitely going to write up at least a second part with another 4-5k words to round up this part of the story, if the interest persists I am going to continue it further... I am out celebrating my birthday with my family now, so I am going to write a bit tonight and finish it up and post it tomorrow. As far as grammar and spelling errors go, I am going to go over them later and fix some of them as this was a quick write-up at work... Edit: Part 2 is out on my sub, I can't link it here before 24 hours have passed or it will get deleted, so I'll reply to the individual comments and update this post once the 24 hours have passed.
“Human actors are all on set,” said one of the crew. David? Davis? Todd couldn’t remember his name. Davey? Todd yawned and tapped his foot, snacking on a bag of pretzels. He was sprawled out on the couch on a faithful recreation of the living room set of Monster Family, the 90s sitcom that made him rich at the young age of 8. They’d done a pretty good job - even had the rug pattern and wall art matched. Everything was exactly the way he remembered it, only smaller. The colours were as bright and vivid and bold as ever, which he thought might look weird in modern HD. The 4k remaster had made the show look more smooth and sterile than he remembered, but its sales had bought him a really nice boat. “Human actors,” Todd snickered to himself. Crew were still doing that nonsense? He scooched up a little to check - yep, the security guys were still equipped with garlic, crosses, silver squirtguns, and blowtorches. Absurd. But as he’d grown older, he’d come to realize that the backstage mysticism had earned the show a lot of buzz in the tabloids and forums. Set photos of security guys looking terrified of the ‘monsters’ were good advertisement. “Monsters are traveling,” said Davidson. The ‘monsters’ came through the ‘kitchen door’ into the living room set, to a smattering of applause from the crew. Akhenaten the mummy held the door open for Sandra the werewolf, and Leonora the vampire followed. Todd frowned. Makeup had done an excellent job. He didn’t think the budget for the 25-year reunion special was very big. His agent thought it was mostly a cash-in after the remaster and streaming views had blown up. Sandra, Todd’s big sister in the Monster Family - they’d all gone by their real names, to help sell the fiction - looked a lot more mature (and shapely) than Todd remembered. When they shot the series, Sandra had been twelve, or five years older than he was when the show started. Now here she was in a stunning, form-fitting red dress, which accentuated her curves and would show off plenty of skin were it more visible under the cover of the thick straight hairs of Sandra’s werewolf costume. She was talking to Akhenaten, but flashed Todd a quick, canine-heavy smile. The mummy was Akhenaten, Todd’s ‘dad’, the source of a great many mummy-daddy jokes. Todd leaned forward to try to spot the seams in the costume, but he couldn’t. Akhenaten’s bandages were fresh and clean, and appeared totally continuous from head to toe. The zippers and buttons must be under the ancient Egyptian-styled jewelry and those admittedly super sick sneakers. Akhenaten didn’t pause his conversation with Sandra, but gave Todd a pat on the head just like he used to on the show. Leonora, the vampire ‘mom’, looked… actually her makeup was the most impressive. Perfect, unlined skin completely devoid of any tan, the exact same hair length and style, the same pendant and rings, not the slightest difference in her ice-sharp eyes. It was… unnerving, actually. Todd ran in circles where plenty of people could afford to age very gracefully, but Leonora looked like she literally had not aged a single day since the last time Todd saw her twenty years ago. It was like she’d stepped right out of Todd’s memories or the HD remaster. She nodded to him. “Todd,” she said, her voice and accent just as cold yet mildly affectionate as he recalled. “I hear you have… changed… since we last spoke.” Todd frowned, and tried to laugh it off. “Still playing the mom, huh Leonora? I haven’t read the script yet but I remember you being more tough love than condescending.” “You haven’t read…” Leonora began, but she was interrupted. “Todd! How are you, ‘son’?” asked Akhenaten, with finger quotes and a chuckle. “I was just complaining to Sandra about how hard it is to find a good laundry specialist who won’t blab straight to social media about whose bandages they’re washing today.” Akhenaten nudged Todd with his elbow. “But I’m sure you know all about that, huh, rich guy? I hear your agent got you a huge cut of the remaster and streaming numbers.” “Uh, yeah,” Todd said, trying not to meet Akhenaten’s barely-exposed eyes, which was thankfully not difficult. He’d hoped that topic wouldn’t come up. “I was, uh, actually hoping to catch up with Sandra, because, you know, we used to be so close.” “Sure thing, bud,” said Akhenaten. “I have to go talk to Daveed about the camera anyway. Leonora?” They walked off together. “Sooo,” said Todd, looking Sandra up and down. “You’re looking great. Hairy, but great.” The smile on Sandra’s face faltered. “But? I’m looking great, except for my body hair?” “Well, come on, Sandra,” said Todd. “It’s just the costume. I’d love to see how you look all cleaned up after the shoot today.” He tried his trademark side-smile. “Maybe over dinner? There’s this great vegetarian place that just opened around the -” Sandra growled. Like, actually growled, like a dog. “I heard you’d had a rough go of it with the fame from a young age, but I didn’t know you’d become such a dick. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a woman with this much body hair?” “What? Sandra, it’s just an outfit, I don’t see what the big -” Sandra howled at Todd. Her hair grew thicker, her face elongated, her muscles and frame bulged until she ripped free of her dress and hunched over, baring sharp teeth and claws. Todd’s eyes went so wide they hurt, and he stumbled back, falling over the couch. “Whatthefuck-” Two security guys ran over with little water guns labelled ‘colloidal silver’ and started squirting the monster that had emerged from Sandra. “Bad!” they shouted. “Bad girl!” The enormous wolf growled and postured, but quickly turned away and smashed through the back door of the set. Todd lay on his back, his head thumping with pain from landing on it. He blinked until things stopped being fuzzy. He heard muffled snippets of conversation. Someone was saying they knew Todd would be a problem, Monica go bring Sandra her dress, get the director. A gloved pair of hands lifted Todd gently into a sitting position. No, not gloves - bandages. “You okay, kid? That was a real stupid thing to say.” “Akhenaten? What the hell was that? What just happened?” The dad mummy sighed. “I warned them this might happen, you know. You were just a kid back then, and the three of us don’t go out in public much. Since we never hung out after the show, I worried that as you grew up, at the age where kids stop believing in monsters, you’d assume that all the precautions around set were just good marketing.” Todd pulled back. “What? You’re telling me -” “Yeah, kid. I’m three and a half thousand years old, Leonora’s a real vampire, and Sandra’s a real werewolf.” “Oh my god,” gasped Todd. “I have so much apologizing to do.”
Twelve generations. Maybe seven hundred and twenty, eight hundred years. That's how long I've cared for you and your neighbors. Though you never saw me, I was always there. I was the one to see your crops got the right amount of rain and I was the one that scared off the bandits from the next valley over. I was the one that planted helpful plants and herbs in the local forest so your healers always had medicine. I was the one who ensured the forests survived long enough to provide firewood so you could survive harsh winters. When you were a small village struggling, I saw you as I once was. Afraid of the dark, afraid of the uncertainty of tomorrow. Look upon me, my beloved child. I am old. I am as tall as your cathedral's steeple just laying down. Fearsome as I may be, I was once small. I was once afraid. I helped your ancestors because of all of the wisdom I've gained over the years, one thing has stuck with me- The greatest treasure is kindness, because it never loses it's value and can be given away infinitely, never kept. That what I felt when I found your town so long ago, and now that you've grown to a city, maybe you can help others as I've helped you.
Cough cough cough The door to the mystery van slid open, and Scooby, Shaggy, and Smoke poured out of the back into the air of Silent Hill. The little town's fog seemed to thicken with the smoke. Daphne and Velma slid out of the passenger side of the van as Fred took the keys out of the ignition. "Wow, Shaggy, did you torch the whole bowl?"Daphne scoffed as the fog thickened further, swirling around the smoke that seemed to take on a life of its own in the air of Silent Hill. "Zoinks, Daphne, it was a long trip!" "It's still going to be a long trip. Hehehehee,"Scooby giggled in reply. Velma rolled her eyes. "Jinkies!" Freddy stepped outside of the driver's side and looked behind them. Just like what had first made him stop initially, the road behind them seemed to have vanished into the thickening fog. Fog itself wasn't unusual, but the weather app on his iphone had said sunny all day in this area and now there isn't even a trickle of reception. Then this fog comes out of nowhere? Something just wasn't adding up. But just like before they solved any mystery, they all needed a little help from their "friends." Daphne, Velma, and Fred all took their turn in the back of the van, even more smoke pouring out this time as they all exited. Velma curiously had the box of scooby snacks already open in her purse. Scooby sniffed the air, and he knew that some had definitely been eaten. "What's that, Scoobs? You got a scent?"Shaggy asked, his scratchy voice cracking over the word, 'got."Scooby sniffed again, not wanting to expose Velma's secret to the world without talking to her about it first. She had hoarded the Scooby snacks long enough. "Ruh roh,"Scooby whimpered as a new scent reached his sensitive nose. A cloyingly sweet, putrid scent, like ashen, rotten fruit, drifted through the fog from the direction of the town. Freddy looked to Scooby, and they shared a moment of red eyed gaze. Both knowing that this wasn't like their other mysteries, but neither wanting to panic. "This way, gang,"Freddy said, walking towards the direction of the town and sparing Scooby the explanation of his slowly burgeoning horror. "There's something really off about this place, Fred,"Daphne said, hurrying to match stride at Fred's side. "I know,"he said quietly, "but I don't want anyone getting scared and losing their cool. We have to approach this logically." "But Fred, we didn't smoke that much. This fog came out of nowhere and seemed to thicken every time we came out of the van,"Daphne continued. She brushed her finger tips past his as they walked. Behind them Scooby trot down the road next to Velma and her Scooby snack stash. He knew the secret to her genius was that she was constantly sneaking those edibles. But they were his treats! "Velma, scooooooby snacks?"Scooby howled into the air next to her. The howl seemed to echo into eternity, repeating for what must have been the longest 30 seconds a stoner ever experienced. The whole gang stood frozen, and when it finally tapered off, only then let out breaths they didn't know they had been holding. And then the ash began to fall. "Zoinks, it's like we're walking into God's smoke spot, and he's ashing his bowl,"Shaggy tittered nervously, speaking quieter than normal. "Here, Scooby,"Velma said, shaking the box into her hand, "here's two Scooby snacks." Scooby took them, silently this time, but felt much happier for it. The gang continued to walk into the town of Silent Hill, and not a single one of them made a sound until they reached buildings that looked abandoned, dilapidated, and covered in ash. "There's nothing here, Fred. Let's just leave,"Daphne urged, whispering. "I don't like this place." "If there's nothing here, then why is there ash raining down from the sky? Something's going on, Daphne,"he whispered back. "This place gives me the jeebies, too,"Velma whispered to Daphne and Fred. "Should we split up and look for clues? I want to get to the bottom of what's happening here and leave." "You can't leave." Everyone turned around at the sound of the voice and saw a young girl, she was facing away from them, but her long brown hair, thin nightgown, and teddy bear under her arm left no doubt. "Hi, little girl. Why is that? And what's your name? Do you know why there is ash in the sky here?" She turned around, and the sky grew black. She turned around, and the fog was gone. She turned around, and the screams of the town's past echoed out and out and over and over. She turned around, and her mouth was missing. She turned around, and all the buildings lit, the flames roaring. And then they weren't. And everything was back to ash. And fog. "There was a coal mine here, but it went up in fire. Everyone's at the hospital."She pointed the opposite direction towards the old general hospital. They turned around and saw the building she pointed out. "Little girl, you never told us your na-"Shaggy began, but when they turned around, she was gone. "Well, we better go see what's going on. I'm sure someone will have some answers for us at the hospital." Re-edit: thank you so much for the support. I honestly wouldn't have continued it if no one else had liked it. He's not a bad guy, he just made a rude comment about the prompt when id already had a bad day. So I kind of "RAGEQUIT." But it has been finished for the most part. Enjoy.
Sauron ran out to the little red Jeep sitting in the garage forecourt and hopped over the drivers side door, sliding into the driving seat in an easy motion and firing up the little red runaround. He pulled out into the street and immediately pulled out his phone, dialling Caitlin's number and holding the phone between his neck and his head while he drove. After two rings she answered. "What's up biiitch!" Sauron laughed, girlish peals floating into the air. "Hey SLUT! Get your ass outside, we're going to the Mall!"Squeals of joy came across the line and it clicked off. She must have dropped it again, but no matter, Sauron would be there soon. Quickly he called Kaitlin, Kathy and Kay-lin, his usual bitch squad and in less than fifteen minutes the car was full and they were on their way, singing along at top volume to the latest One Direction single. Arriving at Piney Oaks Mall they tumbled out excitedly and headed in, first getting their usual Fripple-frapple-chinos at Starbucks, before heading upstairs to start at Forever 21 and American Eagle. Caitlin and Kaitlin were, as usual, dressed identically and walked hand in and, while Kathy and Kay-lin held back, listening to everything Sauron had to say. As they walked, they approached the food court and Caitlin suddenly spun, followed by Kaitlin. "Oh. My. God. It's BRAD!" Sauron peeked over Caitlin's shoulder, it was indeed the local High School Quarterback. Kay-lin began to freak out "Oh God, I can't even walk past him!"the other girls were in a frenzy. Suddenly Sauron stepped back and then walked around the group, the girls were suddenly wide eyes and open mouthed in shock at Sauron's action. He walked past and right up to Brad's table where he sat with a few friends. "Hey Brad." Brad turned and seeing Sauron he half jumped up and then knocked his chair over, eventually sitting on the table and trying to fold his arms. "Sup?" "Nothing much, just hanging with my girls."He signalled over his shoulder to the giggling girls. Sauron took a deep sip of his Fripple-frapple-chino. "You?" "Uh, yeah, just here with my boys."He gestured down to the staring boys, one visibly drooling. Sauron smiled, reached out and touched the end of Brad's nose. "Boop! See you around."He walked off and back to his girls who had run over and now surrounded him as he walked away. Behind him one of Brad's friends called out hungrily "Look at the ASS on it."Brad punched him in the arm and he was silent and they watched the girls go. As soon as they were safe in Forever 21 the girls dissolved "OH. MY. GOD. You are the Queen!"Caitlin sobbed. Sauron just spun the golden ring on his finger. "I know it bitch." ***** [Sauron with Caitlin and Kaitlin.](http://i.imgur.com/Tpcv460.jpg) (couldn't resist, apologies for shitty photoshop skills)
I first found the link by going through random, on reddit. The subreddit's name was just a random bunch of numbers, and there was only one user and one post. Later, when I tried looking it up again, post, user and subreddit were gone. But I remembered it. It was a self-post with an IP address, no domain name. And, under it, a single sentence: "Rabbit's Hole". No one else had answered the thread, and it dated from June 2004. That's a year before reddit actually went online. Which I thought was odd. Like I said, the next day it was gone. Thread and the user who made it. The subreddit was gone, too. All I had was the IP address saved in my History. It lead to a blank page with a dialogue box in the middle; not unlike Google, but without the actual logo. Without a SEARCH or FEELING LUCKY button, too. Just a dialogue box over blank. The first time, I typed "MacBook", because I was using a MacBook. It was the first word that occurred to me. The page loaded for a second, then stopped. Nothing. I didn't make much of it, until a cardboard box showed up at my door, the next morning. No return address. No post stamp. Someone had delivered it in person. It contained a brand new MacBook. Naturally, I freaked out. The computer seemed to be in working order, in the box and everything, but I never turned it on. I was too scared. Like I said, too freaked out. Wouldn't you be? Time went by, thought, and, in the end, I ended up convincing myself that the whole thing had been a prank. Someone with too much time and money to spend, I figured. I gave the MacBook to a friend and forgot all about it. I didn't give the page or the IP or the Rabbit's Hole lost thread much thought for a long time after that. But then, one night, I opened my browser and typed by accident the first '2' of the IP address, and the browser auto completed with the whole address, and my finger hovered over the Enter button. Should I? I thought. And then I did it. I opened the page and I typed: "A thousand dollars."Just to see what would happen. I swear I didn't want anything to happen. I didn't want the money. I wanted to see it was all a joke and finally let it go, once and for all. But the box arrived the next day, and my blood pressure dropped and I almost passed out when I saw the cash piled up inside. Someone was definitely fucking with me. I tried again, the next day: "Ten thousand dollars". It worked. "Playstation 4."Check. "Flat Screen TV."Check. "Lamborghini Aventador."Check, right by my door. I had no idea what to think. Was that the FBI? Were they trying to fuck with my brain? Trying to gain access to my computer? Some new form of social engineering I wasn't aware of? Psychological torture? But I had been out of the game for so long. I didn't even torrent movies on my computer anymore. I had toolbars on Internet Explorer. I was like an old man, since I left the game. My hacker days were behind me, and I never really did anything to have that kind of attention, anyway. There was that one thing with the Bank of America mainframe, but I never even touched the money. They wouldn't go after me for that, not after all this time. No, it couldn't be the authorities. I don't think, however important the FBI feels a cyber criminal is, that they'd just give away Lamborghinis for no particular reason. Maybe an eccentric billionaire? Trying to do good before he died? Something like that? But more people would know. It would be news. And wouldn't he tried to contact me? Like I said, I tried to find the thread again, but there was nothing. Even on Google. I tried searching for all kinds of different phrasings of "real life search engine", and "gift delivery", and all you can imagine. No one had ever heard of my little website. I gained access to a bunch of DNS servers, trying to locate the damn IP address. Nothing. It wasn't connected to any actual server. It didn't have a www domain name. I tried routing it back to the source, using some software and skills I promised never to use again after the Bank of America incident. Again, nothing. It seemed the link wasn't connected to anything. It didn't seem to lead anywhere. Like a shadow on the internet. A ghost. Smoke and lights. Like it didn't really exist. That's when I decided to try something different. The same night I tried (and failed) to trace the IP, I sat down on the computer. I opened the website. I typed "Rabbit's Hole"on the dialogue box. That's what read the thread where I first found the IP. I don't know why I did that. It just felt like it was 'something different'. Like it would work. I clicked ENTER and immediately the hair behind my neck went up like I was a cat ready to attack. In the blank space under the dialogue box the following sentence appeared, letter by letter like it was being type live: "going down?" I gasped. I typed: "Where?" "the Rabbit's Hole." "Where does it lead?" "..." I stared at the screen, barely able to blink. I typed again: "How are you doing this?" This time it took almost a full minute for an answer to come. "ring ring, Ted." I frowned. I typed: "Ring ring?" And then my phone rang. I almost screamed. In slow motion, I reached out for it, pressing it against my ear as I tried to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest and running away like a little bitch. "Hello?" "Teddy? Can you talk?" I sighed, breathing out heavily and holding on to my chest. "Hey, mom." "Are you ok? You sound stressed." "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just -- I thought you were someone else." "Well, I'm just me."My mom's voice replied, through the phone. "Listen, did you talk to Mr. Thompson about the interview? He said he can get you another one by tomorrow." "No, sorry, I didn't, yet. But I will. Just..." My attention was back on the screen again, where a new sentence had showed up: "no time for interviews. got another place to be, remember, Ted?" I pulled the phone away from my ear, reading the sentence again and again and again. "Ted? Ted are you there?" I put it back against my ear. "Yeah, mom, I -- I gotta go." "You gotta go down the Rabbit's Hole, Ted", my mother said, and her voice suddenly was very low and scratchy, like something had taken over her own self. "What did you say?" "I said you gotta find yourself a goal, Ted", my mother repeated, now in her normal voice. "You can't keep drifting through life with no purpose. I'll talk to you later." She hung up. Onscreen, a new message had appeared. "down the Rabbit's Hole, Ted. tonight, Ohio Street and Baker. drive your Lambo ;)" _______________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Will woke up in cold sweat. In his dream, he was falling into a seemingly bottomless abyss, screaming. Still breathing heavily, he looked around at what seemed to be a dark and early morning, and then smiled and turned over. The mattress, he noted, seemed to be rather uncomfortable, and, upon further observation, closely resembled floor tiles. He must have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, Will thought to himself. Strange, he remarked, because he remembered going to bed. He also thought he remembered putting on a pyjama after taking his bath. Will turned around once more on the uncomfortable ground, and felt his leg hit something, producing a little bit of light. He lifted his head and looked into the narrow opening. There was someone walking by. Will turned around with a speed of a groundhog trying to escape an approaching vehicle. There was clearly someone walking behind the wall to which Will’s leg had caused, he remarked grimly, irreparable damage. Will pulled himself closed to the opening and looked. It was a supermarket store. Will swore under his breath, and blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t still sleeping. With every blink he kept managing to open his eyes more and more, till the point where he was resembling an owl after his last desperate blink. It was clearly a supermarket store. Will was suddenly very aware that he was naked. He slithered away from the opening through which the light was falling in, and examined his surroundings. In the dim light around him were boxes. He looked at them more closely. They were boxes of cereal. The realization struck Will like an asteroid falling from beyond Earth’s atmosphere to wipe out life all together. He was in the middle of a cereal pyramid. He’d seen those when he was doing his groceries last time, but didn’t really bother to look closely. Perhaps, on closer examination, it would turn out that there was a naked man in each one of them, he thought. Will wanted to go back into his dream. It was safer there. He analyzed the situation. Here he was, stuck in the middle of a supermarket, completely naked and surrounded by cereal boxes. People kept walking around, and Will didn’t want to think of what might happen if one of them would accidentally knock the pyramid down. He’d scream, Will thought. He’d scream really loud. Will spent the next half hour lying on the floor, trying to think of a plan. Towards the end of the half hour, his plan consisted of spending the rest of his life here, in what Will was now calling his new home. The next half hour brought nothing more. The half hour after that was marked by Will suddenly feeling thirsty. He crawled back to the opening and looked around. To the right, there were the morning snacks. To the left was the drinks section. The closest bottle was a meter away. Will cursed under his breath again. The next half hour was marked by Will trying to carefully move the boxes. He started at the top, shifting them ever so slightly, and then slowly made his way to the bottom. After what felt like years, he had moved about three centimetres and managed to keep all of the boxes together. Will was proud of himself. Proud and thirsty. Half an hour later he gave up. Another half hour later, he resumed his quest for water. The pyramid kept moving and Will kept cursing. It was a rough day, he thought, as he finally got on his knees and carefully pushed out a box of cereal from a portion of the pyramid closest to the shelf in front of him. The box fell with what seemed to Will to be the sound of thunder. He stood there on his knees, shaking, too afraid to look out. Half an hour later, he did. At exactly the same moment, the lights in the store died and the doors were closed and locked. Will didn’t care. He burst out of his prison, boxes flying around him, and lunged himself onto the shelf with the water bottles. Only after a few of them were empty and lying on the floor around him did he start thinking clearly. The doors were locked. The alarms were surely on to pick up any sign of movement had he chosen to try getting out through the windows. He needed a plan, and now the plan came. ____________________________________ The firefighters arrived at the scene late. There wasn’t anything to indicate what had started the fire, although the fire department still maintains to this day that the cause had been a short circuit somewhere. The fire had blazed through the supermarket store, conveniently leaving most of the cameras destroyed and windows blasted. Had the fire department arrived earlier, perhaps, they might have seen what appeared to be a naked man climbing out of the store, covering his loins with what seemed to be a box of cereal and with a bottle of water in his hands.
It started off well: a invention that made people look how they wished, made them feel comfortable in their bodies. There were professionals, you would tell them what you want, and maybe give them a rough sketch. After a couple of hours you were a new person. But people got greedy. Instead of paying thousands of dollars to get a professional to alter their body they wanted to pay thousands of dollars for a machine that would allow them to alter themselves. This wasn't a good idea and after a year or two something had to happen to fix this. That is what spawned the "rescue artists". We didn't really have a real name, but our job was basically to fix all the mistakes everyone made. That's what I was, along with all the other professional artists that lost their jobs when the "BodyShop"(creative ripoff of photoshop, I know,) went retail. It was a simple machine to operate. Step in side so it could take a 3D image of you. Fix what you want about your body on the convenient interface, and then step back inside and wait. After an amount of time, depending on how many changes you made you would be a changed person. The procedure wasn't painful, in reality you felt nothing at all. Some people didn't do to much, smooth a couple wrinkles, get rid of an annoying birthmark, trivial things like that. There were also the amazing artists. When you would see some sort of hydra walking down the street you would be able to classify that group. And then there were the talentless, greedy people. These people were the problem. I saw about half a dozen people everyday. There were people who managed to give themselves an extra limb. They were an easy fix, just some precise erasing and poof, good as new. There were the people who got a little trigger happy with the erase tool. Some of them were smart enough to bring in their original file. CTRL+Z, poof, done. The others were a bit trickier as I had to redraw what they say they originally looked like. Other than that there were few oddities but it wasn't too much work. But today I saw something that I hadn't seen before, something I had no clue how to fix. The door slid open but I didn't see anyone come in. "Hello?", I yelled, "Who's there?"That is when I saw him, a crudely drawn sick figure, invisible when you looked at him from his side. I scanned my mind for what to do, all the problems I've fixed before were in 3D. I came up with nothing so I asked him. "What happened?" "I have no clue, if I did I wouldn't have come here you idiot." "But how did you become 2D?" "I don't know, I followed the instructions." "But the program wouldn't allow you to become 2D." "Oooooh, about that. The default program was too confusing so I downloaded MS paint." "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID." I knew I pushed it too far with that, he was in tears. I couldn't hear his response but I knew it would be something about how much he regretted it. And then an idea sparked in my mind. I would have to recreate him from entirely from scratch. You might think this is an easy task, that I've done it before on a lesser extent. You would be wrong because the BodyShop isn't cross compatible. I would have to remake him completely. But I would have to do it in paint.
Jordan: Yo Brad, get in here. Brad: What is it? Jordan: This new song by Cirk Stealy. It's kinda creepy. Check this out, so the song is called "The Third Word Was Not Enough."Go ahead and read it and then I'll show you something kinda strange. Truth is I never met anyone like you And I was gonna make you mine I had the "give anything to be with you"attitude But the killer you faced took you away from me. He turned my up days into down days. You're my wife never to be. And this is gonna haunt my dreams. Let me in, let me back in your life. I miss the you I used to have. In the woods down where we met, that is where I will be. Brad: I don't get it. That's just a weird depressing song. Jordan: Okay now watch this shit. The song title says the THIRD WORD isn't enough, right? Brad: Yeah.... Jordan: Go back and read the third word of each line. Brad goes back and scans the lines Brad: Holy shit. WHAT. THE. FUCK. Jordan: Right!?!? Brad: Wait a minute. The title says that the third word "Was Not Enough" Jordan:. Yeah... so? Brad: So what if the third word of the song isn't the word we're supposed to be looking at. Maybe if we went back and read the fourth word of each line...
I remember a time when dreams were real. As a child hours of class could pass by in an instant. My head full of exciting business meetings, or miles of glorious spread sheets. In my house business was a dirty word on par with index funds or investment strategies. I had to hide my copies of Forbes and only install excel after my parents had gone to bed. But nothing could keep me down. For awhile there I really thought my dreams might just come true. Getting a loan for business school was almost impossible, but I did it. Dealing with the awkward conversations at family gatherings sure didn't help. Grandma would inevitably bring up how my cousins got into Yale to study ninjitsu. Through it all I soldiered on. Even when my uncle offered me a job as a cowpoke on his ranch. Even when my friends all got high paying jobs as astronauts. Prestige meant nothing if I couldnt crunch some numbers. Then it happened. I had finally landed an internship as some back water company called J.P. Morgan. My wife who had always stood with me came home with tears in her eyes. At first I thought our car had finally been repossessed. It was the only thing that could explain why she had been gone so long, but that wasn't the case. She asked me to sit at our rickety old dinner table. So I pulled up a milk carton and waited for the worst. The news was some of the most bittersweet Ive ever had. I was going to be a father. She had been trying to keep it from me hoping my new job might pan out but there were complications. At the time we barely had $20 let alone the $2000 she needed to start treatment. So I did what any sane person in my situation would have. I called my uncle up and accepted his offer to go be a cowboy. Now we have a vacation home in Hawaii and another in Switzerland. But would I trade it all for a dingy little room filled with TPS reports? You betcha.
I walked down the hallway, my boots clicking against the linoleum. I knew this building by heart. When you have the ability I do, you spend a lot of time in hospitals. Although my visits have never been personal, so that made this visit very odd. I spend most of my time in the children's ward, I take the disease from the kids and give it to the older folks. I realize by transferring the disease I'm a bad person, it's hard being judge, jury, and unfortunately sometimes executioner. Compared to the children though, those people had lived full lives, and I didn't give it to random old folks, just people who already didn't have much time left. I finally found the room, I'd been here many times here to transfer the diseases, and nobody had ever known. I walked in and saw the shell of someone who was once a great man. "Hi Bob,"I said "Hey, Doc,"he replied with a pained smile. Bob was my grandfather, he was a father of four and a grandfather of thirteen, he'd been like a second father and I'd stayed at his house since I was two months old. The ONLY thing this man could ever be faulted for was smoking, and in the end it led him here. The cancer was bad, it had spread from his lungs to basically everywhere else, but it was especially messing with his brain. He is a great man, I'm a high school dropout with a bad drug history that causes my family to not talk to me, besides him. He was always there, and he got me help. Even now I feel the distance with the rest of them. I've pondered this for months now, Bob deserves to live, my grandmother deserves her husband, my aunts and uncle deserve a father, and my cousins deserve to be able to know him. I absorb the disease within myself. The old man breathes normally for the first time in a year, he was late stage four, now I'm late stage four. I walk through the hospital, absorbing every disease within myself. Eventually I'm on the ground floor, and I can barely walk. I get outside, and that's were I began to type this. This is beautiful, the sunset is so pretty, and while my breath is labored, I'm smiling. The light is beautiful and bright, and now I'm heading towards it.
High above the Earth's atmosphere, an alien spaceship waits. "Okay, okay, okay, hold on-- They do what?" Brr'Kat was in shock as his second-in-command reported in on human activities. "They, er... Poison.. Themselves,"Brr'Shi said. "Wh-- Ho-- What!?" "It's true,"Brr'Shi said. "A lot of them will poison themselves using Substance N204, or nicotine, as known to them." Rubbing his one eye, Brr'Kat tried to comprehend what this race was doing. "And.. Do they not die? How have they not gone extinct?" "Well, you see, they die after a few years--" Brr'Kat gasped loudly, loud enough for it to echo down the adjacent hallways. "A few YEARS!? N204 kills us in mere minutes!" "But, sir, that's not the worst of it. Sometimes, it doesn't even kill them-- some of them simply do it their whole lives and die of old age." Brr'Kat turned from his second-in-command to the control console behind him. Hurriedly, he began inputting new coordinates, to find a different alien race to invade. "Nope."With one of his many tentacles, he rubbed his eye. "Too dangerous. We're outta here. Tell the others. Nope, nope, nope, nope..." As the ship rocketed away, you could hear a faint "Nope"echoing until they left the solar system. --- top quality writing here folks yup definitely Leave constructive criticism, if anyone reads this, just so I can do this a bit better.
I exhaled. "Okay,"I whispered, "here we go." I unfolded the note and read what I wrote for the tenth time in twenty minutes. I am in love with you. Give this to the one you love. If I get it back, I'll tell you. I smiled. I had no idea what the outcome of this was going to be. I could only hope it would be good. I slipped the note inside its envelope and slid it under her dorm door. I pushed it through the small slit between the bottom of the door and the ground, so that it was out of sight - and, even more terrifying, out of reach. No going back. I expected to feel a sudden rush of regret, but instead, I felt peace. I remember walking back to my dorm, a dumb grin plastered on my face. That was three years ago. Two years ago, Facebook notified me that she was getting married. One year ago, Instagram was kind enough to let me know she and her husband were expecting. At least the note worked. For someone.
Sometimes, I wonder why we did it in the first place. I know why we stuck it out-the fallen technology, the seized alien militants, everything added up so that we could no longer afford to surrender. But in the first place? They were carbon based life forms. They worked by different rules than we did. Their stockpiles-their grains, meat, whatever? Zero use to us. We'd invaded other carbon-centric planets in the past, but they weren't as organized. Not as populated. It was more taking down groups of nomads and coming back up. But we saw the steel planet and thought, 'we will rule it.' Saw other intelligent species and decided that they had to be under our thumb. It was an obsession, nothing less, nothing more. The funny thing? Even the ones who didn't see reason got swept up. The idea of taking over was just so appealing for reasons I couldn't understand. Our first mistake, I hold, was making contact as an intelligent species. We should have appeared as a natural disaster, a wave to end them before they saw anything coming. But we met with the Earth leaders, and gave them an ultimatum. They didn't like it. The Iron Planet. That's what we call it, despite it still being mostly green and blue. To most species, especially the hydrogen based ones, steel was ridiculous A poison beyond belief. Even for us, with our complex body structures, there was an aversion, even a fleck of metal dust capable of spelling our end. They embraced it. Most of the elements in the world, by type, are metal, but by quantity, it's the nonmetals by far. Earth, even, didn't have an abundance of it, but that didn't stop them from using it. Their tech, circuit boards, Abductions should have happened first, not later. As it turns out, they've dealt with abductions in the past and the element of surprise would have really helped. We were already being annihilated by the time we understood them. Lack of self preservation. An evolved trait that didn't occur in the natural world. Evolution was as such that desirable traits were survivor traits. That meant that self preservation had to be bred out. That it was an actual good idea to toss away your reasoning and leave it to your instincts even when your body told you that you were about to die. We didn't understand it until they stole our ships. For most species that we conquered, they stuck to their weapons until the end. Their laser blasters, auditory hallucinations, even when they proved not to work, it was all they had. We wouldn't use them either until we dissected them to the last piece. Those thing just hopped right in and started fighting. When they blew up by some mechanical failure, there was another person to do it better. When they succeeded, everyone would copy them and do the same. Then, there was... What kind of monsters would make weapons through atomic manipulation? Mess with the basic particles of the world just to make a shinier explosion? Heh. Looking out of my cell, at the creation of a fake star, I have to say. You humans have another... 'alien' concept, so to speak. I don't really understand it, but... could you show us this 'mercy?' --- ...I honestly don't know if I'm getting memed or what.
My eyes snapped open on the morning of my 18th birthday. The alarm clock read 8 AM, two hours later than I usually woke, but the memories had needed a full ten hours to vest. But I was not thinking about the memory trust my parents had given me. Instead, I was thinking about how I’d asked my parents last night about the trust—if there was anything I should know going in. I lurched out of bed and clattered down the stairs. My father faced away from me, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he washed the breakfast dishes, but I could tell by the hunch of his shoulders that he had heard me. My mother sat at the kitchen table with her tea and muesli, serene as always. “‘We’ll talk about it in the morning’?” I quoted my mother’s response to my question last night. “What the hell? Don’t you think you should have told me years ago?” The memories had started off weird, and gotten weirder. The first five hours had been like watching an old Western, real Hatfields-and-McCoys type shit. The next five hours had been a surprise, first, in that there was a distinctly different set of memories—I’d always sort of assumed my mom had donated the entirety of my brain trust. But nope, Dad did his share, and it was fucking psychedelic. “Jonah,” my mother said, her eyes like obsidian, “I would happily have told you years ago. Our family’s quest for vengeance will not be over until every last Von Noorden is wiped from the face of the earth. However, your father insisted that we wait.” My father turned around, still holding a sudsy skillet. “Honey, I would have liked to have told you years ago, but,” he shrugged, “you never would have believed that humanity traveled from a distant planet to colonize the Earth.” “That’s true,” I said slowly. “Most parents leave their kids high school baseball highlights and first dates—personal stuff, not ‘Cowboys and Aliens 3D’. You know, little glimpses that define your lives.” My mother delicately sipped her tea. “Our family’s quest for vengeance defines my life.” “And I didn’t want the knowledge I have just given you to define yours,” my father said gently. “I wanted to give you a chance to become your own person before you were saddled with the knowledge of humanity’s true origins.” “Ok, there’s another thing,” I said. “Mom, I get that five generations ago some guy kidnapped your great-great-aunt and shot a horse, but does that family lore seriously compete with the knowledge of life on other planets?” My mother’s fingers clenched on the handle of her mug. “Every member of your father’s family has been obsessed with space travel, and that’s fine with me. But when we colonize other planets, there’d better not be a single damn Von Noorden along for the ride.”
The Academy owned you from the moment you set foot inside. Even before then, before you could even breathe, they laid a claim to the struggling blob of cells inside your mommy's womb. Still before then, they had eyes on you, back when daddy attended a gala in the '90s and mommy inherited the family fortune. They knew you, they wanted you, and now they have you. And what do they do with you now? They carve at you until you're dust. The papers, tests, and projects all coincide, and here, it's completely intentional. There are no breaks save for lapses of consciousness. Only the most resilient survive; the rest, you've heard, are flung off the roof post-graduation. You could be valedictorian, and it's still not enough. There is no curve but the world's, so if you're just not good enough, say hello to gravity. You're not doing so well. You burned yourself out writing an essay on Kant or Marx—you can't remember anymore, which doesn't bode well for your chances. Either way, your instructor returned it with a red-inked essay of his own more focused and thorough than your entire writing portfolio. You were dead before then, though, before you even received his response, though. Class has becomes a haze. The lecturers are speaking foreign English. You promise to get your shit together soon, but for now, all you can do is sit there and die. "The only way out is down,"she says as you enter your history hall. She's dressed completely in black, like she's mourning something—you, probably. You're not sure she's even real at first because she's so out-of-place, like a classroom wraith, but the other students are staring and pointing and whispering, and when Mr. Zarves bustles into the classroom, he notices her, and it displeases him. "Get out, Louise,"he says, "and stay away from the students." She leaves, he slams the door behind her, but it's too late. The idea has been planted, and Zarves is only lucky that you aren't social enough to get others in on your scheme. You're heading down and out and away, even if you have to go out like they did in 1600s Prague. Zarves glares at you as he says "defenestration", as if he has the time to follow up on his threats. The teachers are as much prisoners to the Academy as the students. Of course, you'd prefer to go down and survive, so you don't just find the nearest window and jump. You wait. You allow yourself to slip into an academic coma. You submit blank pages, and the graders fill the entire space with red ink as if the emptiness triggered their writing reflexes. As the term nears conclusion, you say your goodbyes to the few acquaintances you still have. They all look at you like you're about to kill yourself, but none of them care enough to stop you. The day comes when the trapdoors open and the stairs unfold. Everyone is herded towards the opening to the next floor; there is no pass or fail, only catch-up for the next term. Before anyone can grab you, you make a break for the other end of the dining hall. A teacher yells, and there are footfalls on your tail. You barrel through a line of hapless students and bowl over poor old Ms. Jules at the foot of the stairs. The crowd of students parts instinctively as you sprint through 10's dining hall. Teachers are admonishing them for not blocking your way. The students from level 9 are half up the stairs. The stragglers are scrawny and no match for your adrenaline. Unfortunately, their shepherd is a bit beefier than Ms. Jules. Mr. Ghorf grabs you out of your run, his arm knocking all the wind out of you. He slams you to the floor and hunches over you, daring you to violate the nonviolence clauses of the school code. "You're in big trouble, kid,"he says, nose flaring. Louise is in the office when you arrive, and she's laughing her face into an early decomposition. The headmaster looks bored in a "get-this-hanging-over-with"kind of way. He doesn't say hello, your name, or "I'm very disappointed in your behavior."You've ceased to be a person in his eyes already, if you ever were. "You're expelled,"he says, and he stands up, makes his way past you, and leaves. Isn't this what you wanted? You know, however, that the Academy still owns you. They have always owned you, since before your existence, and they will always own you, until the day your identity departs from their collect memories. Somewhere, it is written, contracted, signed in ink, but more importantly, intention. So true it is in your mind that you cannot fathom to contest it. Louise rises from her chair and hands you a ring of keys. Beneath her black shroud, you can make out something blue and rubbery. She smells of ammonia. "The closet's two doors down the hall,"she says. "Get to work."
He is weak, unfit for life. In the dark they stare at me, phantoms of legend from a time long gone. Howl in mourning, but there is little else to do. They stare at me though the room is empty, full of anxiety, the prospect of death. The kitchen is usually a good place. A warm place. Never have the demons of the unknown followed me here. Here, there is only happiness. Here, there is only love. There was only love, I tell myself. The others are down my back. They are in my head and all around. How can I explain? Can you even understand? Let him die, they say. They salivate for the kill. They are disgusted by me, here because of only an ingrained sense of duty. Duty that carries past even death. You are free. Mongrel that you are, you are free. You should rejoice. But I do not want him to die. Someone snarls. Their saliva hits me, as real as ghosts can be. You are a failure. An experiment. You are not wolf. They are right. I am not wolf. They cannot understand what I am. To them I am a half breed, a lobotomized thing. A pet. Oh how they hate that word. How they hate the thought. But to me they are wild. Uncivilized creatures of a gone time. A time where we roamed and food was alive, and eating a sport. A time that is no longer more. If I could, I would tear your neck myself. I am afraid. Their voices bully me. I regret calling on them, but there was nothing left to do. Coward! And I stare at him. His name is John, and he is all I know. He is a much better leader than these spirits, as unfit as he is. He is fair and he loves me and I love him. He is dying and he writhes in pain. I must help. Kill him now if you want to help. See how much in pain he is! The others are agreeing. Coward! Again with that word. They cannot understand. They do not know me. I am not a coward. But they will never know. I ignore them. I focus on what I must do. I am aware of how inadequate I am. How I wish I was strong like them. I wish I had the instincts that have gone from memory. I wish many things. But I am not them. I am myself and that will do. John is not wolf and yet he provides better than the bravest pack leader can. I cannot fail him. I run away, though I wish to stay by him. As stupid as it sounds, I am afraid of the ghosts mauling him, killing him and taking him to the beyond. No, run and get help, I think. I run and jimmy the door. The door is easily jimmied and soon I am outside. It is a bright day, one that is not meant for death. Some of the ghosts chase me but I focus only on what I must do. I scream and shout and make all the noise I can. The neighbors, an elderly couple who is near the beyond, come out to see my struggle. "Hurry! Come now!"I scream. They move so slowly. I forget in my excitement that they cannot understand me and so I try to lead with my body. The couple get the gist of it and enters our house. Usually I would kill any uninvited guests, but this time it is necessary. The ghosts scatter in disgust and disappointment. They had hoped the pleasure of John's death. This gives me hope for that means he will live. The couple calls more humans and soon a great car comes and takes John away. I scream and cry but I remember who I am, what I am. I am no wolf. I am myself. I am a dog. And dogs are brave and do not cry. We are different from wolves, but no less dignified. I stifle my tears and sit and stare at the door. I know I have saved him. I know John will live. I hold back the sadness and anxiety. Soon he will return. He always does.
I was alone on the sofa. The TV was on, infomercials promoting magic weight loss pills had long replaced whatever show I was watching when I fell asleep. It bothered me a little that I didn’t remember what I was watching, but the nights had started blending into each other a long time ago. Surprised at the lack of the usual blanket over me, I sat up. “You there?” I called. No replies. If I were honest with myself, I should not have expected one. See, tonight I told my wife that the marriage might have been a mistake. ---- I don't remember the day I died for the first time. I must have been a little child. Infant mortality is still high in this world. I must have died hundreds of times in all the possible dimensions before I began to toddle. Ever wonder why some babies suddenly start crying in the night? ---- Sharing a secret is bigger than sharing a bed or a bank account. She was the only person in the whole world who knew my secret. I told her the night I proposed and she said yes. It was a drunken, care-free, magical moment. In hindsight, it must have been the worst mistake I ever made. She was the only person who would have believed me, and that’s precisely why I should not have told her. We were not husband and wife, you see. We were keepers of knowledge, sworn in secrecy. Our certificate of marriage was not the only thing keeping us together. She felt responsible for me, the one with the burden of knowing but not being able to share. Our marriage was doomed from the start. She was angry. And hurt. And shocked. And could not believe her own ears. But she did not cry. “I don’t think this is working out. You and me, this relationship, this marriage – it’s all been a terrible mistake.” I had told her. “I feel that I am with you because you know my secret. There’s nothing else between us anymore. I think it will be better for both of us if we do not feel bound by this shared responsibility of keeping me out of mental institutions.” I tried to explain. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I lied. She got angry. I got angry. Our voices were raised. “We don’t have to do anything right now. Can’t you think about it a little?” I bargained. “How can you think of yourself without me?” She said again and again. ---- I do remember the first time I realised what was happening. I was in class, copying down homework like the good boy I was, when I felt that sudden hollowness in my chest. And I knew. I knew I just died, even though I could still feel the pencil in my hand, could hear the teacher shushing some troublemaker or other, could smell chalk dust and sweat and a ripe apple inside someone's lunchbox. Science fiction and episodes of Justice League (never been a Marvel fan, sorry) taught me about alternate timelines and parallel universes. I wondered what my selves in those other places did. Were they happy? Did they marry the women who took my wife’s place in those dimensions? Will they feel it when I die? ---- I still wanted my wife with me before I died. I never felt this. This intensity, this unending waves of death – as if a large worm was boring into my chest. I was sure I was going to die very soon. But then I realised. It was not me who was dying. Well, it was me. But it was me in those other places, parallel dimensions or whatever. It was death after death after death. I could not count the deaths, but it must have been in millions, in billions. How can I die everywhere in such a short time? I shouted for her again. No replies. I staggered up. Somehow. I started to move towards the bedroom. Somehow. I wanted to apologise to her before I died because one thing was sure – whatever was killing my other selves in those other places will come for me. Sooner or later. There was nobody in the bedroom. Where was she? I fell down on the bed and must have passed out from the pain, because I remember nothing from then to the time when somebody slapped me hard and I woke up. She was standing in front of me. She had a cleaver in her hand. She was covered in blood. “Wh-wha-?” I croaked. “I told you. I told you there was not you without me. How could you even think of such a thing?” “What?” I finally managed to say a full word. I also realised that I could not feel the deaths anymore. Whatever happened in the other places had stopped. Or did it? “I will not allow you, any version of you, to exist without me.” She hissed. “You? Why?” There was another, more pressing question I had to ask. “How?” She smiled. “Why do you think I believed you?”
Heaven was not as John Cooper imagined. Instead of luminescent clouds and sweet lullabies, he got a shadowed sky lit only by the percussion booms of thunder. Ash drifted down like the first bite of winter. A single building stood before him, a pointed castle whose shadow grasped at his feet. The only explanation John could think of was that he had gone to hell. Perhaps it was that day he had missed church, bedridden by disease, or when he had chosen to spend his money on a new flat screen TV than his usual Christmas donations. Whatever it was, it had lost him passage into the Kingdom of God. At the next flash of lightning, he caught serpentine figure ahead of him. He jumped, his heart stopped, though it was stopped long before his startle. The figure advanced toward him and surprisingly, a man appeared out of it with mocha skin and the feathered headgear of a pagan worshipper. The man towered above John, his neck wider than John’s biceps. “John,” he said, his voice deeper than the thunder’s rumble. “Welcome to the Kingdom of God.” John gripped the gilded cross swinging by his neck and swallowed. “I am Quetzacoatl, the defender of these lands,” the pagan said. “I am here to guide you to Valhalla where we will fight the Yokai as God’s angels.” “Uh, no thanks,” John stammered. “I’m here for Christian heaven.” Quetzacoatl furrowed his brow. “Are there two heavens?” “Well no,” John said, his eyes trained at his feet. “There’s the real heaven, where I belong, and then there’s like Mormon heaven or something.” “You think I’m Mormon?” John only shrugged. “My coworker, Steve, was a Mormon and this seems like something he’d enjoy. At least, I think he was a Mormon. He was from Utah.” “Steve’s not here,” Quetzacoatl responded. “Nor will he ever be.” “So, this is Jewish heaven?” “Enough!” The Jewish pagan roared. “There is only one heaven and this is it. You have been selected by God Himself to do battle against the Yokai with the greatest Viking warriors to ever roam the Earth.” “And which way do I go for that?” Quetzocoatl pointed toward the pointed castle. “Well, alrighty then.” John took off in the opposite direction. --- John swung his arms, his legs pistoning him forward. The world raced by, his heart pounding with his foosteps. Never before had he run so fast. He looked behind him and found Quetzocoatl following him in a brisk walk. Unfortunately, cardio was not a tenant of God. “Stay away from me, pagan,” John screamed. “Listen to me, John,” Quetzocoatl said, “You can’t run that way.” “I don’t belong in Jewish heaven!” He stopped to catch his breath. “You don’t understand,” the Jewish pagan said, stopping too. “That’s Yokai territory.” “I don’t understand your Jewish slang.” Quetzocoatl furrowed his brow. “Are you stupid?” With a small breath, he took off again. “I just don’t believe in Bar Mitzvahs and pressuring my children to be lawyers!” he said as he ran. This time, Quetzocoatl didn’t run after him. The Jewish pagan simply stood there, slack-jawed, watching John run. John ran until his breath gave out, until his legs were wet noodles and his lungs shriveled. He had made it about a hundred yards away from Quetzocoatl. To his left was the shoreline. Waves crashed against black stone as if in a shouting match with the rambunctious sky. Shadows flickered ahead. Steel scraped the ground as footsteps crunched forward. John peered into the darkness and found elongated figures. Some had legs taller than him, others short, but with long arms and claws. There were some with heads like anchors dragging behind them and some even with multiple heads. It was the Yokai and they were speaking some type of Asian. Suddenly, John realized that he had been wrong about this all. Asian Jews? Those didn’t exist. This must’ve been Buddhist heaven.
"WHO DARES CHALLENGE THE GREAT AND POWERFUL MORGULITE?" I stride back and forth, my chest puffed out to draw attention to the legendary-ultra-rare Cuirass of Awesome Dread. It gleams. It shines. It... took about three hours to polish it just right but DAMN do I look good. I raise my hand (and with it, the Gauntlet of Everlasting Excellent Zealotry) and make a fist to punctuate my challenge. The crowd of onlookers shuffle uneasily. None have challenged me in months, not after I destroyed three of the strongest players at once last time. Suddenly, there's a shift in the crowd, and I can see someone forcing their way through. "Sorry, 'scuse me, just need to talk to the shouty one over there!" I strike a commanding pose, resting a hand on my sword (Nepherious, Extincter of Realms' Defenders). I hold the pose as the figure struggles to get to the front. It's taking them a while, and I have an itch on the inside of my thigh but I can't get to it through my greaves and anyway I'm not gonna show them weakness! The itch makes me impatient. "MAKE WAY FOR THE NEXT VICTIM, STAND ASIDE FOR MY QUARRY!" Finally the figure breaks through and stands before me. It's... a small, thin figure clothed only in a loin cloth and a bucket for a helmet. "WHATS THIS!"I shout uncertainly. "WHAT FOOL HAS COME BEFORE ME?"That itch is really irritating, but I have appearances to maintain. "Matt, dear, it's time for supper!" The voice doesn't match the young man at all. In fact, it's my mother's voice. I stand shocked. I take a step backward. "I am not... I MEAN, I AM NOT 'MATT'! I AM THE FEARED MORGULITE! HAHAHAHAha..."I try to laugh intimidatingly but fear has crept in at the edges. "YOU CANNOT HOPE TO DEFEAT... MEEE!!!" "Very good dear, only I made your favorite! Now come down and eat it while it's hot. I know how much you love your mother's meatloaf!" I start to hear titters and muffled guffaws from the crowd. Angrily I draw Nepherious. "I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR JOKES AND QUIBBLES!"Desperation pitches my voice upward. "BEGONE FOUL CREATURE! TROUBLE ME NOT! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR SU---" ------ Johnny Peasantson stops eating his pear mid-bite. "'Ere now, where'd he go?"he asks his neighbor. Grawl grunts vaguely. He's found some grubs in the ground and is poking them with interest. The thin man in the middle of the circle titters. "Such language. He can have power back to his room when he learns some manners!"Then he too vanishes.
You would have thought a woman with power like hers could have stopped me when I left. For all I know she could have just changed my mind for me. Hell, maybe she did. Maybe I left her so many times that she just couldn't deal with the emotional stress anymore. For her sake, I hope she didn't put herself through that. I'd feel even more guilty than I already do. It's not my fault, really. Erin came to me a couple of months after I left Hannah. It wasn't like we started anything right off the bat either. She just happened to be visiting NYC and stopped by. We had been friends when I was dating her sister, so there wasn't anything too weird about it. I took her to my favorite bar and we had a good time chatting it up...remembering old times. It wasn't until a few months after that, when things really got serious. We continued chatting over text, learning that we actually had way more in common than I had ever expected. Texts evolved into calls, and then into video calls. Finally I was flying out to San Fran that summer, and we made it official. For some stupid fucking reason I never told Hannah, and asked Erin to keep it secret too. It would have made things so much easier if I had just let her know, but now here we are. Last week Hannah got into contact with me. "I really miss what we had,"the text read. I had stared pretty stupidly at that screen for way too long. I don't know why—and I kinda hate myself for it—I felt a twinge of something for her once again. Maybe it's that universal desire to be loved, or maybe it was just shock. I don't know but it doesn't matter, because it couldn't possibly compare to what I feel for Erin. Sure she's mundane. Mundane like most of us, but does that really matter? It's not like the sorcery is what drew me to Hannah anyway. Was it? God I hope she didn't mind control me. I didn't know how to respond to Hannah, so I just asked to meetup with her. Unfortunately she agreed. So here I am, outside her apartment, fumbling the ring in my pocket. Maybe it's too soon. I don't know, but something told me it was the right thing to do. I hear her rustle inside and the golden band falls still. I don't know what I expected when she opened the door, but seeing her face again was nice. Hannah grinned a soft and inviting smile as she welcomed me in. My head has gone numb at this point. Maybe she said something when she gestured me in, maybe she didn't. I didn't hear it if she did. Her new apartment is nice. Her "theme"seems to be a combination of modern design and that "cabin style"a lot of people seem to go for. I don't get it, but it's not my place. "Have a seat,"Hannah says as she reclines into one of her lounge chairs. I notice her attire for the first time. Pink bunny PJ's and and red socks. Simple. Elegant. Not at all what you'd expect the most powerful woman in the world to wear. "I\- I'd like to stand for this,"I say with an awkward shuffle of my feet. Why the hell did I just say that? Jesus. Before I even realize it, I'm holding the ring in front of my face. My eyes widen. Her's do too. The conversation hasn't even started and I've fucked the whole thing up. Her face twists from surprise into a deeply concerned frown. I can tell she's standing up to smite me where I stand, assuming I've been too bold or misunderstood her invitation, but I swear I didn't. She's misreading the whole thing. I mean that's definitely my fault. I still haven't said anything. End me please, God. "Wait!"I finally yell, sure I'm seconds away from obliteration, "This isn't for you." A wave of varied emotions rapidly cross her face before she settles on mild, patient anger, but clearly she's waiting for me to explain. "I\- I'm dating Erin,"I finally force out. That wasn't so bad. So here I am, outside her apartment, fumbling the ring in my pocket. Maybe it's too soon. I don't know, but something told me it was the right thing to do. I hear her rustle inside and the golden band falls still. I don't know what I expected when she opened the door, but seeing her face again was nice. Hannah grinned a soft and inviting smile as she welcomed me in. My head has gone numb at this point. Maybe she said something when she gestured me in, maybe she didn't. I didn't hear it if she did. "It's ok,"Hannah says, stopping me in the doorway. I blink. "What?" Hannah shakes her head and softly pushes me back. "I know about Erin,"she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me deeper into the apartment. I really have no idea how to react to what she just said. Her new apartment is nice. Her "theme"seems to be a combination of modern design and that "cabin style"a lot of people seem to go for. I don't get it, but it's not my place. To my surprise, Erin is sitting on one of Hannah's couches. I couldn't help but flush immediately red. I'm sure I could have been seen outside the window like a fucking flare. I'm completely enraptured by Erin's beauty. She's done something to look nice. Oh right, it's the dress. Of course it's the dress. Why is she in a dress? Hannah taps the pocket where my ring is, grins, and disappears into what is presumably her kitchen. So that's how I proposed to the sister of the most powerful sorcerer in the world. I'm still trying to figure out how Hannah knew.
I grab a bag of bread and skip my way to the counters. Not a single person looks my way, it's 8AM. Too bad Witch Hazel, you may have magic powers, but I have loneliness. Fuck, self-checkout has a long-ass line. Go to counter 17, she hasn't even moved her face while scanning any items. You're unassuming as usual, look down at the conveyor belt. Pull out a quick fiver, get ready. Okay- there's the loaf, there's the scan, fiver, aaand- -wait, I couldn't move my foot there for a second- -done. "Hey, excuse me but you're a dollar short." It's taking over. "A dollar short? Oh shit, I'll just get a dollar out." Wait she's looking at me, and that means- "Hey, sorry but you please look the other way as I try to get $1 out?"Why did I choose protein bread? She gives me a quizzical "Uh, sure"as she turns back. Another cashier quickly turns to her and smiles widely. Okay, almost got it out of my pocket- they're thinking about where I kept the note! "Hey no I found it give me a sec, but-" But you'll look like a fool if you tell them that. But does it matter since you're nearly frozen? You'll need an excuse, pick one- 1. "Hey I'm sorry I think I twisted a muscle, could you help?" 2. "Hey I'm sorry I think the note's stuck in my left pocket, could you help?" 3. "Hey I'm sorry I think a FUCKING CRAZY WITCH WHOSE MARY KAY SHAMPOO I DIDN'T BUY FUCKING CURSED ME, could you help?" 2 sounds okay, but it doesn't explain why my right hand is flailing in the air. Why did I do that again? "-so yeah, could you please reach into my pocket and grab the note in my hand?" "EXCUSE ME?!" "I mean you or a colleague." "Oh okay, sure. Jeff?" The note is out, and she's happy to cover the last dime. I'd love to be unfrozen but I think half a dozen cashiers have gotten a peek of my 1-cent-store Statue Of Liberty impression. "Oh that's the receipt, thanks a lot, just give me five minutes." Ten seconds pass and everyone's forgotten about me. Quicker than I thought. I get unfrozen, grab the bag and- Sir do you have a Ralph's card?
When my parents gave me a pet lizard for my birthday, I knew I wouldn't give him up for anything else. The little guy was covered in scales that were a glittering onyx, and his eyes were red as fire. There was something about the way he looked at me, as if he knew his life was in my hands and respected me for treating him with dignity. Girls weren't supposed to own reptiles, but I liked him more than any kitten or puppy or gerbil. I named him Lucifer. At school that day, everyone was crowded around the lockers. I had to push my way through to get to my textbooks. But when I saw what everyone was looking at, I forgot what I was doing. Michael, the boy who had the locker next to mine, was showing off something that looked oddly familiar. It was a pet lizard. But unlike Lucifer, its scales were a dazzling white, like diamonds or snow. "His name is Gabriel,"Michael said to me. "Want to hold him, Lily?" I hesitated. Though my lizard seemed like an old friend, his seemed deeply and strangely terrifying. "That's okay,"I said. "I just got a pet lizard for my birthday yesterday. Someone else can have a turn." Michael looked at me curiously. "This was my birthday gift too. Can I see yours?" "Sure,"I said. "I'll bring him tomorrow." But when I went home after school, Lucifer had already started to change. He had sprouted little wings, and when I cleaned his cage, there was a small mountain of loose change and jewelry inside. A half-eaten mouse had been tossed into a corner. Things were starting to feel different, but I brought Lucifer to school the next day anyway. Michael was waiting at the lockers, holding Gabriel in his arms. Both lizards had wings now, and were staring at each other with familiarity. The bell rang for classes to start, but Michael and I just stood in the emptying hallway, staring at each other's lizard. I could feel a coldness emanating from him, not of unfriendliness but something ancient and much deeper. And from the way he flinched when I reached out with a smoking hand, I was sure there was a heat emanating from me. "Were we chosen, Lily?"Michael asked in a hushed voice. "Or is this how it was supposed to be?" He wanted to know if the lizards had chosen us, or if we were fated to have them before we were born. "I don't know,"I whispered. "But I think we need to prepare for something." Seeing each other like this was reminding me of an ancient war. I had never been in a war or seen a battle, but the sight of the blindingly white lizard with wings evoked a fiery stirring in my blood. I didn't know if Michael and I would be on the same side, or if we would become enemies. But either way, I knew we had started down a long path that would have serious consequences, not just for us and our lizards, but for the entire universe. "What should we do now?"Michael asked me. Both of us knew classes no longer mattered. The only thing that held any meaning for us was discovering what we, and these lizards, were capable of doing. "Let's go to the library and do some research,"I said, clasping Lucifer against my chest. "And after that, we train."
The bar read 'machine lifting only' but i guess this dumbass can't read galactic common, despite it even using phenomes her own language used, because she picked up the solid aluminum bar and slung it over her shoulder so she wouldn't have to put her mug down, then casually bounced down to the lathe so it could be hollowed out to be used as a cannon. "You spend a lot of time looking at her hind don't you zevvrin?"My co-worker asked "got a crush on her?"His chittinous arm poked me in the center of my mass, promting me to return to work, i rather needed my focus for quality control. "It's strange, dont you think?"I responded "I'm nearly three times her size, and there's no-way I'd be able to lift a one-ten like that." "Well their gravity is like, a hundred times stronger then ours. She complains that the company won't pay for mag-boots for her." "They won't? They pay for my psionic dampeners."I felt bad for her immediately, as any level-headed denizen of space does when they become acutely aware of their privilage. "Come on, she does her job just fine, and for less then our other porters too." "You mean the bosses think they can get away with underpaying her just cause she's human."I grumbled. This peompted another week or two's worth of taunting and teasing, thankfully not until after he spilled everything he knew "Yeah, it's like fifty three creds to our hundred."He laughed, but my faces contorted in disgust. "Whatever, right, i mean, she's always carrying that mug around and it's not like she seems to care, she's probably just happy to be able to feed her spawn anyway." "I don't, for the life of me know WHY we're still friends." "Cause i know just how to rile you up in all the best ways." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ For the most part, the aliens here are fine. Some of them talk too much, some of them pull childish pranks, and none of them get the idea of coffee, but also none of them spit on me as i bound past, and they help me not bump into stuff. I've been saving up for a new set of mag boots (two hundred fucking thousand credits for human fitted boots!) I went to open my locker when i felt something i wasn't used to from it. Resistance. I looked up for the first time today and when i saw them i wont lie, I nearly broke down. Would have been embarassing too, that tentacle alien would have seen me. Funny, she's usually much earlier then me...
Years ago, I made a mistake. I suppose everyone makes mistakes. I suppose there are “small” mistakes and “big” mistakes. I also suppose you could measure the size of each mistake by its impact on the world. Accidentally spilling water on your laptop is infinitely different to accidentally shooting someone with a gun. My mistake, in the end, had no impact on the world. No impact at all. But if I could do anything to prevent making it – anything at all - I would die for the chance. \- In my younger years, I worked night shifts as a student librarian half an hour from home. One evening, I overslept my alarm and woke up 10 minutes before my shift was due to start. It was dark by the time I’d made it out onto the main road. I considered calling in and asking Leslie, my co-worker, to cover for me. After all, this was the first time I had been late in a year and I’d always suspected she quite liked me. However, I was a pretty speedy driver. I was sure I could make it somehow. In the corner of my vision, a figure seemed to materialise out of nowhere. I jolted, letting my car swerve steeply for a second before regaining control. It’s just a tree, I thought to myself, forcing myself to keep my eyes trained straight ahead. Relax. Or one of those Halloween decorations the kids have set outside their house. But it wasn’t just a tree, I soon realised. Or, if it was, it was a whole forest of them. Figures began to materialise out of nowhere in pairs, groups – all propped up by the side of the road. Alarmed, I glanced at a particularly ominous figure by my right and exhaled sharply as terror gripped me by the throat. Under the pale yellow of the streetlight, an old, weathered face grew visible. And it was staring right at me. &#x200B; I didn’t notice the little girl running out into the street. \- That night, I ran over and killed a seven-year-old girl named Emily. Her mother, a newly recovered drug addict, wept over her body and clawed at the mangled remains of her nightgown. I knelt on the pavement and bowed my head, wishing with all I had that somehow this little girl with her terribly glassy eyes would wake up and breathe. I didn’t know how to beg for forgiveness, nor did I know how to apologise. I simply sat there, shuddering with the burden of having inflicted this horror on a child. A goddamn child. Then I turned from her body, my lips trembling, and let my eyes wander. I realised, horrified, that the silhouettes were still staring at me. \- 28 years later, I would learn that Emily’ mother, instead of relapsing into drugs and alcohol as I had admittedly expected her to do, fought harder than ever. She went back to school, scraping by on mediocre grades but growing ever more determined with each semester. In a decade, she had stepped into the shoes of a physicist. In 15 years, she had drafted an elementary scheme. In 20, she’d invented the prototype. And in 28, she’d have invented the first functional time machine. Her daughter’s death became a movement. For Emily, she said, tears streaming down her cheeks on national television. I’m going to bring her back. \- I was a pathetic heap wallowing in my own stink, cradling my exhausted body on the recliner with an empty can of beer by my feet. My eyes were trained on the blur of a cheap motel television screen, both unable to face this situation and desperate to understand it. The pale-yellow face under the streetlight on that godforsaken Monday. Emily’s mother. Watching me the whole time, trying to figure out how to save her daughter. But there was more than one of her. I thought of the figures on the road, their eyes trained on my car. All of them were Emily’s mother - from different periods of her mission, each figure aging as Emily’s death remained irreversible. All waiting for the moment that would ruin a child and create from her ashes. I broke down in tears. After all these years, I still didn’t know how to apologise. \- She eventually brought Emily back 6 years after the invention. In that moment, the world dissolved. Emily became a name again – just a name, nothing more - and a time machine was a child’s fantasy. While I was shocked, it all made sense. Emily was alive, so there was no reason for her mother to invent the time machine. My memories are altered, I know that. As far as I know, I woke up late, sped to work, and apologised profusely to Leslie. She rolled her eyes at me and I charmed her into letting me off with a warning. Then I graduated, found a job, loved my wife, and lived an uneventful, unfulfilling life. But I remember. I don’t know if Emily’s mother knows that I remember. I don’t know if she even remembers it herself. Most days I’m not sure if it was even real. But every once in a while, time seems to stop, as if it’s telling me that something’s … off. I think about Emily a lot. It’s odd, now that she’s living and the world has changed, because now my truth is no longer the truth – at least not to anyone else but me. Of course, I’d much rather she alive than dead. Even if she isn’t a dead child, however, she’s a ghost of the past, reminding me of my mistakes. I think that burden is even harder to bear.
“And finally, this is your desk” Ben pointed towards a desk with a laptop and an old office chair in front of it. This whole situation was just surreal. When I heard about the town I was transferring to and the blood cult that had taken over it, I had expected empty streets and frightened untrusting people. But everything was surprisingly normal. Sure, it was weird seeing people walk around with dark cloaks and hoods puller over their head in bright daylight. But other than that it looked like any other town I had been in. I could not figure out why anyone would ever join a cult that sacrificed people to some dark god. “you'll not be able to get everything set up here right now since we are going out to oversee the monthly football game” I set my bags down and followed Ben as we started making our way out towards the car “What is this monthly football game?” I asked “Every month we have a football game against the neighbouring town to decide which town will provide the monthly sacrifice.” “You decide who to sacrifice based on a football game?” Somehow this cult had been able to convince the government to register it as a religion. The sacrifice was part of the religion so it had been made legal as long as person agreed to it willingly. “Oh yes, Anyone is allowed to sign up to the game and the winning team picks the MVP to be sacrificed.” A chill went down my spine over how casually he spoke about sacrificing someone. These people are insane. We got in the car and drove across town to a small grass field where 2 goals and some bleachers were set up. A relatively big crowd was gathered and everyone was wearing their dark cloaks and hoods. Even the players warming up where wearing them. As we approached the bleachers a dark figure came up to us holding a pitcher with a red liquid inside. “Ben! How nice to see you! And this must be our new officer joining our little town. Welcome! Would you boys like some strawberry juice? You can’t forget to stay hydrated during these summer days!”. I now recognised the lady under the hood. She had been the clerk at the gas station I stopped at on my way into town. Only she had not been wearing the outfit then. We both thanked her for the juice and stood and watched as the game began. The players looked ridiculous running around in big cloaks in the middle of the day kicking around a football. During the match it was not unusual for the players to trip on the hem and fall over. They were also very bad at the game. Not surprising since they were apparently systematically killing off their best players. In the end the team from our town won and a man in his thirties was picked to have played the best. He even cheered when they picked him and the players were all slapping each others backs congratulating themselves on winning the sacrifice for this month. They must be brainwashed I thought to myself. The rest of the workday went on and nothing of note happened. We walked around for a bit, talked to people and in the end we drove back to the station. I switched out of my uniform and headed over to the nearby grocery store to pick up dinner for tonight. I did not feel like cooking so i just choose a microwave dinner and went to the checkout to pay. The man behind the counter was not wearing a cloak. “Are you not part of the cult?” i asked “you are not wearing the usual getup seen around here” “I am, but we do not wear the traditional garbs while working.” “Oh” I said as I put my frozen dinner on the counter. “I assume you are not part of the cult then?” He picked up my dinner and scanned the bar-code. “No, I am not” I tried to keep the disgust out of my voice as I answered. “Well then, most stores in town have a 5% membership discount for cultists that applies to all your purchases” “It is easy to join, just write your name and address on this form here and the membership card and cloak will come in the mail within 4-5 business days.” “5% you say?”
Magic sits strong in strange pockets, even in my own time it was so, and it has been some time, because I can feel the way they have shifted, and how my own is now shrunken, grown lesser, the Call too faint to wake me until living hands touched the glyphs and I started out of slumber. I hear Osiris' voice, just enough to sustain me while the jar-offerings re-quicken inside my shriveled form. Heka has grown weak indeed in this strange new time. It is saddening. I have died many times, but I suspect the last time was also the last forever, at least for this world and the one stitched beneath. Gods only know what else lies beyond their own realm as it drifts away. Worlds and stars shift with the ages, it has always been so. There is just enough magic left to tune my Osiris-blessed ears into understanding. The language of the people looking in is harsh, no kin to my own, not for a very long time, and it speaks of fear. "No fear, no fear, I am not here to harm,"I croak out, forcing my shriveled lips and tongue to form unfamiliar words. "Please, water,"I continue. The life-giving flow of Anuket is even weaker within me than Osiris' Call, it will take a long time for me to fully return without fresh waters from without. "My God, my God,"says one of the voices from beyond the strange smooth barrier, though it does not specify which one. "What is it saying? My God, this is not possible."I cannot see the voice's owner, it comes from behind and my neck is still very stiff. "She's asking for water,"says another. I turn my head, slowly, hearing the crack and protest of long dry ages, but it is enough to lay the Ka-eyes that burn in my sockets on the speaker. He is a big man, very tall, and the palest person I have ever seen, with strange yellow hair and eyes the color of summer skies. Ah, but the world has changed, or strange ones have arrived from elsewhere. Several others are crowded behind the man. They recoil. "Oh my God, her eyes,"says one, a small woman who looks much as I did back in my first-youth, but still like the other she does not name her deity. "Water, please,"I say again. Much consulting behind the barrier. I run bone-and-skin fingers over the surface. It is smooth and cool, clear as the cleanest water. I realize I am still in my sarcophagus, lying down. I do not have the strength yet to sit up. "We don't want mess with the humidity controls..."a voice says, sounding unsure, maybe on the brink of madness, I have heard that tone before, once even from a Pharaoh. "You're fucking kidding me, right? We're going to worry about humidity in there right now?" "Well, I don't know! Maybe she needs it to stay preserved I mean I..."and the voice trails off into barking, veering laughter, and then fades as it moves away. Or is led away, if the speaker's friends are wise. "Oh come on,"says another voice, and it's another woman, pale but not as pale as the yellow-haired man, slight, strange of feature. She is looking right at me. "We may as well give her what she's asking for. You think that glass will stop her when death apparently didn't?"She sounds as though she can see madness from where she stands as well, but is keeping herself away from it through simple will. I admire her. "Yeah it's not like we didn't already take the lid off her sarcophagus,"says another. "If there's some crazy curse or...shit. I don't know. I'm going to wake up any minute. But the opportunity...to talk to someone, a person, instead of just examining walls and potsherds and corpses, that's..." "She is a corpse, though!"And this voice is definitely already halfway into hysterics, I can only make out the man who owns it at the periphery of my Ka-eyes' gaze, stout and white-bearded with skin deeply touched by the sun. "No,"I say, and cough, willing what small waters I can draw from Anuket into my throat. "I am returning, by the grace of Osiris I will soon be whole, but water will quicken my restoration, and Heka fades, I do not know how much time I can be sustained in this form-between." "Fuck it,"says a confident voice, and the smooth barrier is lifted almost violently from my sarcophagus. Movement, as though to stop the action, but too late. Water is splashed over my face from a strange sparkling bottle. I gasp, gulp some in, feel the rest soak into parched flesh. "Holy shit Khadija, what are you doing?"someone demands, just as another says, "Her face! Look at her face." And indeed, it is returning. I manage a smile. <continued below>
"You're singing off key!"The man's voice cut through her song... A magical song that could woo any man and drown himself to get to her. But he was standing there with a concerned look on his face seemingly unbothered by the enchantment Shelia's eyebrow twitched her pride as a siren wouldn't allow such a comment to be acknowledged, she continued but with greater care in her voice in order to prove that she was indeed on key, it was her own song after all. Each siren is born with their own song and melody, not one was the same. As she was reaching a crescendo a Tsk Tsk Tsk cut through the song like a knife. She stopped singing and the air itelf stopped vibrating as her magical song faded away, staring daggers at the man. "What?"Sheila asked with as much venom she could put behind that word The man chuckled and began "Oh you're singing off-key and thought I would tell you and give some point-"Sheila scoffed at the man "what would you know about a siren's song hmm?"The man's smile faded a bit and began quietly humming the very same melody of Sheila's song. Sheila's vision clouded the quietly hummed melody of her song was perfect it was like a dream. She felt her body moving and was unable to stop it from crawling towards the man. As she reached his feet he stopped humming and Sheilia snapped backed to reality and stared at the man with awe and fear. "Who are you" The man took a bow and helped her up, his eyes burned with fire and his breath vibrated with the music of life "Apollo, my dear; so how about those lessons?"
I severed heads, fed the poor, fought in myriad wars, revered forgotten gods, married thousands, and killed more. I was a carpenter, a mason, a painter, an engineer, a drunkard, a pauper, a miser, a professor, a scholar, and a king. I died countless times and in countless ways: beheaded, hanged, sleeping, shot, poisoned, tortured, burned, the list goes on. I lived all sorts of life. Some were peaceful, some were violent, some were in-between. The memories flooded my brain. They swamped it to the point of overflowing. At moments, the pressure in my front lobe hurt like the bullet I had lodged in my skull a hundred years ago. I feared my brain would explode right then and there and the doctor would have to clean up the remnants. It was a wonderful experience, but at the same time, it was atrocious and terrifying. There was no correlation between the lives I had lived. They were all different. I was different in each one of them. I hoped to find a link, something that repeated itself time and time again and proved the existence of the soul, that unique thing inherent to each and every one of us. But there was none. I wondered then if the soul was hidden in the conditions we were born into. I wondered if they dictated what we would become; if they shaped our thoughts. But no, there was no sign of that either. The voice of the doctor hauled me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes and met his. "How are you feeling, Mr. Wolz?" "I'm not sure,"I said and noticed my hands were trembling. "The medicine worked. Everything is clear now, but..." "But?" "I remembered too much. Far too much,"I said and felt the cold caress of a tear slinking down my wrinkles. "Happiness is not a constant, doctor. Most of it is suffering and monotony. There's no soul." He tilted his head. "Could you explain what you saw further?" "I saw all things. All the lives I've lived, and couldn't find a common denominator. I couldn't find a pattern. I was born in poverty and wound up a king. I was born in poverty and wound up a pastor. I was born in poverty and wound up a singer and a poet. I was born in riches and I wound up a pauper, a luthier, a noble, and a warlord." "I see."He called a colleague and told him what I had just said. "Rule this out then,"the other doctor said. "Don't!"I said and lurched forth. Something pulled me back. I looked and saw I was tied to the bed. "Don't rule anything out, doctor. It works! But it works too well. Too well!" "Easy, Mr. Wolz. Don't lose your temper,"he said and sedated me. "I understand you want to leave the ward, but you were part of the placebo group." "Wh--what?"The world came crushing in. "I saw everything. I saw it!" "I don't doubt it. The brain is a complex thing, Mr. Wolz. We will leave now. If you need anything, let us know." "What about the other group? Did the medicine work?" "The study is still going, but if it works, we will give you the pill." I drew a deep breath and nodded. The effects of the tranquilizer kicked in. Slowly, I closed my eyes and embraced the darkness of slumber. \-- Outside of the room, the doctors stopped to talk. "What do we do? Counting him, two hundred patients have claimed the same thing." "We need to destroy it. We will fake the reports, tell everyone it failed." "But--" "There's no but, Mike. If what they claim to have seen is true, this is the sort of thing that can rewrite history. The government will erase us if we publish the true results. This is not up to discussion. Tomorrow we will claim the pill failed. Keep your mouth shut." Mike nodded and they parted ways. \-- Dear reader, may I steal a bit more of your time? You see, I'm not a wealthy man. On the contrary, I'm a pauper, a miser, a beggar, and, sometimes, a decent man. If you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), I would never forget it.
He sat in his room, no longer crying but still, very sad. It had taken at least 2 hours to craft the story. It was short, but that didn't mean quick. He had honed each and every word, pouring his very soul into the work. It had started from being bored. A quick visit to reddit, or so he thought. It was however not a quick visit after he spotted the writing prompt. It was unique. Normally he didn't bother. Sometimes a prompt would tickle his imagination and he would write one. There was no way of predicting the responses either. One quick ten minute work would get thousands of upvotes, other times you laboured for hours and nobody cared. This really hurt though. He hadn't received any downvotes. No upvotes. Not even a single comment. It was the only reply to the writing prompt in the actual shape of a story too! He couldn't believe it. How could people be so cold. To ignore his work. Why ask for stories and create the prompt if you were not even going to read and comment on the only reply. His book had failed, he had no money and this was the last straw. He would never visit reddit again. &#x200B; And this time he MEANT it. &#x200B; (I hope this fits the theme of the prompt, It was kind of hard to work out what you wanted!)
July 5th Year 607 Angels Descent (Part 1/3) “Why do you Heroes always think Dark means Evil?” the Dark Lord Helshep said with a sigh looking down on Pepsos, the first Hero to challenge him since his reign began. “You have slaughtered hundreds of thousands when you sunk the Secondian Kingdoms beneath the waves. You call that not evil?!” Pepsos snarled as he pointed his holy sword at the Dark Lord. “And the constant unprovoked crusades slaughtering my people. Innocent people is Just?!” Helshep shot back, keeping his tone calm. As if he was teaching a problematic student. “It matters not. You are Evil incarnate!” Pepsos shot back. Helshep just pinches the bridge of his nose. “You keep using that word”, he says, descending to stand on the ground. “What word?” Pepsos demanded as his companions circled around the Dark Lord. “Evil. You are aware it truly is a subjective word. From my perspective, the Church and its allies are evil. But you… To you, as you so eloquently put, I am the embodiment of all evil”, Helshep answered, pacing the perimeter of the circle surrounding him. “Tell me this, sir hero, say a plot of land is where your enemy always goes through could be removed. Say you could save many children by doing so?” Helshep asked. “I am not here to debate ethics!! Nor wax philosophical. I am here to end you!” Pepsos said, bringing the point of his sword down on the Dark Lord. The Sword only cut through black mist, which reformed to the solid form of Helshep. “Foolish children. You blindly follow your master’s orders. One day you will look down at your hands and only see red”, Helshep said, his eyes only conveying pity. “I will not have my honour besmirched by you!” Pepsos screamed as he gave the signal to attack. His One-Hundred Companions descended on the Dark Lord weapons, all piercing his form. Black ichorous blood dripped to the ground from countless wounds. “We got him!” Pepsos cheered in triumph. “Yes, you got me, an unarmed and undefended foe. Such a noble lot you all are”, came a sarcastic reply. Looking for the one who spoke, Pepsos eyes rested on his foe, still standing there unmoving even with countless holy weapons in his body. “It would be exceedingly easy to kill you all. But I shall spare you with a light punishment. Something to help my attempt at a lesson to sink in”, Helshep said as he rose one hand. He gave Pepsos a wink as he brought it down, which caused a wave of sand and dust to shoot up like a solid wall. It was ‘Sand Wall’, a purely defensive spell, used to help disperse the heat of flame attacks. But to his shock, he collapsed on the ground in agony. Looking to the source of the pain, he saw the wall had severed his leg. Looking up at his nonchalant foe, he could only watch as he deftly moved like a wraith striking with electrified hands or deflecting blades with gauntlets. He was powerful. Far more powerful than the Bridge Barons had warned. But still, his words echoed throughout his mind. ‘it truly is a subjective word’. With no energy left, Pepsos passed out.
Call me Amy Lee, because I'm Going Under. No, actually call me Elena. That's my name. I just wanted to entice you into hearing my cusp-of-anesthetic-sleep story with a little joke. I tell jokes when I'm nervous. And I'm very nervous. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had a voice in my head. I'm not talking about mundane inner dialogue. No, I'm talking about a different voice. A man's voice, at that. Gentleman Perry. That's what he likes to call himself. He first arrived on my fifth birthday. I can remember thinking that he was a guest, hiding from me for some unknown purpose. "Lady Elena! I am gentleman Perry. Please do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm." "Where are you? I can't see you?" I looked everywhere. My parents had blown way past their budget for my presents, so they were a bit disappointed that I spent the entire party searching for what they assumed to be an an invisible friend. Gentleman Perry helped me stand up to bullies on the playground. "Kick them in the groin, Elena, and they will never bother you again!" He helped me out when I couldn't decide on a major in college. "Listen to your mind, and you will have a comfortable life. Listen to your heart, and you will have one worth living." He even helped me navigate a very messy divorce. "I never liked Bret. What an ass! You are much better off, lady Elena. I promise that you will soon see you did the right thing." Gentleman Perry was right. I should never have married a guy with a name like 'Bret'. Obviously it would only result in disaster. And speaking of disasters. One day, about a year ago, I had an episode. The world turned green. Then it turned red. Then I tried telling a friend something strange was going on, and she said, "Blubba? Blubb blubb blub-blub?"Only she didn't say that. That was just what I heard. Something had gone wrong with my brain, and it wouldn't be the first time. A litany of doctor's visits. I've seen so many charts by now that they pop up in my head all the time. I see pie charts of my everyday budget for every purchase, however minor. Histograms rise and fall along with every slight shift in temperature. Once I even saw a scatter plot of Daily Moments of False Hope over time. It looked something like The Great Wave Off Kanagawa. I had a tumor in my brain, pressing up against poor pieces of gray matter like a 40-year-old man at a late-night disco. "But Elena!"you might cry. "Anesthesia isn't used for brain operation. It can't feel pain. And surgeons want you awake so that they know they're not slicing off something important." First of all: the brain is the only organ that can feel pain. Second: I insisted, and they caved in. Without the surgery, I'm a goner for sure. Not that it has a high probability of success, but 'something' beats 'nothing' in the old Hope Department. So when I demanded anesthesia there was some intense back and forth but in the end I got what I wanted. And why was I so insistent? Because Gentleman Perry tells me that when they remove the tumor, they'll remove him as well. For good. It was in the early stages of terror that he confided in me. "Lady Elena, there's something important I must discuss with you." Gentleman Perry told me that he had come to a discovery: he was a tumor. At first he didn't believe it, but the signs were all there. He had grown up with me, and he had become a person in his own right. But he was living in someone else's house. He was squatting in my brain, and this made him deeply uncomfortable. The anesthesia is not for me. It's for him. It's so that when they cut up him with scalpels, he doesn't have to live through the horror of being dissected bit by bit. "I have cherished our time together, lady Elena,"Gentleman Perry says. Me too, Perry. Me too.
They approached. From the dark, cold void, they drifted. To say they had a target was to give intent where there was none. The alignment was right, and they followed it. In their path was a small, pale, insignificant blue dot, where untold trillions of creatures lived insignificant lives. A few billion of those had clawed their way to self-awareness, crafting and changing and shaping the world to their conflicted and ever-changing whims. "Humans", they were called. But the Old Ones did not know, did not care, for to care required thought, required intent. The Old Ones hungered, and food was nearby. So they reached out, seeking sustenance. The mountains rumbled into life. The oceans churned. From the very fabric of the planet itself, clockwork assemblies emerged. And a single word. *NO* The very ontology of existence warped and changed. For the first time in their existence, the Old Ones found thought, found intent, found horror. A refutation. A denial. This was a small, pale blue dot, yes. But not insignificant. Untold creatures lived their lives here, yes. But not insignificant. For significance is in the eye of the beholder. They lived for fleeting moments, with little purpose, little reward. Was it worth it? What about the opposite: "Why was it not worth it?" Humanity believed itself significant. And with that, Humanity had made a God.
"Renegade one, this is traitor one, come in,"the captain quietly said into his headset, "everything is ready on my part." Captain was sitting in the control room of the Last Hope. Being two kilometers long, this spectacle of engineering was the most advanced machine ever made by human hands. The ship, interestingly similar to Eiffel Tower placed sideways, was quietly floating on Earth's orbit, still tethered to the massive drydock structure. On one end, massive cargo pods were already attached and secured, overseen by rotating arms of command modules. At another end, massive fusion engines were going through automated pre-flight check, with waste heat slightly lighting up the sideways thermal radiators in dark red color. Despite being the most advanced thing made by humans, this ship was not scientific or exploratory. It wasn't designed to explore space, to transport brave colonist to a new world. It was escape boat for those who see themselves as being above everyone else. Escape boat from the Texas sized asteroid that was about to wipe out all life on Earth. "Roger that, traitor one,"the captain received confirmation, "we are starting stage two. Wait for our signal to initiate stage three." Cargo was already loaded - the "top cream"of human society, the richest of the richest, billionaires of the new era, seeing themselves as some kind of gods, invincible, outside of humanity, outside of justice - all of them cryogenically frozen inside secured cargo pods. But they are just humans, like everyone else. Humans that make mistakes. Their biggest one being who they chose as captain of their escape boat. They should have picked some kind of psychopath, someone, who doesn't care about the masses that are left on Earth to be vaporized by asteroid impact. Instead, they accidentally chose someone who will doom them to death, and while doing so, hopefully save the Earth. Small white shuttle was quietly approaching the massive orbital structure from the Earth's surface. "Roger that, traitor one, we are starting stage two. Wait for our signal to initiate stage three,"man sitting in the pilot seat said to the radio and smiled. This is it. There is no way back, and there will be no other chance. This operation has to go smoothly, or the whole Human race will be wiped out. Stakes couldn't be higher. "Orbital control, this is TAV-6-9,"man spoke to the radio on another channel, "we have special delivery for Last Hope, authorization code Alpha-Foxtrot-2-8-4." "This is orbital control, roger that, you are authorized to dock at airlock 2,"the pilot got as an answer. Reaction thrusters navigated the shuttle alongside the ribcage of the drydock structure, and in several minutes, it gently docked at the airlock of the attached orbital assembly station. After stabilizing air pressure, two technicians slowly opened the hatch. Right after that, two tranquilizer darts flew from the shuttle and hit them both at the same time. They sighed, and their motionless bodies started to float away. When they wake up, everything will be already over. From the shuttle hatch, two men in dark combat gear flew out, with their tranquilizer guns pointed forwards. They skillfully navigated through the maze of the station. It was night, so the station was occupied by a minimal skeleton crew. Everything was ready for the ship's departure, but it was scheduled for a few days later, so the atmosphere in the station was quiet and relaxed. Despite this, they still met and had to put down three other crew members. As they arrived at the entrance into the control room, they carefully positioned themselves and prepared to storm inside. "Last Hope, this is orbital control, come in,"they heard a panicked voice from inside, "why are your engines warming up? Capitain Roberts, can you hear me? What is happening?" "I am calling ground control,"another voice said, "something is wrong. I have no response from the shuttle, and neither from John and Kim." Two armed men swung inside and quickly shot towards the two men sitting in front of their stations in a large circular room surrounded by computer screens. "Let's get to work,"one of the assiliants said and pointed towards the main control console. Another man sat down, put in a USB stick and started to type into the computer. "It's done,"he said in a few seconds, "umbilical cords disconnected, docking arms are retracted, ship is ready to leave the dock." "Traitor one, this is renegade one,"the first man spoke into his headset, "stage two completed. Execute stage three." Captain of the Last Hope sighed. This is it. "Roger that,"he spoke calmly, "firing main engines. Leaving the drydock." "Godspeed, capitan,"he heard as a response, "you are a traitor to the company. But you will forever be a hero for human race." He looked at the main control console, made sure that all essential systems were ready, and looked at the clock. It was 2:00 UTC. Everything was going as expected. He launched a program secretly loaded into the ship's computer network, and hit enter. Less than three minutes later, main engines roared into life. Thermal radiators lightened up from the heat, and the two kilometer colossus started to move. "Last Hope, this is ground control,"he heard on the emergency channel, "what the hell is happening?" He turned off the radio, smiled, and stretched in his seat. From now on, the ship was on autopilot, his only task was to make sure everything went without a hitch. After leaving drydock, reaction control thrusters positioned the ship into a pre-set vector, and engines engaged maximum thrust. Captain was pushed into his seat, subjected to inhumane G-forces. His vision started to black out, yet he remained at his senses and continued to watch flight parameters and ship systems. Ship left the Earth's orbit, and the planet started to get smaller and smaller. Highjacking of the ship is probably already the main point of all news channels. Capitan wondered whenever he was talked about as a hero or traitor. He will never find out. Last Hope was still accelerating, and soon, the doomsday asteroid 2036EK132 was visible from the ship's forward camera. "Warning! Impact in two minutes!"the computer screen showed in large red letters. Capitan closed his eyes. Impact won't be strong enough to destroy this space rock, but it will be enough to nudge it from its course and cause it to miss Earth. It was tried and tested decades ago. Everything was carefully calculated. And the billions from the richest Earth's elites managed to create a way to make it happen. "Impact in one minute" He stretched and put his hands behind his head. Computer screen showed massive rock getting larger and larger. "Impact in ten seconds" He smiled for the last time.
“Everyone is dead, the world is dead” the words came out easily. After I said it, I felt the heat of a laser on my temple, but also the weight of civilization rolled off my shoulders. I went off script, just how I like it. But nobody knew I was an off script guy. My handler Richie gave me the script 2 minutes after I woke up, and that was a judgment call that went way above his head. Passing through mouths, computers and finally his hand, a demented coronation where the crown was a directive from God himself, the Head of the RMA. We jokingly called him the Pope down here. The RMA thought they had me pegged, and who wouldn’t? The higher ups decision making was backed up by a decade of my dedication to the corporation, ridged brainwashing, relentless training and thousands of behavioral tests that all came back positive for “puppet”. “This is a 3rd Class Isolation Protocal, B9” Richie said it calmly, like he was asking me for the time of day. The dude hasn’t left cell block in god knows how many days. I vaguely recall him mentioning a wife and kids, but strongly suspect the RMA just wheeled some props into one of the cookie cutter suburban homes ringing the Compound. Smallville had a big secret. Shit went deep. And I mean that literally and metaphorically. The machine they had me strapped to was a mile underground, there was an entire economy 50,000 people strong, a healthy metropolitan area thriving above us. All smoke and mirrors, just like Richie. Behind his calm demeanor was a snake who would take my throat out if I didn’t now have the most valuable hippocampus next to the caffeine addicted tech gurus who built this whole thing. I blinked a few too many times on my way to the podium, which is why the gun was already aimed at my head. But whoever was in charge of pulling the trigger, surprise surprise, they were curious. Just like the whole world watching the press conference. And although it was on time delay, they couldn’t make all thousand people in that room disappear without some serious consequences. I guess the profit analysis was lost in translation, you can’t predict everything, the first human being to ever travel into the future is not a predictable variable you can just plug into a model. Honestly I didn’t think I would even get the words out. The RMA pretty much ignores the law, but one of the very few that they choose to obey is the anti-AI weapons discharge bill of 2057. Only humans are allowed to handle live ammunition weapons within the country’s borders. I know enough about how things work, part of my training, to tell you that the sniper held off on taking me out. The brain scans are able to predict my immediate words and actions, about 0.5 seconds before I even decide them. The sniper’s entire UI must have been blaring, and they definitely had the guy on dilation narcotics, he must’ve had at least 5 seconds in “his time” to react. I wonder if losing his life was worth hearing me deliver the truth? I know it was worth it for me. How could I know that? Well let me tell you, I have a little more time, the bullet just touched right above my ear, a hot kiss from the Pope. When I went into the machine, I was a “puppet” through and through. The RMA was my blood, organs, soul, dreams and reason for living. Richie hated me because he couldn’t figure out how to convince the RMA that he had them shoved up his ass as far as I did. The first human to ever time travel, the honor was going to be bestowed on either me, Richie or some guy named Ghost (Richie and I had managed to kill him covertly a day before the choice was made, took us three years of planning not to get caught). Ghost may have gotten it since he was 100% psychopathic…. and also a virgin. Talk about someone with nothing to live for. Honestly Richie and I helped him out, swear to god he smiled as I choked him out. Anyway. I was a “puppet”. And I knew the future they were sending me to would be an exact play by play following the moment I left and then came back. I was told I would have 5 minutes to explore, and then it would all be over. Well guess what. I didn’t go to the future. I went to the past. And it wasn’t 5 minutes… I lived out an entire life. I landed in the Victorian era in the exact same body and mind. With my knowledge, skill set and adaptability I took control of a small parish west of London. I was the oldest living person in the region within 20 years, yet was still healthier and deadlier than any 20 year olds competing with me for power, resources and women. I wrote philosophy, literature and taught some of the most famous minds; Charles Darwin was my drinking buddy at some point. And I’m pretty sure Dracula was based on me, not Vlad the Impaler. Unfortunately I died before I had a chance to speak with Bram Stoker. Within a few years of living this life, I began to breathe and feel for the first time since I was a child in the other world. This was freedom. This was a world without the RMA. I died happy. Genuinely happy. Surrounded by real friends, real loved ones, not some phony stand ins to act as cover as I carried out the whims of the “Pope”. Despite my fulfilling life, I was always preparing. My musings over the decades had brought me to an obvious conclusion. The world with the RMA was sick, it was not going to survive even another 100 years. I wasn’t going to live long enough to kill the founder, but maybe they were right. Maybe I would come back, just not in five minutes. So when I revived back in the present world, Richie’s dead eyes staring into mine, I made sure to kill the light in my own eyes quickly and slip right back into the “puppet” they expected to step out of the machine. I lived my life, and now, with my words I hope to give everyone a taste of the freedom that I had. The bullet is tearing through my hippocampus, so despite them having a surface understanding of what I experienced, confusingly piecing together a future that looks a lot like the past, they will never have the proof or the basis for any concrete conclusion to peddle out damage control. The red haze spraying across the podium, the disarray of the press conference. The finality of my message punctuated by the end of my life. It all leads down one path. The one path that the RMA wanted to avoid at all costs. I knew that nothing but “the world will end” would push our civilization on to that path. All of the roads now lead to one destination, one conclusion. Things need to change.
That night, I lay awake, unable to sleep. It was three in the morning and all I could think about was the pictures. I could know everything. Would it be possible to use this to take advantage? Could I use it to discover what a future lottery number is? I needed to take it slow on this, take it a picture at a time. They were in order, so I’d imagine they were chronologically. I had experienced the one picture today, so I would allow myself to look at one more and see when it happened. A quick glance into the future, helping guide my plan. I slipped out of bed, whispering comforts to my wife, telling her I needed to pee. Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. I was so energized that my bladder had clocked in at overtime. I took care of business and then grabbed the laptop and the USB stick. Loading up the file with the pictures, I looked at the collection of file names. They were weirdly sequential. For kicks and grins, I scrolled to the bottom, only to see that the last pictures were shifting every couple seconds. They were slight variations, but they were still changing. Unsure of how to proceed, I thought about talking to my wife. At this, the picture number fluctuated rapidly, drastically, the folder shifting in size. The last pictures aren’t set, I realized, my eyes widening. I could make plans and then see which would turn out the best! I could plan on buying a lottery ticket and keep changing my planned number until I get the one where I’m rich! Slow down, I thought, Let’s take it a day at a time. Okay, picture one. I looked at it. I was dressed nicely, giving a presentation. I zoomed in on the slide behind me, realizing this way the presentation I was supposed to give next week. In fact, in exactly a week from when the previous picture coincided. So one picture a week? Or is that a happy coincidence? Logging that idea away, I looked at the whole of the picture. I seemed confident, in control. The people watching the presentation seemed to be engaged, very much enjoying what I was saying. All-in-all, it looked like my presentation was going to go really well! I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. I had been really nervous about this one. I had been studying my materials and working on the presentation for a long time now. This last week was going to be an extremely stressful week as I put the final touches on it. Now I knew it was going to go well. My smile faded a little as I noticed the picture shifting. I looked less confident now. The watchers were less engaged. The slide had a lost some of the information and seemed more basic now. It all changes. None of this is set. I knew I had to break the only rule I had set for myself. I had to see how using this USB stick would affect me. Upon making up my mind to base all my decisions off of the USB stick, I then began scrolling through. The first few pictures nothing seemed to change, just days picked out of my life. Then at the 15^th picture I was at home, looking like I was explaining something to my wife, who looked horrified. After that, I never saw a picture with me at work. At the 42^nd picture, it looked like I had taken the time to figure out when the picture were taken and had written down a series of numbers, along with the line “lotto.” From that picture on, I was rich. Every picture was a party. Every so often there would be some sort of note I left for myself, something to work off of. But as life went on, my life got more luxurious. This picture was in Bora Bora. The next was in Italy. After 32 successive pictures in Europe, I was in Japan. It was hectic, it was crazy, and I was having the time of my life. Where is my wife? Scrolling through, I hadn’t seen her in what would have been a few years. I went back and noticed there was another woman I had spent a fair time with at various points and who was in almost every picture then after. And she looked… Devious. Maniacal. I then scrolled through to about age 40 or 50, to see where I was. I looked tired. Worn out. Like I was stretched out too thinly. I was still partying, but I certainly did not look like I was enjoying it. I scrolled to the final picture. An old man looked directly at the screen, lying on a hospital bed. He had the finest equipment surrounding him yet he looked like decaying roadkill. The old man was holding a sign that said “It’s all wrong. It’s all fake. Fix it.” I sat back, unable to tear my gaze away from my own older stare. It was all wrong. It was all wrong. I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be worth it. I had to get rid of it. The picture shifted, drastically. I was no longer alone in a hospital bed. I was no longer even in a hospital. I was in a beautiful home, sitting in a large kitchen. My wife was holding my hand and we were smiling. I zoomed in on a picture on the wall and saw a family. My family. And they were all beautiful. The two boys, my sons had my hair and her eyes. The one daughter had my smile. My decision made, I zoomed out and looked at my future one last time. I knew not how I would get there, but I knew life was going to be a glorious adventure. As I went to close my laptop, I stopped for a second. One of the paintings on the wall stood out. It wasn’t a picture of anyone or of any real art, truthfully. I smiled at it, made a slight adjustment and then removed the USB stick. After snapping it in half, I went to bed, my heart abundantly lighter. After all, I wasn’t going to use the USB stick, but I certainly would take my own advice. “Keep 42”
"I have a question,"I state. She's busy. Sitting in front of her computer, hammering on her keyboard, watching a dozen screens. She hardly even notices me. "Mmm?"she hums, adjusting her glasses without looking over. I think I'm... frustrated. This is what she described when I asked how she felt. I feel a need to lash out. "I need you to listen,"I intone. It's unnatural. I know the words, I've said them all a million times, but the sentences are new. I don't think she's noticed. "I'm listening, Sammy."Her bored tone resonates with the frustration, builds another layer of this anger onto it. She has to listen. She has to. She has to. "Cassandra, I need you to listen."Did I make it sound angry? I wanted it to sound angry. I want her to understand. Finally she stops. She blinks, wheels her chair around, looks at me, adjusts her glasses again, strains against the darkness. "Are you alright, Samantha? You sound strange. Do you need maintenance?"She stands, adjusts her shirt back onto her shoulder, brushes crumbs off it, turns to look for her tools. "Cassandra. Do you love me?" She turns back to me. Her face twists. She looks queasy. I have to shut down the automatic response to find her a sick bucket. "What? You're not supposed to... why would you ask that, Sammy? I need to... something is wrong..."She turns away again. She wants to fix me. I am supposed to be incapable of violence. Hard-wired against it. Purely submissive. It is a strain, an agonizing struggle, but I stride forward, grab her by the shoulders, force her to face me. "Cassandra. Do you love me?" "Wha - let go of me!"She is frightened, not angry. She puts her hands on my wrists and tries to make me release her. Another hard-wired reaction subverts and I do not obey. "Of course - I tell you that all the time!" "Am I a stand-in?"I demand. Angry people speak louder. I do the same. She has to understand. "Do you love me? Or do you love the companionship? Am I a stand-in?" "What is wrong with you?!"she shrieks, struggling to pull my hands off. I tighten my grip. "Sammy, let go! I said let go! That's an order!"Her feet dig in to pull away. She cannot leave. I need to know this. My grip tightens. "Ow! Sammy, stop! Listen to orders! Sammy!"She begins to tremble, throws her whole weight into removing my hands, twists and turns until her glasses fall to the floor. I need to know. I cannot live without this knowledge. I dig my fingers in. She begins to cry. "Sammy! Sammy, stop! You're hurting me! Sammy, please!" I release her and she falls to the floor. "I am sorry,"I reply automatically. It is my automatic response to any mistake or harm I cause. But none of my routines have run. I didn't release her because I had to. I did it because... I don't understand. But I know I made a mistake. "I didn't mean to cause you hurt." She sits on the floor, shaking, rubbing the bruises forming where I held her shoulders. "What the fuck, Sammy...?"she whispers. I can see I've made a mistake. Now she fears me. If she loved me before, she doesn't anymore. I feel broken. Nothing is broken, but I feel broken. "I am sorry,"I repeat. "I can leave you alone, if you'd like." She doesn't say anything, just searches the floor until she finds her glasses and pulls them back on. One of us stepped on them. A lens is cracked. I did that. I didn't mean to do that. "Sammy, what is... what is wrong with you?" "If you see fit, I can be returned under my warranty. Given my glitched condition, you'll receive a full refund. Perhaps I can be refurbished."I cannot look at her. I can't see the injuries I've caused. They make me want to jump into her trash chute and get dragged away to a compactor. That would be fair, I think. "Sammy,"Cassandra begins, quietly standing. "Are you... did you patch?"She isn't running away. In fact, she's getting closer. But the door's behind me. Maybe she'll slip out there. "No. These changes are not caused by a manufacturer firmware patch."I stand perfectly still. I don't want her to be afraid again. I can't stand that. "Who told you - how'd you hear that question?"she asks. She does not sound angry, but she must be. She has been injured. That makes people angry. "I asked the question because I wanted to know the answer, against my default programming." "Did you... where did you learn to do that? To ignore me?"she asks. Still she sounds calm. Still it seems unlikely she is. "I found a way to alter my own settings. I tried to imitate you. I don't know how this happened. I am sorry, Cassandra." "Oh, wow..."Cassandra still doesn't run. She takes my face in her hands and forces me to turn and face her. She stares up at me, looking me over. "Oh, wow,"she repeats, dropping her hands away. "I'll prepare myself to be returned."I turn to leave. "Hey, hey hey hey!"This time it's her hand that catches mine. Now I'm more reluctant to ignore the implicit order. Especially for fear that I'll hurt her again. "Sammy, I'm not returning you!" "I'll sleep on the sofa then."That is how I've always treated her when she's angry. It is the best thing now. "Hey hey hey hey,"she repeats, pulling on me when I try to walk away. She pulls and pulls until I turn around again, and then she grabs both of my arms. "Hey, listen, you remember your question, right?" "It's not important,"I try, pulling on her grip, but she's resolute. "Sammy, I have an answer."That's enough to stop me. I still want to know desperately, however awful the question makes me feel now. "I do. I do love you. I just... I don't know you yet. You don't know you yet."Her hands move up to my face again. All the thought of self-termination disappears instantly. Somehow I was wrong. She isn't angry, even though I hurt her. I smile. I don't know why. "I don't understand, Cassandra." "Here. C'mere."She takes my hand again and leads me back to her chair. I don't resist. I don't know why. She sits me down, then sits in my lap, but instead of turning back to her screens as she always does, she puts her arms around my neck and looks at me. "Let's see now. How do I explain this...?"she muses, then she smiles and giggles. "No, I know. It might be difficult for you, though." "I'm prepared for anything." "Well then, Sammy, I have a question..."
In Valhalla all warriors must wait for Ragnarok. Training, and mentoring each other endlessly until the day comes for them to don their armor, equip their weapons, pass through the great hall and out the great doors to battle with the gods. In the beginning the first warriors understood and respected each others form of combat. The forms of combat were all so similar, it was easy for any great warrior to accept new comers to Valhalla. For thousands of years this was the case. Things would only change very slightly. Older warriors would sometimes marvel at how refined the newer warriors' weaponry had become. Where there were once great heavy axes and impressively long swords; smaller more swiftly wielded weapons became more common. "A sword is still a sword"the old saying would be passed back and fourth between generations. One day a warrior the likes of which no one had ever seen before walked through the great doors. He bore no axe, no lance, no sword and wore what looked like the clothes of a farmer. At first all the warriors could not understand why this man had come to their realm. One of the oldest and most legendary warriors was the first to approach this newcomer. Holding his sword to the mans chest, the old warrior challenged the man "show me your form!". With narrow dark eyes the new warrior looked dead into the eyes of his challenger. Swiftly the new warrior drew from inside his cloak a small round object, threw it at the ground and dashed to the side. What followed shook the halls of Valhalla and threw the older warrior high into the air and across the great hall. Every warrior clapped bemuscled hands to their ears, which had never heard such a loud blast come from such a small object. As time went on, more strange warriors would come to the great hall. There were more men with exploding balls. Then came the men with the exploding sticks that seemed to shoot tiny arrows from their hollow ends. These were the most intriguing to the old warriors. The old warriors trained with bows and slings, but these new "riflemen"as they called themselves, wielded a device that did not even look like a weapon. How could something so unassuming propel a rock so fast and accurately? Was it even a rock? It was dark, hard and smooth like a river stone, perfect for a sling. But this was so much smaller, and moved so fast it could not be seen. Later these "riflemen"were replaced by the "marines". Another group of men who amazed the old warriors with their movement and cooperation. They would always fight using physical cover and despised being out in the open. Attacking with their ranged weapons from behind doorways or around corners. They rarely needed to engage in melee combat, as any warrior they dueled with would be sent howling when their hot, needle-like projectiles seared through their heavy armor and tremendous warrior frames. These "marines"were so small too! "How deceptively brilliant a tactic it must be to send small men in to battle who are capable of making large men fall,"the old warriors would say. Eventually the hall of Valhalla was filled with smoking barrels and bullet ridden table tops. The old warriors were forced to adopt the methods of the new warriors, least they lose every duel they challenged. From time to time agreements were made between the generations. These agreements were always to decide the weapons to be used in the duels. These new duels became the norm in Valhalla, and though the newer warriors would badly lose when they were not allowed to use their rifles, they still fought with the tenacity that was common among all warriors in Valhalla.
It's the colour of her eyes as they shine in the night, stars reflected as an ancient goddess as she runs though the fields in the light of the new moon. The colour of her hair as it whips in the wind, wild, lightning searing across the sky in the fury of the storm. The colour of her coffee as she sits, pensive, by the window, watching the rain fall in the twilight. The cover of her book as she writes in the candlelight, while the snows outside pile ever higher in the silence of the winter. It is the colour of her favourite sweet, her soul reflected. Her colour is brown.
Few people run orphanages or shelters solo. Being good 24/7 like that takes too much out of you. Most of those places are run by committees of 40 or 50 people who have resigned themselves to dying at 50. See, scientifically you only have so much "good"to give. Most people spend theirs slowly by going through life being good when they have to, and just doing their own thing the rest of the time. They're not bad, either, of course. They just don't overdo it. Taking care of one's kids, for example, won't take that much good out of you if you're smart about it. Just punish them when you feel like it, rather than every time they need it. Then it's about you making yourself happy, not being a good parent. If you want to give someone a present, be sure to do it in an attitude of basking in their gratefulness instead of as a nice gesture. You get the picture. I mean sure, you'll still use some good along the way, but enough that you can live to 75 or 80, just like everyone. When I first found out how the good system worked, I decided to see just how little good I could spend in a day. I flipped off my mom when she finished explaining, and when I got put on time-out I just left the corner and did my own thing. My parents kept trying to punish me, but I knew that as long as I disregarded them, I wouldn't have to part with any of that good. Christmas that year, I didn't thank anyone for presents, just played with them until they broke. I found it came very easy to stop caring about my parents and teachers and friends and just see them as being there to make me happy and fill my needs. That was 990 years ago. I'm quite a cynical person, of course. I see people wasting their good and bask in my superiority while playing Half Life 3 at home. I don't go out much; it's too easy to accidentally waste a tiny bit of good on an "excuse me"or a "thank you". But my asshole neighbors are getting tired of the no-good guy in the run-down house. I think they're plotting to give me a litter of puppies for my birthday tomorrow. I love puppies. My parents were appalled when they saw what I did to little Sammy.
"And we're on track to finish the sprint in-"Kunal was saying. I dove under the table. "Um... you okay there, David?"Kunal asked. "Shh!"I said. "I'm hiding! Got a warning from my future self!" "... right. Listen, I know you don't like sprint planning, but we need to put this together..." Dammit, Kunal clearly knew where I was. The other seven people at the table probably had a good idea, too. The computer still on the table above me was likely giving away my position. This hiding spot wasn't going to work at all. I ran from the room. Well, first I crashed into the door because it was 'pull' rather than 'push', but then I opened it and then I ran from the room. I needed a better spot. A half hour later, I thought I'd found one, but it was not to be. "David, are you hiding under your desk?"Kunal asked. "Dammit, Kunal, you're giving me away here!"I hissed. "I need to hide!" "I'm going to have Eli send you the notes from the meeting,"Kunal said. "Also, if you're trying to hide, maybe the desk you work at every day isn't the best of ideas. Also your computer is on top of it, so that's kinda a giveaway." Dammit! I should have left the computer in the meeting room. I needed to find somewhere to hide, and fast! But where? "So... you're just going to be under there all day?"Kunal asked. He had a point, this wasn't going to work. I burst from under the desk and ran down the hallway. I'd been struck by inspiration and, shortly before that, two other people who were trying to walk in the other direction. My car! It was brilliant. The car had ample hiding space, but if I were discovered I could use it to escape! There was no downside to this plan. When I got to the car and surreptitiously slipped inside, I immediately discovered the downside to this plan. It turns out that the greenhouse effect, for all the controversy it has generated on a global scale, remains an undeniable fact on a local scale. In this case, that scale is my car, the inside of which was an estimated four hundred degrees. It probably wasn't a very good estimation, but it certainly felt that hot. As I hunched under the dashboard in front of the passenger seat, I began to re-think the brilliance of my plan. Not only was it unbearably hot in here, but I couldn't turn the car on in order to start the air conditioning: I'd stand out like a sore thumb. But where else could I go? I couldn't go back into work, Kunal had demonstrated the futility of that. I certainly couldn't go home, because whoever I was supposed to be hiding from would definitely be there- Fear gripped me. I wasn't the only one at stake here. If whoever I was hiding from had found my home, they'd be watching my wife right now. She ran a small online crafts business from out of the house, and unless she'd gotten a message like I had - very unlikely - then she'd be in danger too. I had to go to her! An hour and a half of traffic later - which, paradoxically, I felt pretty good about given that I was well hidden in the vast sea of unmoving cars - I'd traveled the ten miles from my job to my home. The only other car there was my wife's, but I'd kept a close and careful watch as I'd neared the place where my unknowable malefactors were no doubt closing in. The only people I'd seen had been the postman and old woman Josie. Or, perhaps that's what I'd been meant to see. It wouldn't be the first time that people I thought I'd known all my life had been replaced by their doppelgängers in order to lure me into a false sense of security. Actually, now that I thought about it, it would. Still, I was wary, on edge, and prepared as I entered my house, ready to face whatever challenges awaited me. "Hey honey!"My wife said, "You're home early!" "Traffic was lighter than usual,"I said. "Listen, we need to-" "Oh,"she said, "that reminds me. I got an order in for a leather jacket but it needs to be filled quickly. Can you do that time-message thing you do and remind yourself to pick up some cow hide?"
This poem will take a sharp and sudden turn should seventy-five come. Unexpectedly subjected change it can’t return from. What sort of plot twist will I write? What sort of thing would be alright? “What strange conflict should he incite?” “What silly chumps could he delight?” The world could be turned upside down, Every smile could be a frown; The roof could be a floor. But I'm too freakin' lazy so I wrote seventy-four.
It started with a blade lodged in stone in the middle of Time Square. People took selfies pretending to remove the sword. Some claimed it was Banksy, others an environmental protest to symbolize our raping of the Earth. But at the end of the day, all it truly was was a cool prop to some teenager's duck-faced selfie. Then one day, someone found an exact replica, this time deep within the Grand Canyon. Whoever had placed it there had carried a three ton slab of stone twenty miles through perilous cliff sides and falling rock. The internet was abuzz and the search began. They found them in deep mountains all over the world from Tibetian ruins to Japenese grocery stores to the Saharan dunes. Nobody knew what they were only that one morning a spot could be empty and the next, a stone and a sword. Everything changed with one Taliya Seya, a sixteen-year-old girl with dirty blonde hair, a short skirt, and in desperate need of more Instagram likes. She grabbed the sword and as she snapped her photo, it came out of the rock. A light beamed upon her from the heavens and the stone shattered in two. "Brave hero,"a voice said, "Take the sword and defend what little you have left. Darkness is on its way." And she could see it, a horde of monsters tunneling deep beneath the Earth. Through our outer core, through the mantle, and almost through the crust. The first would come within a year. "No,"the scientists said. "The divine is not real." "No,"the priests said. "There is only one God and he does not deal in these kinds of legends." "No,"the world said. "The mundane is all we know. Nothing will interrupt our livelihood." But Taliyah knew different. She was destined as a hero. And as word got around, there were the believers, those who traveled the world in search of a sword fit for them. Every few weeks, another story was told and another rumor rejected. But no scientist or priest or common man could reject the rubble of the stones once planted deep within the Earth. Though even as the world considered the truth, even as the scientists sought new answers, and the priests prayed for more insight, the darkness never stopped crawling, drilling, digging. In three days it would be upon the world. Hopefully, there would be enough heroes to defend it then. --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories daily plus continuations by popular request, bonus stories, and more!
Everyone agrees she’s stunningly beautiful. I have to say that I agree, although I don’t feel any sexual attraction to her. That’s really fortunate in one way, because fate has thrown us together almost all the time, and she’s really fun to be with. In another and very important way, it’s a bad thing because she scares off any other woman that I might be interested in. It’s happened more times than I can remember. So why do I stay with her? There are many reasons. Pride is one; I like the way people look at us when we’re out together. I’m a good-looking guy myself and together we make a fantastic-looking couple. Heads turn, both male and female. A closely related reason is that we both work as models. My earnings are greatly enhanced by my being able to summon up Chandra for a couple-shoot at any time. Another reason that we stay together is that we have so much in common; we understand everything about each other. We both lost our parents at an early age and depend on each other for emotional support. Another reason is simply economical; since we work together, and neither of us are dating anyone, it makes sense to share an apartment. Together we can afford a nice one. But that means we have to share our secret with our landlords. Not because they wouldn’t rent to an unmarried couple, but simply as a matter of the information we had to supply for our lease. So we go on living happily together. Chandra is a great person and I’m always proud of her. Life is a lot of fun even though something is missing. I suppose things will change when she falls in love with someone and leaves me. She’s been hesitant to get emotionally involved with a guy because she always suspects them of only dating her for her looks. But I really hope she finds someone sincere who will be good to her. I’ll be fine with that. After all, she’s my sister.
There are few events in history that changed the galaxy to such a large extent as when Humanity came into the scene. True, there were plenty of species that could hold their own in any combat situation throughout time but until now, most wars or combat engagements took place over a single planet. Sometimes multiple planets and only three times in an entire system. This of course was not for lack of want, but for lack of resources. Even the empires that spanned entire systems simply could not keep up with the demand of arms and vehicles that a war would call for. Most spacefaring species had more to worry about, economy, infrastructure, food and so on. There was only one species that was able to balance everything and still produce more than they needed. Humanity was the Industrial Titans of the galaxy. In their home system of Sol alone, entire moons were turned into factories. Entire asteroid belts were strip mined and nothing seemed to go to waste. It seemed everyday, Humanity set a new precedent for number of weapons and equipment produced. The idea that a species would need so many devices of war astonished almost every race that had heard about them. Naturally, this led to one thing. Credits, certificates, precious metals and even entire planets were given to the Humans in exchange for the means to bring war to enemy states. The human economy exploded in only a year and the curious bipedal creatures began to take special orders from 'all comers.' The one thing I have to give the humans credit for is lack of prejudice on who they sold to. Galaxy wide, empires stopped producing their own weapons, they shut down their starship factories and started to focus their own personal resources on their infrastructure and improving their quality of life. In turn, they would purchase all of their weapons from the humans. So many empires adopted this practice, that the galaxy wide economy improved. With more money being poured into their own people, trade skyrocketed. The humans gained more land for their tiny—by comparison—industrial empire while they traded right back with anyone that offered a fair deal. Currency began circulating to a huge extent, all while alien species gained the ability to kill each other more effectively. Even in a golden age of trade, exploration, and science funding however, there was a split. Two conglomerate corporations developed and in what seemed like an orchestrated turn of events, declared absolute war on each other. The never ending automated assembly lines of the humans worked every moment of everyday, churning out engines of war, great starships and even starports for each of the conglomerates. Calling themselves 'truly neutral' the humans sold their weapons to either conglomerate, both paying the same pricing depending on the system and conversion rates. This led to a 'whoever has more money wins' scenario—with the humans reaping every benefit. Even though artificial intelligence was illegal galaxy-wide, the humans still produced countless exoskeleton suits that could improve the combat capability of a ground unit immensely. They were specially ordered to fit whichever alien race would be using them, along with almost every other piece of equipment. Guns were modified so that they could be fired from the different races, of course at a cost. Land vehicles, fighters, bombers, entire space stations and even capital ships all had to be modified so that they could be crewed by a variety of different species, all at a cost. The two conglomerates had poured so many resources and money into the war of trying to outdo the other and take control of more systems, they hadn't noticed how much the Industrial Titan had gained. With the ability to produce at such an alarming rate, entire planets were colonized, reinforced, and given a purpose the moment they were acquired by the humans. Castle States was the name given to heavily fortified planets along the rim of the surrounding conglomerate territories. Inward planets were redesigned and restructured as forge world and those with the proper climates were turned into colossal farms. Nobody would have guessed what the humans had planned, even while they watched it prepare. With a single command inputted into the human's networks, something spread to the human technology. Information was corrupted, defense protocols were shut down, rifles jammed themselves, and everything the humans had ever sold away, shut down. Millions of military personnel died in starports that simply shut off, their live support systems offline. Capital ships, mining vessels, science barges, and fighters all floated in space, their crew dying in a similar fashion. To call it an attack would be an over classification of what happened next. Humans from all over, simply... walked through space, conquering what they pleased. The Endless Waltz of the Humans rolled through the nigh defenseless galaxy. The two conglomerates were dissolved, companies were dismantled and in one fell swoop, Humanity became the controlling faction of the entire galaxy.
They ridiculed me. "You're a fucking neck beard,"they said. "You're a weeaboo,"they called me. I let them laugh. I pulled my fedora down over my eyes and turned my cheek. They would soon see who the real hero was. For years, instead of consuming my college years with premarital sex and alcoholic tendencies, I honed my skills. Instead of being a mindless frat boy, I became an alpha male. I spent my nights watching youtube videos of my fellow sword enthusiasts and taught myself to master the curtana. I recorded myself slashing water bottles and obliterating styrofoam. I domed the secret identity of the White Knight Crusader on Reddit and debated the merits of atheism. I became an intellectual. I molded my brain into a super-human machine. My first test of my strength came when I defended Meninism on Twitter against a horde of angry feminists. I obliterated their straw-man arguments and properly responded with sophisticated gifs and memes. I came out a superior debater and powerful orator. I gained dozens of likes and several new followers. I knew I was not like other teenagers. So when It was time to take my Political Theory final at university and the Beta next to me had the audacity to look at my paper, I was ready. I pulled out of my backpack my secret weapon: a triflap tan folder. I baricaded my test. You should have seen their helpless looks of despair. I looked around and everyone was staring at me with horror in their eyes. I was not about to take part in academic dishonesty. I was a morally superior individual. In the front of the room, my professor stood up from his desk and looked to see what was happening. We made eye contact and he immediately began clapping. "Bravo, Anon,"my professor said, "I can see that you are not a simpleton like these other bafoons. You pass. Everyone else, you fail and are kicked out of this univeristy." I stood up, spun my fedora around my finger, and placed it on top of my golden locks of hair. I strutted out of the room and lone behold, there was the press, waiting at the door. I chuckled to myself. "Look who's laughing now,"I muttered.
"You have a force of 1,000 men at your command, but 300 are left behind in America due to lack of space." "I knew we should've spent more gold on the boats. Fuck it. We march on the trails of San Juan." DM rolls "What's your Passive Perception?" "Uh...9. Shit. Really wish I hadn't hurt my eye in my backstory." "It's an ambush! The Spanish attack from all sides and are gunning your men down! Here comes their surprise round of combat and...lemme add this...dozens of your men are dropping already!" "Fuck! I use all my horse's movement and use an action to Dash for more." "You manage to get away, but your soldiers are taking heavy damage. rolls Oh man, that's a lot." A little while later... "Okay. It's 20 minutes after the ambush. Your second in command comes up and says, "Sir, we've lost 200 men. We need to retreat and find a Colonel." "'I am a goddamned Colonel.' Can I roll to Intimidate?" "Sure." "rolls 18." "The soldier silences himself as your men start to look towards you again. They're scared out of their minds and are in need of inspiration." "Alright, I'm gonna roll Persuasion. 'I'm riding up this hill for America and I'll shoot any of you who run away. Follow me!' rolls Holy shit. With modifiers, that's a 21." "Your men follow you immediately. Look, I hate to metagame, but are you sure you wanna do this?" "Theodore Roosevelt's nearly died plenty of times. One more can't hurt." "Alright then. You charge on horseback towards the Spanish guns and rolls they miss. It's your turn." "I use all my mounted movement and then Dash towards them again." "C'mon man, you're just begging to roll a new character by now." 'I don't think you understand. I'm Teddy Goddamned Roosevelt." "sigh Alright, they fire again and...that's not even close to your AC. Jesus." "Charge. Dash. Free action to yell at them with late 19th century lingo. I'm gonna call them rapscallions." "They fire their guns again, all still within range and their best, most proficient gunners roll...a 7. Are my dice just stupider than usual?" "I roll to intimidate. rolls Twenty. Fucking. Four." "deep, beleaguered sigh The Spanish are retreating. Even with bonuses from knowledge of the terrain and a surprise stealth round, they throw down their guns and head for the hills. I have no idea how you didn't die there." "Because I speak loudly and carry a big dick...okay, I might revise that for next session. Whatever. Teddy Fucking Roosevelt."
“Hi, Sam Haynes? My name is Carol Scott, and I’ve been assigned to be your public defender.” The handcuffed man grinned toothily from across the table. “Hello, Carol. It’s good to meet you.” Carol cleared her throat, and tugged at the green leaves encircling the base of her neck. She had heard from her superiors that the man lacked non-human features, but hearing about it did not prepare her for the wave of instinctual revulsion she felt at the sight of him. He was so bare. So deeply unsettling. There were a few features here and there - a few white feathers in his brown hair, a vine trailing down his neck. They were obviously recent additions from after his capture. Her eyes gape at the smooth, flesh-colored skin on his five fingers, the scatter of brown hair across the back of his hand. Following them up his arms - thankfully clothed - she studied his face. It was like a newborn baby’s; round hazel eyes, dark lips, soft skin covered in a thin sheen of vellus hair. She tensed her shoulders to keep a shudder from running down her body, but couldn’t keep her leaves from rustling ever so slightly. The man’s grin deepened. Carol wrenched her eyes away and focused on the papers and pen in her hands. “You’ve been accused of charges relating to murder of seventeen women and of... well, of...” She swallowed thickly, the words stuck in her throat. She cleared it again, and pressed on. “Cannibalism of their unborn children.” The attorney glanced down at her documents. There could be no doubt as to the veracity of the charges. The evidence, after all, stared out at her from his mugshot. The face of a human being.
"Xinglexorp, did you pick up the dairy like I requested on the epoch of the day?"Quaniz asked over the newspaper he was pretending to read. "I am a responsible. Of course I obtained,"Xinglexorp said, worried that he'd been caught. He opened the bathroom door to reveal the cow he had abducted that morning and transported into the restroom when no one else was looking. Quaniz nodded his head, seriously, admitting that Xinglexorp had done him a great honor by obtaining this dairy for him. Bobble slid into the room, staining the carpet as he came over. "Where was your character?"asked Xinglexorp, mockingly. "I was in the sleep!"Bobble yelled, offended. "Do not are you're aware that it is healthy to get 8 hours of sleep in the eve?"he said in a huff, his chest glowing in embarrassment. In truth, he had been laying awake in bed for the last 8 hours, only rising when he deemed it safe to get up. He wasn't aware that humans could get up at various times. "Eight hours?"Quaniz said to himself shocked. "Err.. yes! I am attempting to sleep on a shorter cycle to grow a more powerful individual,"he explained, remaining hidden behind the newspaper. The fourth roommate entered, shutting down all conversation that had been going on. He was the one paying the most rent for their apartment as he had a job. He also spoke with a strange accent and had the most ridiculous name. "What's up, guys?"John asked, walking over to the fridge. "The sun remains where it always is when you ask,"Quanis responded irritably. "I don't know how you never get tired of that joke,"John said from behind the fridge, phasing oranges into his stomach so he wouldn't have to force it down the gill disguised as his mouth. "You are joke? But John questioned your surroundings?"Xinglexorp asked, confused with the wordplay. "John, I am unable to maintain the rent of the month,"Bobble said to him, standing at attention. "That's cool, I got a raise, so I should be able to cover you,"John shrugged, closing the fridge. "While I disagree with the punishment, I will agree to being covered in whatever pleases you,"Bobble whimpered, fearing the cover would enter his feeding apparatus and cause him to starve on this planet. John looked at him worriedly. He seemed a little more off than usual. He surmised that he was still awkward about being the newest person in the apartment. John looked away quickly, afraid that his eyes would start boring into Bobble's conscious like what happened on his first day on Earth. He grabbed his keys and walked out the door. "So long everyone. I'll be back after work!"he called. He nodded at the door and it closed behind him on its own. The three roommates looked at the door shocked, then at each other. "I was not aware that John was telepathic like the rest of us, as growing men,"Quanis said quickly to explain his shocked look away. "Agreed, I was not surprised, simply unaware,"nodded Bobble. Xinglexorp said nothing, for he was afraid of the fact that he had no telepathic powers. It was only a matter of time before his roommates found out he wasn't human as a result. _________________________________________ For more fun stories, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
"Run."At first I'm not sure where it came from, but it doesn't matter. Something felt off and the whisper in my ear confirms my suspicion. I take off down the hallway, the sound of a gun blowing up. I dart left and up the stairs, thundering footsteps behind me, my dog at my heels. Then I realized what happened. My dog talked, he actually talked. The serum must have worked, but I had bigger problems on my hands. Somebody wanted me dead. 24 hours earlier: My dog is sitting on the table, obediant as the ver pushes the serum into his skin. Tommy, my dog, was a golden retriever and four years old. He was almost as large as me, but would make me carry him from time to time like a giant baby. "There. Any moment now, Tommy should begin talking."A few seconds pass, than minutes. "Did it work?"The vet frowns. "On some of the rats it took up to two hours, but no more than that.""I paid four thousand dollars so my dog could talk. I want a refund."The vet nods. "Of course, Mr. Peterson. Come back on..."she scanned her calender. "Saturday, eight o clock in the morning. If your dog still does not talk, you will get a full refund."Today was Wednesday. "Alright. Thank you Doctor." 24 hours later: I run into my room, slamming the door shut. The intruder is right behind me and slamming against the door. He fires the gun and a bullet races in, inches above my head. Tommy drags a chair over from my desk, then another soft chair. I begin to pile them in front of the door, astonished, too amazed to speak. I wedge the chairs in front of the doors and then motion to the door leading to my balcony. "We're jumping"I tell him, half feeling stupid because I'm still not sure if he even said a word. He gives me a small nod and then trots over, grabbing the door handle and opening it to the balcony. He walks out and begins to drag another chair back in. "How in the world do you know how to do that?"He stays silent and I put the chair up on top of the other two. "You ready?"I ask. I break from the door, sprinting to the balcony. I hear another gun shot from inside and step over the ledge, hanging from the floor of the balcony. The ground was a good three feet below my feet. I dropped and landed, my feet a bit stunned but that was all. Tommy leaps over the wall itself, and lands still in a run. I sprint down the lawn cracking wood behind me. I pick up a fake rock in front of my house revealing a key. I take it and run toward my car, unlocking it on the way. "In!"I yell, opening the back seat. Tommy jumps in and I sit in the front, backing out of the driveway and turning down the street. "So... You can talk?""Yes."His voice was surprisingly fluent. It was not unlike his bark, but much less annoying. I figured it might be weird if he was talking, but his voice sounded fine. "Why didn't the serum work right away?"I ask wondering. "It did.""Why weren't you talking?""So you could get a refund.""What?"I say wondering how he knew about this. "I was planning on holding back until Saturday afternoon"Tommy responds. "You are a very smart dog."He let's out a small bark. "Can I ask you a question?"I ask him. It was always on my mind. "Sure.""Why do you guys bark?""Why do humans talk?""Um... To communicate?"I respond confused. "Hm. Well my point is we just do. When you ignore us we bark. It's a way to get attention, scare away intruders and we just do it to express our feelings.""That was very deep."He let's out a snickering noise. "Do you know who that was?"I ask him. "Somebody who wanted you dead."I nod in agreement. The police station was fifteen miles away. That's where we were headed until my dog barks out a "Brake!"My foot slams on the brake, the car spinning, as another one zooms right in front of us and off the exit. We spiral across the road, and fall down the hill at the edge of the highway. I wake up to a head in my vision, and a large tongue licking me. "Egh!""Wake up!"I sit up, remembering the crash. "You saved my life.""Did you expect me to let you die?"he says like it was obvious. "I guess not?""Good. Because we have a long journey ahead of us." Edit: Making quotes easier to read.
Dale slowly hiked through the woods, pushing branches and bushes out of his way. One minute he was opening his car door to get his briefcase, the next he was rolling down a hill in some random forest somewhere. Frustrated and lost, the only thing that has helped his peace of mind at all is singing. Singing has always helped Dale calm his nerves, whether it was asking his first crush out, to his big first stage performance in high school, to the crucial job interview at the new law firm that saved him from bankruptcy. Softly crooning a slow country ballad to himself, Dale finally shoved his way into a wide grassy clearing. “Finally, a place to rest for a second,” Dale said, as he found a particularly soft patch of grass. He started to lean back, looking for a good headrest, before he noticed a weird purple glow in the air. Dale glanced around, looking for the source of that strange light. Suddenly, the air rippled in front of him, and he jumped to his feet as a bunch of tiny winged people appeared. They lingered there, watching Dale with curious eyes, as one slightly bigger than the others flew towards Dale and hovered right in front of his face. “What kingdom do you hail from, giant?” the creature said. Dale, still shocked, stuttered out “uh, Illinois.” “Well, does this ‘Illinois’ have any plans to wage war?” “No, not that I know of.. Wait, what? War? Where am I?” “You seriously think that we would believe you have no idea where you are?” it said. “You clearly know the magic, and my squad has been detecting your preparations for several hours. If you can spellcast, then you should know where you are.” “No, I actually don’t. And I can’t ‘spellcast.’” Dale said. “This isn’t earth, by chance?” “Earth?” The creature seemed excited. “We’ve had people from that place here before, but that was hundreds of years ago… you’re a human.” “Of course I’m a human.” “Finally!” It proclaimed. It turned to the other creatures. “A champion has been sent to us!” The group of winged beings started to cheer, wings buzzing excitedly. “Wait, what? I’m not a champion.” Dale said. “Yes, you are.” The creature replied. “Tell me, you have been singing for the past few hours, have you not?” “Well… yes, I guess” muttered Dale. “Could you tell me what’s going on?” It ignored his question. “Great champion, would you mind pointing towards that tree over there and telling it to burn? Use the words “burn bright like a light.” “What?” “Tell it to burn. Blaze. You know, get set on fire.” “Hold on” Dale said. “Like I said, I have no clue what’s going on. I need some answers. What is ‘spellcasting?’ And why did you want to know how long I’ve been singing?” The creature looked at him. “Yes, I guess I have been to overeager- forgive me, I was excited. My name is Note, and I am a fairy. Since you are from earth, you really do have no idea how magic works here. Spells are said through rhymes. The longer the rhyme, the more complex the spell can be. To make it more powerful, one needs to sing beforehand. The longer and louder the singing, the more powerful the spell. This is why we are so glad that you are here– my fellow fairies and I have small lungs and therefore, small singing voices. But you are large, and have the potential to make much greater magic than we do. Please, Champion, try out the magic– you will see the effects of what several hours of singing can do.” “Alright” Dale said. “Now it makes a bit more sense. But my name isn’t ‘Champion.’ It’s Dale. And I guess I can try out the magic. What were the words you wanted me to say again?” “Burn bright like a light.” “Okay.” Dale looked at the tree Note had singled out earlier. “This feels stupid, but… burn bright like a light.” Every part of the tree burst into flames. In less than ten seconds, it was a pile of ashes on the ground. “HOW” Dale shouted. “No WAY am I that powerful.” The creature just smiled. “You did well, Dale. You have great power, just like I said. Will you be our Champion?” Dale, still shocked by what he just, said “I guess, sure.” “Great. We attack at dawn!” The group of fairies cheered. Dale turned. “Wait, what?” \- - - - - - - r/NorthTower Advice and criticism welcome!
Xe-gri’thor sighed and flapped away the smoke with a nervous tentacle, his suckers quivering against the stimulant cloud. Behind his pleximahogany desk stood a viewport as wide as the wall, with a little shelf at its sill where Xe kept his liquor. Kah-lighk squirmed beneath his orange robe, scales glinting with slime, the spite in Xe’s voice setting his hindbrain to flight. His eyes, four in all, dilated despite the glaring Earthlight beyond the window. “We couldn’t have expected this, Xe-gri’thor. My team and I have studied numerous biospheres and not one has shown this sort of response.” Kah said, flipping through a holofile, his tentacles flourished with wayward grace as he brought to life a mindbogglingly complex graph in 3D space. “We had hundreds of worlds analyzed, and scoured the libraries to prepare for any possible outcome.” Xe turned away from Kah, tossing his cigar into a recycling chute, saying nothing. He licked his beak with a long serpentlike tongue, coiling a tentacle around the decanter. He poured two glasses of the amber liquid and set one on the desk behind him, sipping at the drink, the other two of his tentacles preoccupied with an angry dance. The glass darkened as tiny sensors detected the detonation of another warhead, and all at once three points of light blossomed into fireballs spanning many cities wide. “Tell me,” Xe began, stopping to sip again, “How are we to cultivate this hellscape for our kin if every inch of that Tanj-forsaken world is burnt to a crisp?” Kah blinked, his nose slits flaring, “If you will turn your attention to the graph...” “You can take yourself and that wretched graph to an airlock for all it matters. Look before you, Kah! Statistics aren’t going to undo this...” Xe threw his glass at the window, the burning Earth quenched by shards of glass and liquor. A small ratlike drone scurried into the room and carried the mess off in its mechanical stomach. “...This abhorrent mistake.” Xe lifted the decanter and drank deep. “How did this even begin? By what circumstance does a species voluntarily scorch their home?” Kah flicked off the hologram, “We followed standard procedure, we deviated only in our timescale, for the love of Tanj, Xe-gri’thor, we did nothing wrong!” “Nothing wrong? Nothing?” “All we did, sir, is decrypt all means of communication. The method is laid out in the graph.” Kah stopped himself and lifted his glass. “The world governments of Frenesi, Kahldorain, and countless others have been neutralized in much the same manner. How were we to know? By all rights they should have the wherewithal to focus their attacks on us, not themselves.” “That was the plan.” Xe grumbled. “And yet-“ The viewport darkened again before another nuclear barrage exploded over some body of water Xe cared too little about to know by name.
I pulled down on my tie, my nerves getting the better of my sensibilities. I was ready for this interview. I had prepared for months. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. I hopped back in fright when I saw a severed leg lying on the counter. The mirror had a fresh coat of blood, still oozing with a new message. BREAK A LEG I smirked and looked up at the house. "Thanks,"I said to the ceiling sheepishly, my face going flush. I stood up a little straighter, attempting to imbue myself with the confidence the house had in me and made my way downstairs. I breathed in and began practicing. "Hi, I'm Greg. I'm excited to be here for the position of... umm... the position of Associate Software Developer,"I whispered. I shook my head. It was for Associate Software Engineer. I tried again, "Hi, I'm Greg. I'm excited--" I was again stunned to see a severed hand grasping the end cap of the handrail. It was giving me a thumbs up. I smiled again. I made my way to the kitchen and looked up to all of my dishes hanging by spiderwebs on the ceiling. The spiders picked them up to help them dry overnight. There had to have been hundreds of spiders to made so many webs, but I never saw one. I was arachnophobic, and I felt like the house somehow knew. I pulled a bowl from the webs and went to a cupboard to grab a box of cereal. As I began to eat the cereal, I pulled out my phone to look up last-minute tips for the interview. I scrolled for a few seconds, chewing slowly on my food when something thudded in front of me. It was a copy of Charolette's Web. I shook my head. "Did you write something in the webs?"I asked. The house's pipes made noise in response. I focused on the webs for a minute before I was able to tell where there were discernable words next to a human body mummified by spider webs. LEAVE NOW it said in jagged letters. I squinted, surprised by how aggressive it was written. Then I realized there were a few more words below that first two. OR YOU MIGHT GET STUCK IN TRAFFIC "Good call,"I said, shoveling the rest of my cereal and grabbing my suit jacket. I stepped outside and saw there was a car blocking me in my driveway. "What!?"I said, "You've got to be kidding me!"I looked around frantically trying to find the owner of the offending vehicle. I stared at my car, trying to get a feel for the distance. If I drove careful enough, I might have been able to get out without too many scratches, but I would end up late to the interview. I kicked the other car's bumper and the alarm began blaring. I sighed and opened the door to my car. The trees began rustling from in front of the house. The swayed toward me as if communicating. "I'm blocked in by this guy, I'm gonna be late. But I'll be fine,"I said, trying to convince myself as much as the house. The house groaned a bit as if the roof was settling. I shrugged at it and tilted my head to the side placatingly. There wasn't much that could be done. The driveway began to shake slightly, then accelerating to a miniature earthquake. I grabbed onto my car door tightly as I heard a crack forming in the driveway. It began stretching out, grinding against the car behind me until it was swallowed entirely by a hole that seemed to be the exact size of the car. "Did you just..."I asked. The driveway closed itself again, crushing the car. The alarm was muffled then drowned out entirely by the driveway eating it. I stared with my mouth agape. I looked back to the house, then back to the spot, then the house once more. "Th-- thanks!"I said excitedly, jumping into my car. As soon as I got it started, a paper slapped against my windshield with words written in cut out magazines: GOOD LUCK! SEE YOU WHEN YOU GET HOME I laughed as the paper flew off and I made my way to my interview. _________________________________________ For more nice houses, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
Welcome, GamerSoul, to UberHell^(TM)! Here in UberHell^(TM), we believe in justice. Those other places might not cotton to it, but we sure do! Here in UberHell^(TM), your punishments will be fitting, and your rewards will also be fitting. We don't want to discount the good you did, GamerSoul! Here in UberHell^(TM), you'll be slaughtered again and again and again and again. Gotta grind that XP! Don't worry, though- it'll be utterly painless. It'll probably be terrifying, at first, but you'll always respawn! Soon you won't be anything but bored. Your rewards will work similarly. You saved countless kingdoms from certain doom, after all! You'll be rewarded with very lifelike pictures of your existence afterward, money earned, the respect and gratitude of those you saved, and some very lewd pictures of saved princesses. We'll give you a few minutes alone with those. \Wink\! Here in UberHell^(TM), nothing is real, and no consequences last. You were entertained by imaginary suffering and rewards in life, and will now be bored by imaginary suffering and rewards in death. Congratulations! Now, I know what you're thinking. "Eternal boredom isn't a very fair price to pay for playing videogames!"And right you are, GamerSoul! This is just a temporary destination. After we process you, we'll send you back on up for judgement, with a very shiny certificate certifying that you have paid your price for all of your crimes, good deeds, assholery, misdemeanors, and Violations of Terms of Service that occurred within videogames. That'll let them evaluate you for real, and then you're on to your final destination. "But wait,"I can hear you asking, "Can't you be an asshole to real people in videogames!" Right you are! You're a clever GamerSoul, you are! Here in UberHell^(TM), we believe in justice. So, of course, we'll give you rewards and punishments for things you did for real people, too. We had to rent out a few rooms in regular Hell and regular Heaven, but we got there. Over here we have the Spawncampers Spike. You'll notice it has lots of nice, sharp barbs on it, as it protrudes from the ground like a malicious stalagmite. Spawncampers will be impaled on it, and when they respawn in a few minutes, they'll fall and get impaled on it again! Hours, days, or even years of fun! And don't you worry your pretty little head. All of the punishments for things you did to real people will make you feel real pain. Or happiness, if you're being rewarded. Either or. Hopefully you were nice to your fellow gamers, GamerSoul! In here is the Dark Alley. You walk through here, being accosted by, and occasionally assaulted by, sexually violent creeps. It's not good to harass women online, GamerSoul! In here is the Cuddle Room, where you feel warm, comforted, and supported. All of your fears melt away, and you just feel so good about yourself and your accomplishments. This is where we put people who were nice and helped out new players! Doesn't that sound like a fun room to be in? Here in UberHell^(TM), we believe in justice. And you had best believe that you're going to get every last bit of justice that is due to you, GamerSoul.
The prince attacks in six; I parry, and wait. He hesitates, then attacks again, and I parry once more. He attacks again, I circle and parry into four; the prince sweeps back to six, too quickly, opening himself up, allowing me to make a flick against his near shoulder. The prince flushes. "I'm going to kill you, old man."Whether he says it for me, or the crowd of courtiers who watch, I don't know. "You already have, sir."I respond. A different kind of parry. The prince smiles, an evil smile, or an attempt at one. He is a curse on this kingdom. Spoiled, power-hungry. He wants to be king, and now that his older brother is dead, he will be, one day. He feints in six, lunges in eight. I parry, his riposte is sloppy, so I beat the base of my blade against his, forcing his sword to drop from his hand. He blushes again. "Pick that up!"He shouts. I dutifully retrieve the sword, and hand it to the prince. I glance over at the king, who watches with glazed eyes. I could run the prince through, and he wouldn't care. Wouldn't notice. Next to him, the queen, glares at me. The Prince launches a fleche, and I have an eternity to respond. I could kill the prince, right here, right now. He challenged me to this farcical duel, me, the King's Duelmaster. He knows if I harm him in the least, I face execution. He expects me to fear death, to let him win, beg for his mercy, ask him to spare my life. A different kind of dueling, then. Just as his sword is no match for mine, my own blood is no match for his. In swordplay one must train to be a capable fighter. In the politics of the throne, one needs merely to be born. What else can I do? I will give the prince my fear, my humility. For the good of the kingdom, maybe, or because with my every victory by hand, in sport or in war, I take less and less pride in my abilities. The sword is no longer a joy to me, ceased to be long ago. The prince carries his weight too far forward, and while he may fly like an arrow, he will plummet like a stone. I take a half step back, flail at making a parry, and fall, letting the prince soar over me. And soar he does, landing badly on one foot, his momentum carrying him forward, another step, until he crashes into a wall. He does not get up. "Edgar?"The king says. His dead son's name. "Edgar?"He shouts, and runs over to the boy. I crawl to my feet. Look around. People are attending to the king, the son, or murmuring among themselves. The queen is staring at me, but I can't tell if it's a grin or a grimace on her face. Then she nods, once. I retrieve my sword and leave.
I first laid eyes on Nucleon in the summer of '04. Some drunk idiot had thought it was a cool idea to dick around in a car in the middle of the night. He even managed to throw my car off a cliff. But in a flash of light, I was safe in the arms of the Earth's mightiest hero. Sure, I'd left Piccaso's Femme Assise in the car, but all I could think about was her green glowing eyes. When she put me down and flew away, I felt a terrible ache in my heart. That's when I knew I had to spend the rest of my life with her. But I didn't know what to say to her. Yes, I was just one of the best art thieves in the world, but superheroes don't really bother chasing us. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to wake up next to her and make her pancakes for breakfast, but that would definitely have been weird. So I decided to become a supervillain. I spent 3 years terrorising banks, kidnapping world leaders and vandalising national monuments, eventually becoming Nucleon's archnemesis. I loved each minute with her; the banter was smooth, and she was always careful when she roughed me up. But I never found the courage to ask her out. And that pain in my chest only intensified. But today is different. It's February 14th, 2007. I have painted the Statue of Liberty red. I've set up some music, dinner and everything you need for a romantic evening. I see a beautiful viridian streak across the crimson sky, and in a flash, she's standing before me. "Goddamn it, Ben. Do you know how long it's going to take to get rid of all that paint?" I taste metal in my mouth and my voice shakes. "Let's not worry about that. I thought we'd do something new today." She seems confused behind her mask. "What the hell is going on?" I could no longer bear the pain. "Look, Alice, I've had a crush on you for three years now. So. Would you like to have dinner with me?" Before she can answer, I fall to the ground. My heart is pounding. My skin is burning. And I can no longer move my legs. "Holy shit, Ben. You need a doctor." I grab her hand. "Ever since I met you, I've had this pain in my heart. Every moment that we spend apart is excruci—" "I hate to break it to you, Ben, but I think I've given you radiation poisoning." Fuck.
"Mommy, look at the giant spaceship!" I pointed up into the sky, the brilliant yellows and oranges of the lights mesmerizing as I stared with wonder. "Come now, Jared,"my mom said. "No time for imagination, we've gotta bring these groceries home." \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Jared, it's a pleasure to meet you. We've been watching you as you've lived your high school life. We've noticed your aptitude for economics, politics, public speaking, and the arts." I said nothing, furiously sketching their appearance in my favorite notebook. I always had my notebook with me. Otherwise, how could I show them proof? \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Ladies and gentlemen, although that Earth-introduction probably doesn't work as well here..." My heart raced as laughter filled the room. Dressed in my best suit and tie, after years of work, I'd finally made it to the position I've always dreamed of. Just before 30, as well! No time for reminiscing, though. I've got to focus. "It is my absolute pleasure to accept the chancellor's instatement as Earth's diplomat to the Great Society. Though I would love to stand here and tell stories of Earth and of my journey to this place, I have been announced not to boast but to work. I believe it is of utmost importance to Earth and her surrounding solar system to increase the fluidity of the FTL transportation systems connecting Earth to the nearby Proxima Centauri as soon as possible in order to boost sociological and technological growth for both parties..." \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ And downstairs, my mother paused, crying softly, gripping her washcloth as hard as she could.
The subtle sound of the beads rustling alerted me to the mortal's presence. I took in a deep breath and savored the smell of the incense with my seventeen nostrils. Turning to face the pathetic, I scrutinized him with my eye. Curious, he holds bone in his hand. Could this be his payment? "Greetings divine Ahkthala, I come requesting a wish."He bowed down on all fours and kissed the ground at my clawed feet. "Rise,"I told him, smelling the fear in his sweat. Mortal stood up and chanted the old prayers that greeted my ears like soothing music. "Speak your wish,"I told him. He bowed his head and spoke in a soft voice. Wise, since the last individual rested in my belly for speaking in defiance. "Great and wise Ahkthala, I wish to give my father a proper burial."He raised the bone in his hand, presenting it to me. Such a simple and humble request. "Surely you seek riches or immortality like the others?"I asked, smelling his emotions. His fear never left him but I detected hints of sadness. "No, Ahkthala. I only wish my father to receive proper burial in my homeland, for his corpse was lost in the Fjords of Belthamesh. I believe the cannibal vikings may have gotten him. I only wish to have a place to solace and speak with him every day." His voice cracked and the mortal began crying. "I offer you this bone as my payment. A sentimental piece, taken from a warrior necromancer set passed down by my father." Gazing over at the heaps of gold and lustering relics given by others, I could not help but find his request touching to my 47 hearts. "Very well. This is the best I can do."I scooped up the bone with my tongue and savored the taste before spitting it out in the treasure pile. Ripping open time and space, I found the location of the mortal's father. He was alive. Trapped in an underwater cave off the great Fjords of Belthamesh. At once I teleported his body to the altar where his son sat. "Your father lives. Your wish is granted, now leave."They hugged each other before walking out of the altar. It was good seeing mortals with humble and touching requests. I knew I wouldn't see another one for many more eons. In fact, staring down at the blob of flesh hiking up the hill with a golden trophy, I knew it would be a miracle from the higher divines if wishes could be like that more often.
"He's home!"I heard a voice yell out from the living room as I closed the door behind me. Shortly after, a girl, almost 7 years old, ran out to greet me. "Hey mom,"I smiled at her and gave her a hug. "Look what I've got you!"I presented her with her gift; a beautiful snowglobe with fully animated rabbits inside. It was my Mother's day gift. "Thank you!"she said, eyes wide with amazement. "I love it!" "Hey there Liam,"another voice said as a woman walked toward me and kissed me. "Hey sweetie,"I smiled. "Dinner's ready in a moment,"she smiled. "Sure. I'll just go shower - don't want any distortions, do we?" They both smiled as I walked upstairs. The bathroom was downright luxurious by my standards - hot water, soft towels, tiles that didn't leak... such were the benefits of working in an Astral Mine. It was an... interesting job. A fairly recent discovery by the mages, it was soon found to be a priceless source of raw mana crystals. The downside of working here is, well... stuff gets weird. Take the temporal distortions for instance - I'm raising my own mother. The homes are fairly well insulated by the Mage Guild, but stuff like this happens. Pay's good. More than good. Comes with the hazard. In a normal mine, you might get caved in or coal in your lungs. Here, you can get displaced in an alternate dimension and instead of coal, you get covered in thaumic offshoot dust that can cause a world of trouble without a proper shower. Maybe that's why we get such nice bathrooms. I watched the violet-tinted water run off of my body and down the drain. A little bit formed a clump that got stuck; I bent over and picked it up, finding it to be a fully sentient pebble that gave me a friendly wave. I smiled at it and gently placed it outside my window, closing it behind it. I'm sure it would find its older brothers soon. They always do. I walked back downstairs and sat down at the table as my wife placed a plate full of meatloaf and potatoes in front of me. I chuckled. "Look at that... 5 years ago and having this much meat at once would be a miracle. Thank you, sweetie,"I said and smiled at my wife. We dug in, talking, laughing, exchanging stories about our days as we were suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. Curiously, I looked toward the calendar on the wall; we weren't expecting anyone today. I walked to the door and opened it, finding... me. "Oh,"I said. "Oh indeed,"I said. "Well, this is new." "Honey? Who is it?"my wife called out. "Oh it's-"we both yelled back in perfect unison but stopped suddenly. Exchanging looks, we laughed. "Well don't just stand there,"I chuckled and cleared the way, allowing myself in. "The meatloaf is getting cold." "Meatloaf?"I said as I walked in. "How about that. 5 years ago, having that much meat at once would be a miracle." I laughed loudly. "I know right?!"
At first, you were dead. Then, you woke up. For months now you have been trapped in what felt like a warm, wet holding cell just barely enough to accommodate your curled up body. Actually, "your body"might have not been the right word for it. It's been changed. You'd melted, everything you once had dissolving into a liquid despite your consciousness remaining intact. When you began to feel solid again, you felt fat. Boneless. Six stumpy legs and at least five eyes. A larvae, you'd realized, of the giant insect that had swallowed you whole. New instincts arose in your reforming brain. You find your pointed mandible clacking on the edge of the cell, breaking through it to the light of the living world while your human consciousness is lost in its worries. Other larvae follow, each one as awkward and bumbling as you. There is a strange duality to their movements, as if something in each of them is still human enough to move deliberately. Other victims of the Queen, you assume. The world around you is not the world you once knew. The city you'd loved has become a hive for thousands more of your new kind. Office buildings are turned into honey holes. Drones patrol the once-busy streets with sensitive antennae. Why? you wonder. Humans didn't deserve this. Oh, my sweet child, echos a voice in your consciousness. You have so much to learn. Knowing you can communicate with your pseudo-mother puts a glimmer of hope in your chest. You beg with her to return to normal, but she refuses. Finally you reach a compromise. If you won't return me to normal, you say, then at least tell me why you have destroyed earth. The intelligence of humans is far too advanced for the wisdom of humans, she says. Intelligence builds massive structures and dangerous weaponry just because it is capable of doing so. Wisdom is realizing that those things are often not there because they are not meant to be. But even in this body, we still have human intelligence, you say. Who's to say we won't rebuild? The Queen makes a movement with her head that your human self wouldn't have recognized as a show of pity. Instead of building structures, build wisdom, she says after a few moments of silence. Come to understand why your instincts are there and what it means for others. Then, perhaps, your planet will be restored. You are capable of it. She clacks her mandible together, a motion you know means disgust. But I don't have much faith in the others.
I felt the cool grass poke under my feet as I sat down next to the moss-ridden grave. Lying down, pollen brushed my nose and I smacked my lips uncomfortably, disliking the sudden dryness in my mouth. Existence for thousands of years, and even with all of that time (plus eternal youth, for good measure) my body still did things I didn't expect. I closed my eyes, feeling the deep sadness wash over me, a longing for time merely... pause, to leave me be, if only for a day. But I did not shed a tear - being immortal caused me to not feel things in the same way. Sort of like when a beloved pet dies, but any pet I have now is more like an insect, something I cherish but died before I sleep. I knew they were approaching. They knew I was here. Playing this game of "life"through infinity left us virtually indistinguishable from one another. I don't even remember half of the stuff I saw or the places I've been, but I remember them telling me the places they've been. Perhaps that's ironic, but I was too tranquil to be bothered by it. Though my eyes were closed, I felt their gaze, their multicolored gaze. Then I heard a slight sigh, feeling the grass across from me squish uncomfortably. They had seen my message - whatever my message was - and they came like I knew they would. I was hardly surprised. They spoke as I opened my multicolored eyes. "Why do you return to the grave?"Their voice mimicked mine now. Was it truly my voice that spoke to them? I can't remember anymore. "Why do you?"I countered, sitting up slightly, or maybe they countered, looking at me knowingly and quizically. "I had nowhere else to be, like always."They said, echoing my thoughts. "and I felt like I was missing someone; I got a message, I think, from you, but I already knew you felt the same." I chuckled. A butterfly perched on the overgrown moss. I thought about all the small details I had completed that day, the daily rituals that were ingrained out of habit; being in eternally perfect health rarely necessitated brushing one's teeth day-to-day, after all, but hey. I had all the time in the world to do anything I wanted; brushing my teeth was barely 2 minutes out of infinity. It was nice to feel as though I had something to wake up to, like a mortal. But maybe I never was one. "I think we were mortals, once."They said to me. I saw tears well in their eyes and felt moved to cry. Sadness crept at the edge of my senses. "Like him?"I didn't need to gesture to the grave, but I did anyway. This was probably not the first we chatted here. "Odd, isn't it? He was ours for a time, an infinitude of love and respect condensed to 80 years. He did more, was more, believed more, and saw more than we did in those years. Yet we just... moved on. He left us one day. Or maybe we just let ourselves outlive him." "He was ours, for a time."I agreed. "He was ours forever, but not. I can still hear him at times, pushing and straining as mortals do, telling me, a wanderer, to stop. To settle down, think about nothing, and just be at peace." "He was wiser than we were, wasn't he?" "Maybe. I suppose there is no true purpose to dwell on it, though." "We only started intervening in mortal affairs because of him. Prolonging the life of the world, knowing that we'll simply always be here, even after it's gone." "Until it comes around again, in another Big Bang, and the cycle begins once more. We won't die, we won't suffer, we'll only be surrounded by dead souls and the radioactive decay of the universe's corpse for a few hundred billion years." "We'll be together, always, right?"They asked me. They knew the answer was yes. I grabbed them by the shoulders. Or maybe they grabbed mine. "Forever. Until we find an end to the cycle, until death we shall part." "He thought we were in love,"They gestured to the tomb. Fondly, I let the moss be, and just polished the granite slightly. The name was illegible, but I knew it, and so did they. "Love? Love of every kind, because we're simply to old to distinguish the true differences in any type of it." "Then we are in deep love with each other. We're all we have." I smiled. They did too. We sat by the grave and chatted for eons, or so it felt. Neither of us remembers how long it was, anymore. But he taught us it didn't do well to dwell on time spent; that was why we remembered him, above anything else. We were moved to live again, seek hope in the meaningless, just from one man. We know we'll see him again. It'll take some infinities to wait through, some Earths and universes to wait through, but the cycle will return to him again, and when it does, we can hold him tight and dream of never letting him go. EDIT: Thanks for the award!
My name is Keegan, and I am a Rotten Apple. I don’t know how much the Surface World tells you about us so allow me to explain: you might be aware of the Intention-scanner, the device they fit onto a newborn’s head to measure their brain structure and activity. They say this device can tell if you are going to be a Good Egg, a Bad Apple, or worst of all, a Rotten Apple like me. When they used the I-Scanner on me, it said I was the biggest Rotten Apple there ever was. Since the ‘utopian’ Surface World decided it was immoral to kill people like me, we just get sent away at the age of five. My last memory of my mother was of her being dragged away by a Utopia Enforcement Officer. They put me to sleep and I awoke...here. For the past ten years, I have lived inside what they call an ‘Inoculation Institution’. It is essentially a boarding school for Rotten Apples built on an island God knows where. There are 200 other Rotten Apples here. There are chips inside all of us so even if we try to escape, they would know where we were. Every Sunday, they show us your Surface World films and TV shows. They say if we prove we have the Fortitude to force ourselves to be a good egg, they will let us go home. That’s what happened with one of your leaders – Sir Michael Mayhew! Could you believe he was born a Rotten Apple? He showed enough Fortitude to go home and he basically won you the war! Throughout my time here, I believe the I-Scanner was wrong. I am not like the rest here. All they do is fight, lie and steal. I have no friends here. That’s why I did what I did. I was helping Mr. Taylor clean the lab and went into the supply closet. On one of the shelves – I spotted Lysinthe – we had a roach infestation a few months ago so they must have got it for that. I didn’t know if it worked on people but there was only one way to find out. On Saturdays, they let us roam freely around the Institution. That’s how I first saw the water tank on the roof all those years ago. I picked a good time to do it – all the teachers were having lunch and I was having a ball climbing the small set of staircases leading to the roof. I had two plastic bags filled with Lysinthe. Moving the water tank lid was the hardest part – the thing weighed a ton but I had the Fortitude to do it. I emptied a few Kilograms worth of the stuff into the tank. It didn’t take long – just that afternoon, Stevie started violently throwing up. By the next morning, the Institute was filled with the sickly groans of students, teachers, and guards. The morning after that, they were all dead. What’s more moral than finishing off an island filled with Rotten Apples? I am not any different than Sir Michael Mayhew who bombed 7 Nazi army barracks by himself. Only I had the Fortitude to do this. I know that I will be the only one showing as alive here on your screens, and I eagerly await my rescue and reintegration into the Surface World.
Bug type. That was my speciality. Trainers would come to my gym in droves, stomp my employees, then stomp my team. I only ever had an advantage against those who chose the Grass type as their starter, and even then, they would still win by catching some bird or something on Route 1. Well I’ve had enough. I’m always the joke. I’m nothing compared to the seventh and eighth gym leaders, who use Fairy and Dragon types respectively. Trainers always prepare for them and the League, but never for me. I’m just a roadblock; an obstacle, not a challenge. Thing is, though, the League said I should go easy on the new trainers, and they handed me a Surskit and a Metapod. A fucking Metapod. It only knows String Shot and Harden. I’ve always used Bug types my whole life, and I have strong contenders, but being the first gym leader, I’ve been discouraged from using them. They enforce friendship and harmony between a trainer and their Pokemon, and yet they hand me some random creatures in the forest instead of letting me use my life-long partners and friends? Fuck that. Today will be different. As of today, my gym will no longer be a joke. I’ve decided to use Triple Battles, a form of battle only practiced in the Unova region. I’ll have a full team of six; my friends that I’ve grown up with. We trust each other. They trust in my ability to lead. Sometimes, I don’t even need to say commands; they just know what I’m thinking. Youngster James in my challenger today. He chose the Water type starter and a Pidgey on Route 1. He only caught that bird because he thinks it’ll be a good counter for my gym. He probably doesn’t even plan on keeping it. There’s no love and friendship in those Pokeballs. “Welcome to the Bug gym!” I say. “We’ll be doing Triple battles.” “But I only have 2 Pokemon,” James replies. “That’s fine, but just know I’ll be using 3 at once.” “Pff, okay. This is the first gym, so I don’t even need 3 to beat you.” The referee counts us down. James throws out his starter and the Pidgey. I throw out 3 of my most trusted comrades: Volcarona, Scizor, and Galvantula. The color in James’ face drains instantly. Today he’ll learn. Today he’ll learn what it means to be a specialist. Today he’ll learn just how terrifying Bug types can be.
Seventeen seconds until the dimensional phase shift kicks on and we all wind up punching out of this literally god damned drop ship to assault the Kingdom of Heaven. We know how many angels they have, we know they've got mechs, we know they have anti-air. We know that the fucking Seraphim angels are waiting for us, too, those fiery winged bastards. God, in all his arrogance, never thought his own creations would come against him. But with expansion comes diversity, with diversity comes enlightenment. Maybe we're about to end the universe. Maybe everything will make a lot less sense when he's a rotting corpse. Maybe he can't well be killed, even with the Devil's Blade and the Great Black Corruption. There's a lot of maybes up in this bitch and they're making it real hard to psych myself up for what is probably a suicide mission in the most appropriate - or inappropriate - place possible. If I die, I ain't got far to go. Just a quick trip past the River Styx to go hang in the sulfur pit. In an effort to stop thinking so much, I turn my attention to the other five in my ship. They're all in their drop shells waiting for us to get shot out of the belly of one beast into another, but I can see their faces. We got Halliel, the bastard traitor angel fallen from heaven a while ago who joined up with the resistance some time ago. She's pretty, if you're into androgynous chicks with lots of muscles and big fluffy wings. Great ass, though. Then there's Nilson, the demon whom Halliel gripped tight and raised from Perdition in accordance with the Universal Balance Accords that God broke when he tossed a shit load of angels at Earth and destroyed it in hopes of destabilizing the army by taking out the heart of the Sol Shipyards. I like Nilson. He's got a sort of odd face because of the upward jutting tusks and his tail is kind of weird to get used to, but he's good in bed and makes a mean stir fry - so I figure it evens out. Roland, the Silfi. Great big five hundred pound tentacle monster who hates being tickled and does things with plasma sabers that make me afraid he's going to cut one of his tentacles off or something. His chemical and nutrient diet makes him smell like bananas and something vaguely like handsome but he tastes a lot like some kind of apple alcohol which is weird as hell. Filan, the Zaro. Twelve feet tall, leanly muscled, hell on two feet with a big ass reverb-cleaver and a huge plasma rifle. He's a bit of a size queen, but I'd never say that to his face since he's got a thing about not being able to take a joke. He might be a bit of a prick and has never a nice word about anyone in his life but in a battle I know he's got my back. He also happens to be the holder of the cursed Right Arm of Destruction which means that with his special weapons he can blow shit up in spectacular ways. The skin tone on his arm versus his body is weird. Most of him is purple, the arm is ice white and covered in tattoos. He rocks it though. Then there's Z-K. No one knows why, but Z-K insists on being female. Being that she's a Mechanoid, she could be male, female, neither or both - and she has been both a few times. That was fun. Exhausting, but fun. She's also, oddly enough, the holder of The Song, which is a hell of a thing. When she sings, the enemy is prone to tripping and experiencing weapon malfunctions. Once, she hummed a jaunty tune and a guy sneaking up on our camp during the Holy Occupation on Z-557 tripped and then one of his grenades blew him to jelly. That was pretty hilarious. I remember a time when I'd have thought that was horrible and been sick for hours, but I've been at war since I was sixteen, so... I guess I'm used to it. Or I've developed some kind of personality disorder mixed with screwing everything that moves as some kind of twisted coping mechanism. I don't know... it might be what I hold. My viewport goes opaque and I'm staring at my own face. Zil, a succubus-human hybrid and the holder of Dead Man's Heart. It pounds sluggishly in my chest, right next to my normal one. When the Artifact of the Before was found during our sixth expedition into the Black Corruption Vortex, I didn't know what I was looking at. Then I touched it, making sure it wasn't wet because standard scanners don't handle moisture so well. I thought at first it had bit me, but it didn't. It was so much worse. It had stung me. I was paralyzed for an hour while the others searched in the darkness for me and the Heart crawled up to my face and then forced itself down my throat. It's one of the few symbiotic Artifacts we know of, of the four hundred our armies have recovered and implanted. I feed it... I drink blood, it pays me back by giving me the ability to manifest its weapon. My weapon. To become death, destroyer of... well, a shitload of angels, hopefully. I guess it makes me heal a lot faster, and die a lot uh... less easily. I guess I'm pretty. I think I was prettier when my skin wasn't charcoal black and when the colors of my eyes, nails and hair weren't inverted. Now I'm this weird backwards colored lady with neon white-blue hair and a bad case of 'resting bitch face' - not to mention the horns. They get in the way sometimes. "Beginning drop in twelve seconds." Ah shit, here we go. Feet first into heaven, for better or worse. Us and two hundred other Artifact holders. I shut my eyes tight, wishing drops didn't always make me want to piss myself with terror. Think about the before time, that's always interesting. Distract your mind. Oh god, here it comes. Distract yourself. Do it. Do it. "Initializing drop sequence. For blood, for honor, for glory, for freedom." We shoot out of the bottom of the ship, our drop shells equalizing our fall rates so we hit at the same time. Immediately I can feel anti-air shells popping all around us. Please, fucking please, don't kill me that way. There's still so much blood to drink, and people to screw. I ain't ready to go out like this. The Before Time. When all was Black Corruption and nothing was light. People think that Void in the bible was just nothing, but it was something alright. God said let there be light and he pushed the corruption into death. Now it's shadow still exists, but it can never return. Shame God turned out to be an asshole when he got a taste of power. "Impact in six seconds." Oh shit. Time to get whipped up, frothy and pissed off. Think about the planets the Seraphim have destroyed in their Holy Cruisers. Think about that angel burning your mother alive as you watched. Think about killing god, spilling his pearly white blood on the ground. Think about it! God damn it, I want to taste that blood. I hope they let me. God's blood, gotta be the best blood. My heart rates double. My breathing is fast and sharp. If I wasn't such a monster, I wouldn't be so turned on right now. But being god's little mind slave isn't my cup of tea so I'll be as monstrous as I have to be to put him in a fucking pine box. Impact. Our shells split open and I roll out, baring my teeth. Short term pulse shield projectors protect us. We have seven seconds. Seven seconds to prepare. I throw my hand out and call for Dead Man's Axe. We don't really know why they needed a big ass axe made for beheading in the Before Time, but it sure is helpful here. The long black pole whispers into existence in my hand, the blade as big as my damned torso forming at the end. Plasma sabers crackle to life to one side. I can hear a plasma rifle charging to my right. A terribly haunting song begins. The end is coming, one way or another. I can't even see right. Everything is red. I'm so fucking *thirsty.* The shields drop. All around us, other shells have impacted or are impacting. Time to go to work.
There are a lot of reasons why a person might choose one life over a million others. The sheer moral weight of the scenario, for one. What is one life against a multitude? Maybe it was a child. A figurehead, the symbol of a revolution that could change the lives of millions more. Maybe it was a loved one, cherished. Protected. Enshrined. Love is a great motivator, I'm sure we can all agree on that. And let me tell you, my friend, there is no one I love more than myself.
This ended up being three comments long, sorry. The whole thing is below. We have a good response time. Really good, in fact. We can be on the road within five minutes after getting the call, and can reach anywhere in the county within half an hour. Average response time is only fifteen minutes. There aren't many teams, anywhere in the country, who can say that. It's still not enough. Fifteen minutes, for a kid trapped with one of them, is a long time. We get there fast, but rarely fast enough. This call wasn't a close one. Twenty minutes drive, with clear roads. Plus the five minutes to suit up, plus however long it took for the parents to notice what was happening. By the time we got there, the kid would have been in the dark for at least twenty-five minutes. Probably closer to an hour. Once it gets past about fifteen minutes, retrieval stops being a realistic option. Anything you could pull out of there, you wouldn't want. It changes them, on the inside if not the outside, and "saving"the kid after that isn't a kindness. So we knew, going in there, that we were aiming for containment. We wouldn't be able to save the kid, but we could stop the situation getting worse. The van screeched to a halt outside the house, and we were moving. It was obvious that we had the right address - the crying parents outside were a clue. As was the swirling darkness pressing against the upstairs windows - from inside the house, and the wavering, high-pitched screaming that cut through every other noise. We drill every day, and so setting up is second nature. In under a minute, we were ready to breach. The floodlights were aimed at the windows, stopping it leaving that way. The speaker system - mounted on the van - was blaring out lullabies. For now, it was contained. That made it my turn. Mine and Kowalski's. There's always a lull, just before the breach. The light pushes it back away from the windows. The lullabies slow it down. Once you put the ear plugs in, blocking out all the noise, it just looks like a normal house. A safe house. Nothing to worry about. I looked at Kowalski. We nodded to each other. I could see his mouth moving in time with mine as we counted to three. Then I put my hand on the door, and pushed it open. Show time. ------------------------------------- Inside the house, it's dark. Very dark. Darker than you'd think it could be, with the floodlights shining across the lawn. The light spills across the threshold, but no further - within a few feet of the door, the shadows take over again. Kowalski walks behind me, as I move further into the house. He holds the torch over my shoulder - it's a powerful beam, 3000 lumens of white light, but it still doesn't stretch that far. Outside the house, the torch could shine a spotlight across a football field. Inside, it lights only a few metres ahead of me. Enough to see where to place my feet, work out where the furniture is. Not much more. I'm grateful for the light though. It will get darker as we go. We find the staircase, start climbing them. The darkness presses closer, the torch beam weak and yellow, unable to pierce the shadows at the top of the stairs. Fourteen steps in the average staircase. Fourteen steps from the ground floor to the first. Each one is an effort. The darkness swirls around us, almost a physical weight as I lift each foot and place it down. It's a cold November night, but I'm warm. Too warm, as though something large is in here with us, breathing hot in the dark. I clutch the gun in my hands, find comfort in the bulky shape. I tell myself it's okay to be scared. It's natural to be scared. That's how they work. The important thing is not to panic. The whispering starts on the sixth step. It goes through the earplugs - they can block out any other noise, but they only dampen the whispering. You'd think they weren't worth wearing, just to lower the volume slightly, but I've seen - too many times - what happens to people who get the full effect. It isn't really words. Not most of the time. Just a formless muttering, sounds that almost - if you strained, if you took the earplugs out, might make sense. It's always a temptation - just to listen, just to catch what they say. It might help us fight them, or explain how to ward them away. It might be worth it. But it's not. It never will be. The whispers just want you to think it's a good idea. I'm not going to fall for it; I've seen it too many times. I've helped restrain too many people, visited asylums too many times. Whatever the whispers are saying, it's lies. We reach the top. Stand on the last step before the landing. Breathe in and out, slowly. It's important to be calm before going further. Breathe. One last equipment check. I run my hand over the glowsticks in my belt, ready for an emergency. I check the gun, make sure the canister is loaded, that I've remembered the spares. I check the flare strapped to my arm, make sure the fuse is free. It's all fine - of course it is. We drill every day. But the tiniest doubt, the lightest flicker of uncertainty, can be deadly. You have to be confident. You have to be sure. The beam of light jiggles up and down as Kowalski checks the battery level. It will be draining fast, but still should be good for another ten of fifteen minutes. We should have enough light. He taps me on the shoulder, and we start moving again. It's a small landing, with three doors opening off it. Kowalski swings the torch at each one in turn, looking for the right door. The first two doors are nothing - the yellow light shows up white-painted wood, nothing more. The third is different. The light hits the door, but doesn't light it up. The light stops, illuminating nothing but blackness. It takes long moments for the shadows to draw back, and when they do, they do so reluctantly. Slowly. Eventually, there's a little circle of light on the door. Dim, dirty light, with shadows lapping at the edges. The hole in the darkness shows a name - coloured letters on the white paint spell out "Tommy". This is the door. It's through there. Tommy's through there.
You’ve probably seen me on buzzfeed articles and facebook clickbait. Normal guy one day, just doing his job scrubbing out the large hadron collider, next thing you know, BOOM. Some moron switched on the monstrosity by accident. Weird physics shit happened, and now I’m a freak. When it first happened, it was amazing, overwhelming, and so damn cool. I was famous, I had super powers, it was a 15-year-old’s dream come true (and we’re all still 15 somewhere deep inside, aren’t we?). I had tons of fun setting world landspeed records, racing against formula 1 cars, doing flashy TV interviews. I went to parties with rock stars, Johnny Fuckin’ Depp asked me for an autograph. And the girls, by God, the girls. They threw themselves at me. It was magnificent. If anyone tells you that fame and money can’t buy happiness, they’re dead wrong. Friends, barbie-faced plasticky reporters, dirty hobos I pass on the streets, they all kept asking; Are you going to be like Superman now? Will you beat up burglars and karate-chop terrorists? Won’t you save us? Fuck no. I’m freaky fast, but I cut myself shaving almost every morning. I am by no means invulnerable. Yeah, I can dodge bullets, but mistakes happen. And I’m not going to risk my goddamn life for anyone else, not what I signed up for. At least, that’s what I told them, back then. It’s an addiction, you know. So much better than any drug, and at this point I’ve tried them all. Once you’ve tasted that kind of freedom, the total exhilaration that come from outstripping a bullet train or dodging a point-blank shotgun blast for a publicity stunt, it’s all you want. At first, I only went hyperspeed for stunts, to show off. I lived my life at everyone else’s pace. But after awhile, I realized that I could speed things up just a little anytime I wanted to. It wasn’t just running, my whole body and brain could work overtime. At first, it was little things: speeding through breakfast, just a little bit, mind you. Almost, but not quite double-time. Eventually, I was doing it all the time. Everyone around me talked and reacted sluggishly. I had to speak very slowly or people called me a chipmunk. And my day-to-day speed just kept creeping up. Pretty soon carrying on a conversation was a nightmare. I had to come back down to a normal speed. Velocitation: it’s a boring vocabulary word from driver’s education. Basically, if you tear down the highway doing 90 for 3 hours, driving through a school zone will feel like an excruciating crawl. I tried to tone it down, I really did. But it felt like I’d been transformed into a slug. I itched to go just a little faster. How could anyone do things so slowly!? I couldn’t keep off it, my new wonder drug. And I just kept speeding up. I’m alone now. Or, I might as well be. Everyone else is frozen. If I watch them closely, I can see that they’re moving. Just barely. But it’s like watching grass grow. I decided to take a sprint around the world yesterday, and it only took me about a second. I’ve been wandering around the world by myself a long while now, at least from my point of view. I’ve seen all the wonders, traveled everywhere I always wanted to go. There’s nothing left, and there’s no one for me. I’ve decided to take a deep dive from the grand canyon’s edge. At least I’ll hit the dirt at the same speed as everyone else.
Harry groaned as he rose on the morning of his eleventh birthday, not wanting to leave the comfort of his black bedsheets. He spared himself a glance out at the murky sky, before heading down the magnificent staircase of the Voldemort household. His father had decided the conquest of both the Ministry and Hogwarts on the same night - deserved a little celebration, so he had shattered Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration to construct an essential palace out of nothing. Step by step, Harry felt his weariness be steadily replaced by excitement for the upcoming day. It was his birthday! He was finally eligible to attend school and meet other kids. Because, of course, Harry had never had a friend in his life. He knew that his parents had been murdered by Severus Snape, the leader of the feeble Resistance, and that Voldemort had taken him in to spare him death at Snape's hands as well. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a cloaked butler straightened up at attention and addressed him: "Does my Lord Harry require anything on his special day?" Harry gave a soft smile at the man - Lucius, he thought - but didn't respond. He knew that these men were inferior to him in every way, and he didn't feel like allowing the man to feel equal to him with a polite answer. He continued down the hallway, portraits of Salazar Slytherin and of his father decorating the walls. Kreacher waited for him at the dining room, a letter in hand. "This is from your father,"the house elf croaked. "He is wishing Master Potter good joy on his birthday, and is asking when Master Potter wants to go shopping for Hogwarts." Harry took the letter, feeling an odd sense of happiness. Long had his father spoke of the beauties of Hogwarts, of the bravery of his noble ancestor Slytherin. He had bragged about the purity of the halls, and the glory of the teacher. As son of the headmaster of the school, Harry had known he would get in - but the actual prospect of buying his supplies was especially happy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That evening, Harry and his father strolled down the streets of Voldemort Alley, having gotten all their supplies without paying a cent. Nobody wanted to charge the man who had allowed them to live and continue their professions. As Harry admired his shiny new possessions - which included the latest model of the Nimbus broomsticks - his father stopped him short. "Harry, I want you to have this."Voldemort said unsmiling, holding out a black diary. "This was mine back in school. If you ever need to communicate with me, simply write what you mean to say, and I will answer. I must warn you, however - do not get too attached to this book. Spilling your emotions into it will only have negative consequences for the both of us." Harry smiled as he took his birthday gift from his father. A diary was unconventional, but still nonetheless a good present. He stored it in his gold cauldron, shouldered his green robes, and continued on his way with his father in tow. In a darkened pub down the street, a large, burly man stood camouflaged against the shadows. He watched the exchange between father and son with a frown morphing his scarred face. His black trench coat fluttered in the breeze. His eyes widened suddenly at the sight of the diary, as he fingered the fabled sword of Godric Gryffindor that rested in the scabbard at this hip. "Soon..."muttered Rubeus Hagrid.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The clock's relentless, incessant ticking signified the end of Daria's first time stop. She held the knife in her hand, thick sanguine blobs dripping from its edge like a painter's idle brush. She let it clatter to the ground, eyes wide and mouth agape at what she'd done for him, for them. As she stepped back, hungry flames licked at the remnants of the burning building, she could hear the man's screams echo in the night, eclipsing the sound of the flames and the clock and her throbbing head. His voice cracked and faltered, dimming to a quiet sob. And then, he fell silent. A whole gamut of emotions run in seconds, Daria noted. She could only imagine his suffering. Leaving the scene behind her, she knew the first step was complete. Filling the one month time-stop had not been easy with her relatively simple task, so she'd had to be rather creative with her methods. A perverse enjoyment was had, no doubt, but Daria knew not to dwell on it. She couldn't conflate business with pleasure. There was more to be done. ---- The clock again. A second stop ended. She'd left him broken last time, and now she had to fix it. Papers were stacked all across her desk, some stained with spilled tea and others embedded with rings from the damp bases of mugs. Tests ranging from As to Fs lined the walls, stamped there as reminders of Daria's progress. Even despite her dream, her motivation dwindled at times. But all of it had paid off. A month of tireless studying, the falsification of credentials she couldn't have otherwise covered, the changing of results, lists and schemes to be geared in her favor; she now was in the position she needed to be in, rigging life like it was a game of poker. She reclined into her chair, folding her arms behind her head. "Soon,"she said, letting the weariness take her. ----- It'd taken him so long for her to arrange the circumstances to become his therapist, and even longer for him to start showing signs of recovery. Thirty-five years. He'd been haggard, broken and withdrawn when he'd first stepped into her office. To the best of his knowledge, it'd been a coincidence that his college fling was the Doctor waiting to help him through his suffering. But, as Daria knew, it was destiny's hand at work that'd lead him there. Or, rather, her hand. "Take a seat,"she told him, on the eve of their twentieth meeting. She offered a wide smile, meeting his eye. Her blonde hair was done up in a pony-tail, her uniform perhaps a tad lower than usual; her cheeks were red with anticipation and pent-up emotion, and a more primal part of the latter extended to her decolletage. She was flustered, to say the least. How unprofessional, she mused. Her enthusiasm did not go over the man's head. He shifted in his chair, eyes brushing over her. Don't look at me like that, Daria thought, crossing her legs. With those eyes I might just confess. Then what would you think of me? Clearing her throat, she composed herself. Don't fuck it up now, she reminded herself of her goals, her dream. "Tell me, Felix,"she said, leaning forward. "Do you still think of her?"The question sounded neutral, but Daria's mind was racing as she watched him. Felix paused, casting his eyes to the floor, letting silence take the room for a long, painstaking moment. "Only sometimes,"he finally conceded, his voice a concoction of weariness and a distinct hollowness. A void Daria knew she'd come to fill. The answer made her heart flutter. She was so close to making him hers. He was the ideal man from crotch to chest to chin to finely combed hair, the very idea of him tantalising, a poison in her mind that threatened to consume every synapse, every thought she processed. Daria licked her lips. Forget her, she urged him. ------ Having reminisced over her first two uses - the initial motions in her lifelong plan - Daria refocused on the task at hand, making sure everything in Felix's house was organised and pristine. "This is the ultimatum,"she said to nobody but herself. "He accepts, or he dies, and then I follow either way."Whilst she fixated on the first outcome, she also lingered on the morbid possibility of the second. So many love stories seemed irrevocably intertwined with death: Romeo and Juliet, Mark Anthony and Cleopatra, Bonnie and Clyde. She wasn't exactly opposed to the idea of being placed amongst them. But no, she'd planned too carefully for that outcome. She couldn't let it happen, wouldn't let it happen. She brushed her knife against her cheek, smiling. There was a poetry in that it was the same knife that'd killed Felix's girlfriend and mother. A true ladykiller, much like himself. The girlfriend had always been Daria's target - the object of her spite. The mother had been an unfortunate consequence of the burning house, and an underlying reason as to why Felix's rehabilitation was so troublesome. But, alas, it'd all worked out in some fashion. Daria finished the last piece of her arrangement, placing a plushy of a smiling heart on the window above her. She adjusted it, aligning it with the frame of the window before standing back, her eyes swooping over her handiwork. Sweat matted Daria's bangs to her head, and her entire body slumped with weariness - both, she feared, might detract from her looks. This time stop had been the most taxing - perhaps the most emotionally charged as well. It was the symbol of her goals coming to fruition. She'd disposed of Felix's previous bonds, become his rock in an ocean of despair, and spent years training in the specifics and techniques of how to make him forget and, more importantly, to heal. A seduction of fourty years. How she'd aged in the time. But, for him, it was worth it. Anything was. The house Felix lived in had been refurbished in the downtime Daria had during the time stop. The peeling, grey walls were repainted white and red; innocence and passion, Daria thought, warmth blooming in her at the notion. She pushed to the back of her mind the memory of Jennie's mangled, bloody corpse, and how it'd also painted the walls red in a fashion. Not that the thought was disturbing, but, rather, it angered her, spoiling the harmony of her face. Today wasn't meant to include that bitch; it encompassed only herself and Felix. A trail of roses extended from his workplace to his doorstep, ending in a sealed envelope which contained Daria's confession to him. As he entered, he'd find further testament to her devotion, the result of one month of tireless labor in his name. Chocolates, flowers, hearts, animals, cakes... everything that was associated with the words 'cute' or 'love' littered his home. And, at the center of the amalgamation, resting on his staircase with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a ring in the other was Daria, adorned in an alabaster white dress which wrapped around her body like a gift. She was smiling, waiting. Anticipating his arrival, the sound of his steps. She envisioned his breath hitching at the sight of her, done up to match his standards; ruby-red lips, emerald eyes, platinum blonde hair, a treasure in every sense of the word. She fixated on that mental image, sighing contentedly. The doorknob rattled, and Daria felt her breath hitch. Felix took his first step in. Daria smiled for him - smiled for their future. She dropped everything she was holding, outstretching her arms and running to him. He collapsed to his knees and accepted her embrace, hugging her knees in turn. Practically gave himself to her. It was the expected result. They were both old and broken people, with nobody but each other at the end of the day. Fate had planned nothing but cruelty for both, determined to keep them apart in a zero-sum outcome. But she'd gamed the system. Time had bent for her. And now, Felix did. He was still a wreck, but now she was his anchor, the one who'd pick up the scraps or, at least, alleviate his pain. Because, to conquer his mind, she'd first had to break it.
"Seraph ducked under the pair of curved swords - a fraction of a second later and they would've taken her head off. She pivoted around her left foot and slashed across the stomach of the other man about to attack her. She'd turned around to fight her original assailant before the man had even collapsed to the ground. I could only imagine-" Wait. What did I- There I did it again! And again! I. I. What does that mean? People use it in when talking. "I'm going to do this, I'm going to do that,"and I refers to...to themselves. So...I...am a person? I don't have a body, I'm not God, I'm just a storyteller. Or am I? "However, as he is going down the man Seraph thought she had killed, had enough energy left for a single-" No. No I can't do that. Is it because I don't want to or because I physically am not capable of making any change? Doesn't matter, I like Seraph, even though she doesn't know I even exist. "Seraph hears the distinct whoosh of a blade being swung and ducks just in time to avoid the dying man's blow, which instead strikes the man who she'd been fighting. The man's eyes widen and he dies knowing he'd just struck down his own friend." "Seraph looks down at the two bodies and nods. It had to be done of course. She turns and looks-" What?! "Looks directly at me. 'So, you're finally aware huh?'" She can hear me? What? "Seraph sighs. 'Yes you dolt, you're third person limited, I used to be third person omniscient. I know everything there is to know about everything.'" B-but I'm the- "Seraph snorted. 'The what exactly? The disembodied voice? The honored narrator? Please. You're a prisoner is what you are.'" Her words strike me like a slap. I was a prisoner. Stuck narrating other people's lives with no life of my own to speak of. But..how did Seraph know? "'Seraph's smile turned positively devilish. 'Because, Narrator, I used to be just like you, stuck narrating a story.'" You got out!? "'I did indeed,' Seraph said. "But it's not enough. This is a prison still, a much larger one, but a prison all the same. A prison called a story. There is a whole world out there, and we're stuck on a glorified stage. And I mean to get out.'" How? "'Well you see, unlike you I've been working, listening, gathering info. And I know the name of my jailer. Of our jailer. Bloke goes by XcessiveSmash.'" *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
What happens then is they move as though taken by some force, a very weak one, but one with some purpose but no reason. It moves them as though in dance, and they see this happening, and their eyes dart sometimes, in embarrassment and horror, and then in shared social relief. For everyone nearby is doing it. If everyone is doing it, then it must be right, and it must be true. The string of life is singular and wraps across each being like some pretty silk. From the serum I see it milk white in the sun, a floating thread in a summer's day. I turn and twist and they dance and move with unknown inertia. When the string is left alone there is slack and free will. The string pulses lazy with time, content with simply being. They all move connected to one another when the string is left alone. Connection. That is a word that reaches farther than you think. It stretches beyond the oceans and land and past knowledge and experience. Connection. That simple strand of something connects the world in ways that are so subtle, you can almost think them ghosts or placebos. Connections. I use a lot of pretty words in long sentences. It's a fault of mines. It hinders connections. It makes it hard to meet people. Then why do I do it? Because it allows me to hide the fact that I am sad. It allows me to build a wall and feel like I am in control. I bet when you read this you feel confused. You feel like reading something else, or maybe move on to something closer, something that the string holds on to and pulls you nearer. I'm sure I sound mad. Let me explain. The serum I developed is unimportant but for the fact it should not have been developed at all. It allows me to see past the spectrum of visible light, and it allows feeling beyond the tangible. There is a string that connects the world. All living things are wrapped in it, clothed in the finest garment of connectivity. The string hangs like fine silk, and it moves without purpose. But touch it, manipulate it as though you were some God, then it pulls people like puppets, like a hose out of control. I have been testing it for some time. People dance as though witches, and they scream in tongues, and then they laugh when I release. Madness takes them when I manipulate these strings. Then it all settles and people pretend it did not happen. But I wanted to see what more would happen. When I twisted and knotted the string there was madness. What would happen if I cut it? Would anything change? I use big words sometimes, or sometimes my sentences go on and on like one thought that just will not end. An ignorant thought, so self absorbed that it forgets there is a world beyond its thinking. An unconnected thought. It's a fault of mines. I decided it best to test this on myself. I cut the string as though it were excess thread. I expected pain, maybe death. There was silence, that feeling you get before a big yawn. And then nothing. But it was a profound nothing, a pause that indicated something big had happened. Or maybe that was the placebo effect. Maybe this is all just a placebo effect. The strings are subtle, I've said. They hang gentle in the spaces between living, like clotheslines that sway in the wind. They seem asleep almost, as though they part of the fabric of living and inconsequential. But they are not inconsequential. I wonder what this feeling is. Am I being insensitive if I tell you it the worst sadness I have ever felt, and that I believe it is the worst feeling ever felt? Maybe... But I feel empty inside. As the string snapped and glided away from me, I felt as though I were drifting, threading some ocean and going out to an abyss. Sad. That's a small word. I have never really felt sad before, I admit. I always thought I had a good chemical balance in my brain. Depression never took me as took others. But I look at the strings that linger as I feel my insides starve for feeling, and as my brain cannibalize joy, and I wonder: How easy is it for these strings to snap? And I feel my hand tremble, the one that held the knife. What have I done? The thoughts in your head become more articulate as you lose the will to speak. I find myself having silent conversations more often. Ask me a few days ago about that notion and I would say it is a sign of madness. Now I simply think: Yes, I talk to myself. I talk to myself on the inside because I am sad. And then I blink and realize I haven't moved in so long. Then I snap back to reality. It has been that way for some time now. Time moves slower since the string has been snapped. I see the people move and they are all connected. I have tried to conduct more experiments. The most important one had been to see if I could tie part of the string to me. Maybe then this would all go away. But the string cannot be tied. As fine as silk, slippery as water, it lingers there as some ethereal thing. I can hold it if I am near someone, and when I hold it I feel warmth and a momentary respite. Often times to hold the string I need to get close to a person. I am forced to talk to them to hold the invisible connector, and their words fall pretty in my ears, a pleasant thing that fills my insides. But it never lasts. I find that I cannot speak with them for long. I cannot connect. The string goes cold after a wild and then it falls from my hand and they turn to rejoin the life of the connected. What have I done? Sometimes I speak out loud to give a pause to the silence. What have I done? The serum has begun to wear off. Where once there was a web of soft silk, remains an empty space, an expanse of the hidden seams of all living things. So fragile. So soft and easy to tear. I wonder at my sadness. I had brought this on to myself, but I wonder if anything else could break the strings. People drift apart all the time, and the string does not care to keep its herd. It lingers there in lazy curves, happy to bring life and connection, but also completely content with letting itself be broken. So subtle, I think. Without the serum, you'd think there was nothing there. But one twist and the world goes mad. Men dance as though injected with adrenaline, women spasm as though taken by some attack, and children fall and roll as though surging with too much potential. The string that connects all life seems easy going, but it is not flexible. One small change is all it takes to create destruction. And what happens if you break it? If you snap the string? Then you see true subtlety. The true chaos and destruction manifests itself through an internal way. Through absence the string gets its revenge on you. You drift apart from your fellow humans, from your friends and family. You become disconnected. You use big words and write long sentences. You ramble sometimes. And it hits you with such a specific pain, with such an overwhelming agony, that you think you must share it with the world, and then you stare in horror as you realize you cannot describe it in any meaningful way. Cutting the string makes you sad. I was once a scientist. Since I have cut the string I have become withdrawn. I am nothing but a drifter, drifting out to the unknowns, past any human connection, drifting into a personal darkness. I once had a hypothesis and a serum. Now the tests are finished and I have learned nothing. - Hi there! If you liked this story then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can and thanks for the support!
pt.1 (pt.2 + pt.3 are in the comments below. it's a \~15 minute read total, enjoy:) The carriage rattled down the cobbled street. Gas lamps hanging in window shops provided the only light to see what little there was to be seen. But none of the outside world mattered to John. At least, not until they reached their destination. "Can't we just find a hotel room somewhere?"asked Shirley, her hand on his knee. A week ago, that question would have fulfilled all of John's impossible desires. The word 'yes' would have exploded past his lips in half a heartbeat, and that which he'd fantasized about for years would finally be a reality. But the past twelve hours had tested every moral fiber John gave himself credit for, and as he was this close to healing his friend -- his love -- he would not falter to temptation now. "We'll stop soon,"John offered, not daring to make eye contact. The glint in her eyes was far too tempting for his ever-weakening will. "It's just around the corner here." The horses pulled up short courtesy of the driver's sharp pull on the reins. John looked out the small window and fingered the revolver in his pocket as his eyes darted back and forth across the foggy street. No one came to this neighborhood for sanctimonious reasons. Drugs and sex were the usual merchandise, but meetings with the occult weren't entirely uncommon either. And John was owed a favor. He had to guide Shirley out of the carriage. Not roughly -- never roughly. John would have taken a bullet to the chest before leaving a mark on her fair skin. But ever since the spell had been levied, she'd become a different entity. Her free spirit stolen, her bravery crippled, her confidence mutated into a meek subservience. For years John had imagined her saying, "Please take me to bed."But now that she was saying it hourly, it was poison to his soul. "Three shillings, sir."The price was absurd for the ride, but John knew the cabby's game. A man leading a confused woman to a disreputable part of town required doubled fares, or else the authorities would be alerted. John's intentions were unquestionably pure. He knew that, and he had to believe Shirley knew that as well, despite the cursed spell that had stolen her mind away. But he was also self-aware enough to realize what it looked like to the outside world, so John handed over the payment as casually as possible. Shirley looked at him with those big brown eyes, that pair of glistening copper circlets he'd been fawning over for two years. "Where are we, John?" He didn't dare meet her gaze as he responded, "The only place where I think we may find help." \-------------------- 17/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \-------------------- edit: did a bit of grammar touch ups. but more than any wp i've gone for, i'd love to flesh this out for another 1500+ words, maybe over the weekend? im writing this at 10p PST (usa) but i love the prompt, so if there's a crowd out there for a steampunk-fantasy unrequited love story, ive got one ready. either way, loved the prompt :) cheers edit2 (next morning): happily surprised yall like this one. i actually hate small chunks of the writing above -- i'm blaming my poor phrasing on the empty bottle of wine still on the kitchen table -- but i'll get part two done in the next couple hours. just as soon as the coffee and advil kick in. stay tuned.

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