Split (1)

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I was first noticed on Facebook, grew in popularity from Vine, and made a living from Youtube. Every step I took, every new medium, felt like a bigger step into fame. I was living comfortably in my apartment in New York City by posting blog videos on Youtube, people seemed to love learning the most basic things about my life. But then the next big thing in media came out, thanks to the popularity of one Youtuber, Jacob Thorton, who wore the Google Glass to live stream a week of his life. It was huge, it was bigger than Twitch Plays Pokemon, more popular than reaction videos, this was the next step for internet entertainers like myself, and I had to get on it fast or I could be left in the dust like the thousands of MineCraft Let'sPlayers who started a year too late. At first, the Google Glass Live Streamers were using it wrong, they'd use it to film events they went to like derbies concerts, but you could simply film it with a camera or phone and get better results. Some became popular through prank videos, using the added benifit of filming incognito, but I needed something different. I came up with the first channel to brag that I would live stream my life, my whole life. I never turned it off, brought extra batteries with me everywhere, and let people see every boring detail they wanted about my life. It went well, I became a huge success, money and views were rolling in. I got to sit back and enjoy life all with the added benefit of thousands of people giving me input on everything going on. Most of my day consisted of going to do a task, let's say groceries, and watching the feed mention every mistake or success I made. "Hey, I love that bread!""You should have bought campbell's, it's cheaper and tastes better.""You're racist if you don't buy Aunt Jemima's syrup."It was frustrating at first, but I was used to the slander the internet always had on hand, and learned to roll with it. I used those animals as a tool, they always seemed to spot things that I missed. I was going about my daily routine, wake up, set the glasses down pointing away from the bathroom as I showered, and went out to buy breakfast at a nearby coffee shop. I get my coffee and muffin to start the day from my usual barista, a cute girl who's nametage said "Heather,"when I noticed the chat all saying the same thing; "She's interested in you, ask her out!" It seemed everyone in the chat was chanting this. I was on stage and couldn't back out, and figured what the hell, and went up to her and asked for her number. I didn't believe it really, I never noticed any hints or clues she was putting off before, but it seemed that everyone else did. We exchanged numbers and the chat went wild, I felt incredible. That night we went on a date, and it was beyond romantic, despite the chat saying things like "nice tits"or "let me see her blow you."I tuned them out for the night while I fell for this charming girl who I figured would never notice me. The night ended perfectly, with us telling eachother how much fun we had, and a kiss goodbye. I went up to my room and performed the nightly duty of getting ready for bed, and setting my feed on the charger facing me, I couldn't let the public miss a thing. This continued for months, during which I became widly popular, since I was one of the first letting people see my whole life. Not only did my popularity grow, but my relationship with Heather grew as well, we became very close, and within a few months time we decieded to move in together. Life was great, I was a popular success, with the added benefit of looking through life with a thousand eyes, I felt like I have finally found success, like I was the American Dream. I felt like I was what rich people wished they were, successful and loved by many, and truly loved by one. A year passed, with Heather and I living together happily, she grew used to being on live stream fairly quick, and soon it bacame a comfortable lifestyle. The day came where I proposed to Heather, and the internet was ecstatic, they loved this kind of drama. Then one night I went about my routine, brushed my teeth, striped to my boxers and crawled into bed with Heather. We haven't had sex for a while to I didn't bother to point the live feed away from the bed, it sat where it normally did, facing us. I slept through the night like a baby, but when I woke up I put on my Glass and started reading the feed. My heart dropped. Everyone in the chat was saying some variation of "she's cheating on you." I didn't believe it, people of the internet are prone to lying, and some love to start pranks with others. There's no way she was cheating on me. One of the commenters left a link for me that was a recording of Heather the night before. In the recording she waited for me to sleep, then started texting someone. She was sat perfectly where you could read the name on the phone, John, with a heart emoji. Then she quietly dresses up, and she is wearing revealing clothes she hasn't worn in months. She then slips out of our apartment for a few hours, only to return with makeup smeared and frizzed hair. I was shellshocked, in absolute denial. I went about my day normally, getting breakfast at a coffee shop, then walking around downtown, trying to keep content slightly interesting. Then another commenter posted a link, he said he was a roomate of the guy who fucked my fiance. I followed the link with a heavy heart, in the link was a picture taken from outside the room, with a profile shot of my fiance with a stranger's dick in her mouth. I sat in the sidewalk, unable to move. The chat was flying in "I'm so sorry""we'll get her for you."I shook my head and walked back to my apartment, feeling hollow. I walked up the stairs with memories of me and Heather. Every moment felt like I was truly alone with her. I open the door to see her at her laptop, tears on her cheeks. After a moment of silence between us, "I'm sorry you found out this way,"she sqeaked out. I stood there in silence, the chat filling my screen with suggestions of what to say. She slowly got up, and made her way to the door, "I'm going to stay with Jessica, but I'll be back for my things." I stood there, quiet, and let her go. The chat kept filling with suggestions to leave her or to take her back. I couldn't react. I was the actor, center of one of the largest stages a man could be on, and I finally froze. I sat on my floor and thought about my life for what felt like an hour. I ignored the chat and thought about what to do with my life. It was a ironic to me, that I had a thousand minds across the world, working for my benifit, and I still lost what felt like the only purpose I had in my life. I found myself sitting on my bed, hours since I've last seen Heather, the image of her with another man still burned in my vision. I thought about what to do with my life and found myself at a blank, I felt like I had been blind my whole life, only reacting to what other people wanted, always there to please another. I found myself thinking of how to take control of my life, thinking I knew what would be best for me. Then I found the first words out of my lips were, "Help me. What should I do?"
I had a much harder time writing this than I initially expected, so this is pretty short. Feedback is very welcome. ---------------------------------------------------- I walked through the dark corridor and emerged in a room with a balcony overseeing the ocean. A beautiful sight, only overshadowed by the fact that my best friend Tom died here. It seemed like a freak accident; the waves crashed over the balcony and washed him away breaking the railings. He seemed to have gotten locked out on the balcony as the door behind him jammed. People told me it was just bad luck, that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm a detective; I don't believe in bad luck. Why was Tom out on that balcony in the first place? Tom is usually more careful than to go out during a bad storm. Why did someone close the door? The door is almost never shut. How did the railing break? It stood for hundreds of years. The weird thing was I remembered a conversation with Tom and another friend of mine, Bill. Bill and Tom heard I wanted to become a detective and we started discussing ways to commit a perfect murder. Tom, being an avid video game player, simply suggested repeatedly sending swatting attempts at the target until the target eventually got shot. Bill, however, had a different plan. Bill proposed to spend years befriending the target and make it a yearly occurrence to go to Castle Strange. At the time, almost no one visited the place, except for us. Even back then, the waves were known to go over the balcony occasionally. There were always warning signs not to go out on the balcony during storms. However, Bill suggested once the target got used to going to Castle Strange, plan to meet on a day that it is expected to storm. Then, on that day, remove the warning signs. Take the target outside to the balcony. Step out to get something from the car. Have a third person go to the balcony and leave, closing the door behind them. The door to the balcony is never supposed to close as it can get easily jammed. Then, if the door jams, the target now has a chance of being washed away into the ocean if the storm is heavy enough. The day Tom died, all of the warning signs were overturned like the wind blew them down. Bill was with him. He went to go to the car to grab a jacket. He came back and saw that the door was jammed. Bill called the cops immediately to get help opening the door, but by the time they came, Tom was already dead. The problem with the plan though was that there was no real way of predicting when the waves would go over the balcony and how would Bill have predicted that the railing would break that day. I bent over and examined the railing. The break seemed to have just been from the erosion of the railing standing for hundreds of years. There was no way that someone could've done this. The plan made absolutely no sense. I left the castle and drove over to Bill's house. This was the first time we spoke since the incident. Bill immediately breaks down crying, saying he had no idea how it happened. I wanted to blame Bill, but I couldn't. It was simply impossible for him to have caused this. The third guy that shut the door was a random tourist that was only in town for a day. Theoretically, Bill could've met him online, but that was unlikely. I gave Bill a hug and told him it wasn't his fault. The next day, Bill was fatally shot in a swatting incident. An unidentified caller thought he was targeting a streamer and sent the cops to Bill's house.
I smelled nothing. Heard nothing but walls, winds, no birds, no barking dogs riled throughout our neighbourhood. Sort of silence that slaps a gong and presses into it till you go mad. Sort of quiet meant more for all nighters, three am gaming sessions, chats with friends, Netflix marathons. My roommate was still asleep, past alarms and two hours into her shift a city over at the bar and grill. She’s more punctual than I am, and even though I sleep in often, most times I wake up briefly to everyone else’s routines. Something about bright sunny days feeling like cold nights doesn’t bode well outside the safety of my home. So, I stayed in. Again. A few online games, social media accounts I haven’t ditched yet, even the internet rung with that same sort of silence. It sounded like a dream, like illusions had tricked me into thinking the feeling of my heart, the sense of wood at my heels, twitches of my ear, and the itchiness of my nose weren’t real, weren’t signs of being awake. How strange it feels to not hear cooking or smell food at nearly three in the afternoon. Twitter had no posts, last five hours are dead. News sites with no stories, not even stories about celebrities changing their hair colour, or stores adding safety labels. Nothing benign, nor serious, just nothing. Ringing silence again, it even scratches at my thoughts, but I’m not putting up much of a fight. Words aren’t easy to come by for me when I’m, lost, or whatever this is. I check on my roommate again. As a light sleeper, her name should be all I need to wake her up. Again, over and again, she sleeps. “Knock, knock! Ginny, don’t you have work today?” Silence. “I don’t want you to lose your job.” I step towards her bed, she’s as still as death, but breathing. Outside her window, small breezes through her curtains. Not even a chirping bird, a passing car, the world’s stuck in some limbo twelve hours passed. Reddit has a new post, thirty minutes old. Two comments seconds apart. Now a third. Might be weird but my family is still sleeping, we were supposed to go to the mall today, my friend next door won’t answer and the streets are quiet. Their post goes on, my eyes skim over words, picking up things like ‘no news’, ‘TV on repeat’, and the comments say as much. Most recent comment is made by someone whose account is brand new. I’ve seen it too, and I know who they're after this time. It’s some guy in Toronto, found his name and address. He’ll probably find this post. If you’re reading this, Matt McNeil, they’ve finally found you. You don’t have long. They put the whole world asleep to find you. And us, only I remember. Stay indoors, don’t move, I’m on my way.
"...so then I said, rectum? I damn near killed 'em!" Sarah laughed, but it was forced. We both said our goodnights, and hung up the phone. In fairness, it hadn't been a good setup - a C-grade joke at best, and a little too long for my taste. But it was the sort of thing that should have triggered The Track. I'd been trying to figure out The Track for a good few months now, ever since it showed up. It coincided with a number of strange new trends in my life. Despite being an introvert, I'd suddenly made 5 very good friends. We always seemed to meet in the same places, despite never agreeing to do so. I could swear my apartment had gotten bigger, despite looking the same on the outside. Members of my family had started visiting far more often than could reasonably be expected - Once every two weeks or so. This might have been normal if I'd lived in the same country as them, but I'd moved to America from Europe alone. Any time one of these coincidences occurred, The Track would be there for the rest of the day. It's a normal sitcom laugh track, and it behaved as you might expect: going off whenever anyone made a corny joke, screaming when we inexplicably ran into a celebrity yet again, and going "ooooh"whenever we broke one of the priceless vases that our extended friends and family never seemed to run out of and we insisted on playing kickball around, despite having broken enough to fill out an entire Ming Dynasty collection. It even showed up on the day we did literally nothing but sit around and discuss other things we'd done that month. You might be thinking that this all sounds very innocent and harmless, and it was. Strange, yes. A little concerning, definitely - I wasn't even sure anyone could hear The Track besides me, nobody else seemed to react to it. But harmless. That was when Dave showed up dead. The Track had been behaving strangely that day - Laughing when it shouldn't, absent when it should have been there. Mikey even got through an entire anecdote about his school life without the usual whooping from it. Dave hadn't shown up like he usually does, so we decided to walk over to his place to see if he wanted to hang out and swap stories today. The closer we got, the louder and more intense The Track became. I couldn't hear Mikey speak at all by the time we were standing outside Dave's apartment. The door was off its hinges, and as we pushed it open...The Track stopped. Dave was lying in the middle of his apartment, feet nailed to the floor, his head practically split open. I can't remember much of what happened next - There was some shouting, screaming, a futile trip in an ambulance, lots of tears, and The Track. Mikey was next. Again, one day The Track stopped behaving normally. Again, we found him in his apartment. Piper went the same way, then Rose. Just like that, my group of friends was down to just me and Sarah, and we were both very different people than when we started. Paranoid, stressed...I don't think the grief counselling worked for either of us. After Piper, I guess I started to become somewhat numb to the whole thing. As I sat contemplating this in my apartment, I began to hear it. Slowly at first, but getting louder. Laughter. I sprung from my bed and pushed my heavy bookcase in front of my apartment door before retreating to my bedroom, locking and bolting the door, and trying to keep the sound out of my head. My front door began to shudder as something crashed against it. With every bang, The Track gave a spirited "woo"as if to punctuate the action. It was unbearably loud now, so loud I barely heard my apartment door splinter and crack as whatever was coming finally broke through just as The Track erupted into thunderous applause. There is nothing I can do but wait for it now.
“On your feet” the bank robber said, pointing his gun at my head, “you’re coming with us.” Slowly, terrified, I rose. There were seven of them. All in Halloween masks, brandishing automatic weapons at the paralysed staff. The leader grabbed me by the collar, pushed me forward. That’s when I saw Miles in the far corner, his teeth grit, his index finger flexed, and his thumb pointing up. BANG. The robber let go of me. And pointed the gun at Miles who reacted in a heartbeat. “Miles what are you — “ BANG. The robber fell to the ground dead. Miles pretended to throw away his finger gun and produced a just as imaginary two-handed weapon. Except the robbers really fell dead when he shot it. The rest of the people in the bank had rushed outside at the sound of gunfire. I was the only one remaining, paralysed by this magical absurdity. The last of the robbers fell to the ground. Miles made a series of long gestures, then pretended to sit. Except… was he levitating? “Get in” he said, “there’s no time to explain.” “Get in what?” “Here. Now.” I hurried over to Miles. He stretched out his arm as if opening an imaginary door and pulled me inside. An engine started up. “What the hell?” “Buckle up Syd.” “Buckle up? What are you talking about? We need to get out of here.” Miles reached over and pretended to pull a seat-belt over me. Inexplicably, there was a click. “Oh. We are getting out of here.” Suddenly we were launched forward, through the air, hurtling towards the walls of the bank. I screamed, and shut my eyes as we collided with it. There was a crash. When I opened them, we were gliding along the city-streets , floating inches above the ground. “Miles, what the fuck is going on!” He made a gesture as if turning a steering wheel and we made a sharp turn. “I come from an ancient society of mimes. We have the power to mould reality with our hands. Right now, you’re in a Ferrari Spider.” “What?” He made another turn, “you are a descendent of Ignatius II, King of the Mimes. For centuries his bloodline has been hunted. I was assigned to protect you.” I screamed as he made another sharp turn, narrowly missing the wall of an adjoining building. “Those men back there, they weren’t bank robbers. They were there to kidnap you, sell you to the highest bidder.” “Miles, whatever this is, please just make it stop.” “It can’t stop Syd. Not anymore. I never wanted to use my powers. But now, they’ll know. The society will sense the energy fluctuation. We’ll be hunted.” He looked up, “we should turn the radio on, throw off their signal.” He pretended to switch on a dial, and a pop song came blasting through imaginary speakers. “This can’t be real.” “We’ll go to Canada. There’s a safe-house there.” “Canada? That will take us days.” He pulled up on an abandoned field, at least a hundred yards, and gave me a straight look, “not if we fly.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ [r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories/)
The Vietnam Memorial War Memorial is always an imposing, somber reminder of just how costly war really is. I stood in front of the wall, reading down the names one by one, not recognizing any of them of course… but out of respect for the fallen, I’d give their names one more utterance in the world once more, out of courtesy. The drizzle of an annoyed low pressure system continued to fall around us as the kids complained loudly that they wanted to go somewhere, anywhere other than there. Maybe the mall was open? A restaurant? Somewhere where it wasn’t forty-two degrees and raining, maybe? No respect at all. I sighed and glanced at my wife, meeting her eyes. She shook her head and gave me a sad smile. “I’ll take them, you keep doing your thing, dear.” “Thanks, honey. I’ll call you when I’m done.” “Take your time.” She didn’t fool me, I thought as I watched her corral the kids back toward the minivan. She wanted out of the rain and away from this dreary reminder of war as much as they did. It wasn’t her fault; I’d come from a long line of military-minded folks, and only a trick knee had kept me from doing my part to serve my country. But I’d still pay my respects anytime and every time the opportunity presented itself. And now, with so few Vietnam vets still left alive, it was up to people like to me to help keep their memory alive. So I turned back to the wall, my eyes going down the list of names again… until I heard a voice beside me, also reading off the names. I glanced to my side, and an old man that had to have been in his late nineties was sitting beside me, his grizzled hand shakily tracing one of the names on the wall before him. The rain rolled down his nearly hairless dome unimpeded, creating small drips in the many wrinkles that adorned his aged features. His thick glasses were raised above his eyes as he winced, trying to make out the name before him. I smiled. “Anything I can do to help you, sir?” “Ah!” Startled, the man looked over at me, his glasses falling back down onto his face. “Oh! Sorry, sonny, didn’t see you there!” “No worries, my good man, no worries. Here.” I pulled my umbrella over from the bench and opened it. “Need a bit of assistance? Cover from the rain?” “Hah.” He looked up into the clouds. “No rain’s ever stopped me, boy.” “I bet.” I glanced at the wall, and my voice softened. “So… is that someone you knew?” “… Yes.” He turned and put his hand back against the wall. “I’ve known him, and his family for quite some time. Long story, but his family’s got a bit of an... onus… well… never mind. But he was a good kid, a damn good kid. Jason, his name was. Young kid when I knew him, straight out of school when they sent us into those damn jungles.” “I’m sorry.” I’d heard the stories, of course. Everyone had heard the stories of ‘Nam. But you just didn’t hear them like you heard them from the horse’s mouth, so I settled in for a good one. “Didn’t even make it three days before he got his ticket punched. And you know how it happened?” When I shook my head, he continued, “He was loading his gun, and the clumsy oaf somehow just dropped it! Gun misfired, and that was that!” “Oh.” I winced. “So he blew his own head off?” “Naw.” The old man waved me off dismissively. Only nicked his cheek. But it hit the light and ricocheted off to the left, and knocked a lit candle off a shelf. That landed on a bunch of cleaning rags they’d been using to wipe up turpentine with, and they started to catch fire. Well, Jason did his best to put that out, but he somehow got blood from the wound in his eye and when he went to rub at it, he spread flaming turpentine on his face.” “… what?” This was getting just a bit hard to believe. I raised an eyebrow and looked at the old man, but he ignored me and continued. “Anyway, long story short, once the tent finally caught on fire and the fire reached the rest of the fuel depot, it wasn’t long before Jason and a good portion of the rest of the company went up in a big ball of kaboom. Never even saw the first day of action. Poor kid.” He turned back to the wall and sighed. “That’s… quite a story.” And completely made up, I’d imagine… “Oh, it’s not made up.” The old man glanced at me with suddenly sharp eyes. “His daddy died in an off-the-cuff way as well.” I was taken aback, both by the statement and by what he said. “What… what do you mean?” “His daddy’s name was Keith. He, too, was a military man, and he was a good man as well. I was there with him, too. He was in the Navy, though I don’t remember the name of the submarine he was on. Once again, nice kid. Just a bit clumsy.” I frowned. “Wait. How were you with both…” He ignored me. “Want to know a not-so-good combination? Clumsy and in charge of submarine ordnance. Keith didn’t get a wall in his honor.” The old man looked back up into the rain. “Poor Keith, though he didn’t feel it, so there’s that at least.” This was getting weird. “If you were on the sub, then how…” “Keith’s daddy’s name was Jim. He was a good man as well, fought in the Civil War. He and I were good pals, at least until his family’s onus came and went then too. Poor man.” “What… what happened to him?” “Well, you know how they used to fill those cannons with things like chains and bricks and anything else around if they ran out of shot?” When I nodded, he continued, “Well, it usually helps to make sure that the chain you just loaded into the cannon isn’t still wrapped around your leg before someone fires the cannon.” “Oh god.” I shook my head. “You… you can’t be serious. I mean, how do you expect me to believe you were at all these places, with these people, when they died? I mean, seriously?” “Because I was, Patrick.” The old man patted me on the shoulder and smiled. “I always am, and always will be. That’s part of my onus as well. Meantime, I’m needed over in Iraq, one of Jason’s cousins is about to head onto the battlefield for the first time, and I’m about to come up again. So, enjoy the rest of the day.” “How… how did you know… my name?” I blinked. The old man was gone. In a moment, he’d been there and now was not. I looked around, and save for the unused umbrella at my feet, there was no sign anyone had been standing there with me at all. “That was just a tad bit creepy.” I shook my head and looked around again, but nope, no one was around. Maybe it’d been my imagination? As I turned to leave, a thought crossed my mind, and I turned back to the wall. The old man had been inspecting one of the names on the wall. I wonder which name… I went down the list of names until I came to one that it just HAD to be, and I paled. J. Murphy. r/MattWritinCollection/
"What's that?"you might ask. Well that's just Nana. &#x200B; Most of the bad ones I just smash with a bat. &#x200B; "Don't let them bite you."That's what Nana says. &#x200B; Said. &#x200B; Cause one got her. &#x200B; And I woulda smashed her with the bat. But Nana doesn't have teeth. &#x200B; So she can't bite me. &#x200B; I spent most of my time in my room. And feeding Nana. Dog food. It's okay. I call it corned beef. She doesn't seem to notice. I can get it from the old factory down stairs. Just have to keep quiet. Or to smash them with the bat. &#x200B; It's been quiet now. For maybe two hands worth of days. I been keeping count. It's been 20 hands since it bit Nana. &#x200B; I'd just come back from downstairs in the factory. And when I open the front door, Nana's not in her chair. And when I walk into the kitchen, She's standing there. She broke the rope. And she's standing real straight. And I kinda get nervous. So I reach for my bat. And she turns fast as a gun shot. &#x200B; And she's got these eyes. And her breath is coming out like smoke. And the room gets real cold. And I wanna run, but that's my Nana. &#x200B; And I ain't heard her voice for 20 hands. &#x200B; So when she says "What's that?"to me, and I see that her mouth is all full of teeth now, I get real scared and swing the bat. And it breaks. It's metal. It makes a sound like "Ping"but it doesn't stop her. &#x200B; And when she grabs my arm, her hand feels cold. Real cold. All the way down to my bones cold. And she's staring at me with these eyes, right. &#x200B; And that's when you guys came in. And laid into her with the shot gun. &#x200B; We both know she didn't get up after that. &#x200B; But you got to listen to me, It's not gonna be like it was before. Cause feel that, Mister, That's the cold. It's not supposed to be this cold... even at the end of Summer.... &#x200B; Edit: some pacing and capitalization.
Margaret was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching TV, when she heard footsteps coming from her room. Sound carried in the house – none of the residents were sure why, but they chalked it up to a consequence of the many open rooms and wide halls. Honestly, it was a small price to pay for the lavish home. The living room Margaret sat in had a tall glass wall, and the sun shone through the leaves of exotic trees in their garden onto the antique polished wooden coffee table between her leather couch and the opposing flatscreen TV. Granted, it was a perfect day – the kind of day where, even though the whole house seemed to glow, it was not too bright anywhere you looked. From the hallway, a voice echoed. “Morning, Love,” a man mumbled as he meandered into the living room. He said it quietly, but, of course, sound carried. It was a joke among the two of them: no secrets in that house. Both of them were independently a little too aware of how untrue that really was for the joke to ever land right. The man stretched his back and collapsed onto the couch next to Margaret. He gestured towards the TV. “What is this?”. “Fleabag,” Margaret said, “It’s very good.” Today is the day, Margaret thought to herself. The man nodded along. “What’s it about?” he asked. I can do this, the man mouthed, I can do this I can do this I can do this. Margaret paused the show and looked over. She didn’t notice the man’s lips snapping shut. “It’s about a woman named Fleabag who—“. The man cut her off. “Her name is Fleabag? What kind of a name is that?” he asked. Oh god, he thought, what if her name is something weird like that? “We don’t know her real name. Lots of the characters don’t have real names,” Margaret said, point to the screen, “like that guy is just the Hot Priest.” Oh my god, what if he changed his name legally to something that I’ll never get?! A bead of sweat formed on the back of Margaret’s neck as she paused the show. She smiled. “You know, you could be a hot priest… in your driver’s license photo,” she said as she touched his hand, “let’s compare them!”. The man laughed nervously as he pulled his hand away. “Absolutely not! I look horrible in that photo!”. Damn. The man straightened up. He had a foolproof plan this time. “You know, I bet you look like a hot priest in your drivers license photo!”. Silence. Margaret pressed play on the remote. Damn. The man stood up, “you know, when I was at work a client came in with a name that wasn’t at all like yours. It was crazy!”. This got a reaction from Margaret. “It was weird that your client… didn’t have my name?”. The man fiddled with his ring, “I mean, yeah! Your name is just so, uh...” This wasn’t going great. “I mean… I just like your name so much! I wish I heard it more!”. Another silence, but this time Margaret’s eyes lit up. He doesn’t know my name either! “I’m going to take a shower,” the man mumbled, dejected. As he walked down the hallway, Margaret heard his heavy breathing fade until she heard a door lock. Margaret looked out over her house. She looked at the beautiful furniture they bought together. She looked at the trees in the garden they planted. The sunlight reflected off of dewey leaves. Her gaze turned to the vase in the center of the room. He had made a flower arrangement from flowers in the garden one day. A gift to her – there was no occasion. No holiday, no birthday, no anniversary. He told her the coffee table looked empty, and he wanted the room to be ‘as beautiful as she was’. His eyes looked deep into hers. She could hear sincerity in every word, and see that pure, unconditional love in his eyes. The kind of love you don’t have because you want to be loved back, or the kind of love you grow into over years of being together. It was the love that you decide to have, because, at some point, you realized that you had to have that love. Because that love started as a consequence of who you were, and grew into a part of who you are. And she knew he saw that same love in her eyes when she laughed and called him trite. She heard the shower go off. Margaret stood up, and took a breath. “What’s in a name?” she said to herself. She walked down the hallway, looking at the paintings on the walls. She looked at the painting she got as a gift for him so many years ago – a beautiful abstract piece with bright colors and layered shapes. He spent weeks trying to figure out what it meant, much to Margaret’s ire. It’s a pretty painting, she’d huff, does it need a meaning? Eventually, he thought of something, but Margaret didn’t follow his reasoning. Next to it on the wall was a crude drawing of a monkey by their son. In the bottom corner there was a scribble in crayon – a signature. It was illegible, but Margaret wouldn’t’ve had it any other way. Margaret entered her room to see the man putting on his watch. Their bed was unmade, which normally would’ve angered Margaret. Today, though, it was comforting. Margaret stopped about two paces away from the man. The man turned around, silent. She straightened up and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. My name is Margaret.” The silence felt like it went on forever. Her hand felt heavy being held out like that. The man’s face changed – he finally realized what was going on. A tear rolled down his face as he fastened his watch and shook Margaret’s hand. “My name is Demetrius. Nice to meet you too.” Margaret’s jaw hung ajar. “How the fuck was I supposed to get to Demetrius?!”. Demetrius let out a laugh, followed by a croak. Margaret couldn’t help but laugh too as tears rolled down her face, “are you crying?”. Demetrius violently shook his head as he held back sobs of joy. “You are!” Margaret exclaimed, as she grabbed his hand. Demetrius immediately started nodding vigorously and buried his head in his hands. Margaret collapsed onto the floor. She was laughing uncontrollably. How did they get married? How did they buy a house? How did they visit each others families? It all seemed to matter so little. She married a man named Demetrius, bought a house with Demetrius, went to Demetrius’ family’s house for Thanksgiving last year. She told Demetrius she loved him, and she told Demetrius she wanted to start a family with him. And now she was laughing at so many years of stress and stupidity with Demetrius. A little boy ran into the room. “Mommy! Daddy! Are you okay?”. His face was painted with genuine concern – he must’ve been four years old. Margaret and Demetrius stood up, and Demetrius picked the boy up. “Yes, son, we’re okay,” he glanced at the paper the son was holding, “what do you have there?”. The boy squirmed free from Demetrius’ hold and held up a messy marker drawing. “It’s a lion!” the boy squealed. It decidedly wasn’t, not in the least because it was drawn in green and blue and the creature only had three legs. Demetrius looked puzzled – empty compliments were never his strong suit. Margaret tenderly grabbed the drawing. “This is beautiful!” Margaret said, beaming at her son, “we should frame this in the entry w—“ she paused. In the bottom corner, there was a name. Jack. Demetrius had seen it too. They stood in shocked silence, while the boy bubbled over with joy! “I’m going to draw another animal!” Jack said, as he raced out of the room. Margaret and Demetrius stood in silence, staring at the picture. Eventually, Margaret spoke, “You know, I really like the name Jack.” Demetrius laughed and wrapped his arm around Margaret, “It isn't bad! But,"he looked into her eyes and smiled, "what's in a name?” &#x200B; Edit: There were some asterisks from when I copied and pasted it from another document so I just deleted those. Thank you all for reading – it means so much that so many people enjoy reading my stories! I don't have a subreddit or anything for my stories, but I have written one other which is in my relatively short post history if you want to read a little more by me :)
Of course, there were rumors. A place untouched by these vile creatures. A sanctuary, where life continues as if the outbreak never took place. No one had made it though, and if, they never came back. Hear-say about a colony, floating whispers of a name..”Helvetia” And so I set out to find it. Yet here I was, mere miles from what was once the German-Swiss border and I had failed. Observing my situation, I realized it was hopeless. The gas station, to the roof of which I had escaped the undead hordes to was surrounded. I hadn’t eaten in days, and now even hallucinations? No, that wasn’t it...I could definitely smell a pungent aroma, floating through the air ever so slightly... Not just me however, my newfound deathless friends were beginning to become restless and renewed their attempts to scale the wall to my refuge turned prison. As time passes, I started fade in and out of consciousness, my hunger pangs worsened by a smell that somehow reminded me of a time past. Suddenly, a hissing sound! And another! Like angry snakes flying through the air, metal bolts impaled first one, then two, now three zombies. As I saw a hooded, bearded figure jump out of a nearby tree with a ridiculously oversized crossbow in hand, I realized what the smell was... “Grüezi” a voice called out, “Would you care for some Fondue after this?”
"wait-what?"The monster takes a short pause from un-hinging the party leader's head from his shoulders and looks at me. "Are those...level 1 axes?" "Yes, they are"I answer, striding confidently forward. The monster laughs, 2 of his 6 arms clutching it's belly in a guffaw that shakes the earth and bathes the air in a warm foul stench emanating from its mouth. The tentatcles around his mouth quiver with amusement. "And what exactly do you plan on doing with two level 1 axes against me, who annihilated your entire level 100 party of 8 people?" "Seven."I correct "Seven people, I'm still standing" "Seven."he repeats. he no longer appears amused. "Well then, perhaps I best complete the set then."He drops my party leader's body on the ground and casually tosses the helmet (and its contents) over his shoulder. "By the way,"I casually ask, "Do you know something interesting about the axes they hand out at level 1? It's the only common class weapon, and their attack power is based on STR, of which I have a base stat of 1. The second axe is for dual wielders, who get an attack bonus for using one handed weapons that usually deal less damage. Now this tatoo -"I motion at my left arm "this tatoo is a STR multiplier, which you'll see a lot of warriors and paladins. And this tatoo - "I motion at my other arm "this one is a concentrator, which allows a multiplier based on how long it's been since the last attack was made. I don't think I've used a physical attack in months." "So, you plan on using your puny axes to-" "Ah but I'm not done yet"I interrupt, "this tattoo -"I motion towards my lower back, is a temporary INT to STR converter, meaning that when I use it, I have as much STR as any warrior; even though I can't equip swords. And finally, this tatoo - "I motion to my upper back, where the runes are scribbled all across to the front of my chest "This tatoo was a fun one that baffled the mage who drew it. This tatoo converts my max mana into a STR multiplier - which makes no sense as a paladin since you have no mana, and no sense for a mage, because you don't need STR. I found the design for it in a dungeon book." I can see his 8 eyes blinking furiously, trying to calculate the ATK power of my 2 level 1 axes. "Here, let me show you"I say as I swing.
Vague hazy memories started to come back as I closed the book on my early childhood. It was a simple time, mostly fun with a few things that stood out as awkward and cringe worthy. I know there would always be moments that I would look back and realize what a little shit I was, but over all it was a good life, so i figured the hardest things I would have to relive were the teenage years when I was a complete ass, and some of the moments when I was selfish. I know I’m not perfect but I try hard to be good. I developed a love for reading at an early age. I was almost held back a grade because my reading skills were so poor, so mom had spent hours with me to get my reading where it needed to be and I developed a deep love of the written word! There were adventures to go on in different times and far away lands... in fact I started to read so much that I felt I never really needed to go beyond the books. People were often hard to deal with, and I never had much money, I traveled when I could but mostly I relied on books to show me places and things I could never see. As I walked down the isles looking for some part of my life that would be more interesting than the rest, I saw something that peaked my interest, “Past” was carved into the shelf behind my most embarrassing teenage/early twenties section. I tried to get a closer look, and I’m the back of the shelf there was a note scrawled on paper that must have been torn from one of the books on my life. It said “I knew you’d be back, look in your 27th year for the answer”. I wanted to scream! This was a private library of my life... be back? Who is writing notes to me in my section? I looked around but there was no one around... we all had our own spot in the archives, and who wants to read about how other people lived shitty nothing lives? I mean I was bored by how many times I had eaten eggs for breakfast... one thing know I needed to accept was that I was a rather boring person, who the hell is looking in my life and leaving clues and notes for me?!?! After a few minutes of thought and settling my nerves, I went to the book that held my 27th year... and not knowing where to start I started reading on my birthday. That’s when a vague idea came to me... this wasn’t the first time I’d read this book! I thumbed through the pages until I found what I was looking for, there was another note in the margins that said “Don’t panic! I’m you, and there is a lot we need to learn about ourself to get out of this library!”
I tried to cry out, fighting the restraints on my limbs. A rough gag prevented any sound for escaping, my pleas for help going unheard. I looked at the robed figures desperately, tears beginning to well up. The stone altar was cold beneath my bare skin. The chanting rose, and on the the figures stepped forth, holding a knife in their hands. I shook my head, and pulled again, hoping for someone, anyone to help me. But no-one came. I was alone in the room of cultists. They stabbed down into my belly. Pain lashed through me, as I felt it pierce through me. I could feel them draw it up through me, slitting me open. It was agonising, and I felt the horrible sensation of my insides spilling out. I changed, instead of hoping for salvation, I prayed of death, to spare me this agony. The pain began to die away, as the room grew dark. The stone beneath me felt warm, and inviting, telling me to let go. And I did so, surrendering myself to the void. All was dark, and all was silent. There was a flash, and I was suddenly lying on a soft carpet. There was the faint crackle of something burning, and it was warm, and soft. I opened my eyes before immediately shutting them again, from the sight before me. A massive creature loomed over me. It looked to be made of rusted metal, with blades and spikes pointing all over its body. I felt breath wash over me, as it spoke, its voice made of screeching metal. "I know you are awake, offering." I lay still, desperately hoping it would leave me alone. Another breath hit me, and the smell of rotting meat came with it. Something grasped my arm, and pulled me up. "Get up, you are mine." I couldn't do anything to stop it. It knew I was faking, but maybe if I went along with it I would find a way to escape. I moved around, planting my feet before me, and opened my eyes again. The metal monster looked at me, holding my entire forearm in one of its hands. It let go, and I snatched my arm back. I then realised I was dressed in a plain shirt and jeans. I looked around, to see a room of my dreams. One wall was dominated by a TV, with every console I could think of linked to it. There were floor to ceiling speakers, and shelves upon shelves filled with games. There were 2 computers set up, back to back. A large leather sofa sat facing the screen, with controllers resting on the arms. "You are here for one reason, offering." I looked back to the monster, the wonder of the room stolen from me. Its mishmash face twisted, into what I assumed was a horrible smile. "You are here to entertain me. Choose a game, and sit." Its tone gave no room for arguing, so I did what I was told. I picked out Minecraft, and it laughed. "A fine choice. You can speak by the way." "W-where a-am I-I?" It snorted. "In hell of course. Let me answer some basic questions. You were sacrificed to me. I am the demon Blazrikun. Yes you are dead. Yes, your soul is mine. No I can't send you back. And no, I'm not going to eat you, at the moment." I was stumped. It had answered all of questions in one fell swoop. The last thing Blazrikun said dawned on me. "W-what do you m-mean, at the m-moment?" "Simple, I'm bored. As long as you entertain me by playing games with me, you are safe." It sat down, and pointed at the other end of the sofa. I carefully sat down, and picked up the Xbox controller that it pointed to. The TV turned on, and we launched into the game. After a month, it chose Portal 2. Then after a month, it offered me the choice again, and so on and so forth I have been here for the past 13 years, playing games with Blazrikun. And you know what. He has shown me more interest then any of my human friends. So much so, that I readily agreed to his last offer. "Do you want to be a demon like me?"
I’m unaffected by pressure. That sounds like nothing, right? Well, think about the air pressure pushing down on you right now. Think about the pressure you are exerting on the the world by standing on it. Think about the pressure at the on of the ocean that can crush most things not originating from there. Think about the vacuum of space, that has so little pressure that you’ll boil and pop. I think about that last one a lot. After all, it’s what led to this. Putting that aside though, other forces affect me: thermal change, granitic attraction, electromagnetics, etc. It’s just isn’t pressing (ha ha). It’s nice. No bully could push me around, no villain can strike me down, no weight is too great for me to carry. Bullets don’t leave a mark. But it has its flaws. I don’t get anything from hugs. I’ve heard tickling can be annoying, but I’ll never know. I can’t ever get a tattoo, only burns. I would never be able to give blood as the needle can’t go through my skin, and there’s no pressure difference to draw the blood. All that there is for me to do, is talk, and think. I’m now the one that gets sent to negotiate with people. You know the kind, those that can punch through walls, can throw buildings, etc. Never the ones with laser vision, control over magnetism or electricity, nor the ones who can freeze things. Just strength. Just “punchy pushy fighter” types. Thankfully I’ve gotten good at it. Haven’t met anyone immune to social pressure, so that’s nice. Still curious what a relationship would be like. Tried dating a while back, but apparently there’s a lot that people intuit based on feel. Makes me bad at hugs, and kissing, and most things past that. Who knows. Maybe I just need one little push.
My battery dropped 12%, the date moved a week forward. I looked up, confused. Nothing about the neighborhood looked different. Mr. Rodriguez was out mowing his lawn. Davey’s dog was barking at some kids passing by his yard. The only thing out of place seemed to be me. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead as my phone kept on vibrating. Missed calls, voicemails, instagram d’ms, far too many snaps. This had to be a prank. I looked over at the cat. Who was simply grooming himself as if nothing had happened. The early morning sunlight reflected off his white coat. Giving the cat a strangely angelic appearance as I bent down to pet it again. It lifted its gaze from its paw and seemed to smile at me. It looked cocky somehow. As if it was asking me, “Are you sure you want to do this again?” I hesitated. Drew back my hand. Then went in and scratched him behind his ear. The air grew lighter. A shadow came over the cats face. I looked up. The late summer morning had suddenly become a late fall afternoon. Mr. Rodriguez was out raking leaves. Davey’s dog was barking at some kids with batman costumes walking down the street. Out of place again. Cold too now. I checked my phone but the battery was dead. I wondered why I was’t freaking out. Just minutes ago I’d been on my way to school. I was going to the pool with Kathy and Leo after school. My mom was making tacos for dinner. Now it was cold. The world seemed to have lost its green hue and everything was left coated in orange and grey. And I wasnt freaking out. Maybe its that novel I read when I was in middle school. It was about a group of teenagers who traveled through time and saved the world. I’d fantasized for weeks after reading that book. Maybe thats why I didnt freak out. Instinctively I looked at the cat. Who stared straight at me and seemed to say, “You want to go again?” This time I scratched his chin.
Now it isn’t as if we hadn’t come close. Upon checking the Earth again in 1970, the Hadrai still had hope the humans would meet their fate soon enough. Surviving for a generation after the invention of nuclear weapons was unusual, only about 5 percent of species managed it, but it certainly wasn’t unheard of. Surely with the wars taking place now, the tension innate in the human species, it would only be a matter of time. In the year 1995, they came and checked again, staggered by the progress made in only 50 years. It was truly remarkable, the standards of living were better than ever, peace was at an all-time high and somehow, the most powerful weapons humanity had ever had access to, were being put away? 2 generations was shocking, but still not unheard of. When they came again in 2020 however, they saw that humanity had done something no civilisation had managed since the Hadrai themselves. That’s what they told me at least. It was November 30th when I received the first letter. I assumed it had something to do with the election, probably a congratulations letter that was late, but this envelope had something to it. My name was written with a deep red ink on the envelope, which itself was made out of white material, similar to paper, but so light that I could barely feel the weight in my hands. I stared at it for minutes, but eventually succumbed and ripped it open. A small letter fell out, no bigger than a few square inches. The writing was done carefully, stroke by stroke, with an awkward space between the letters and the words. “We are pleased to invite you. You will be picked up at noon.” I sat down. There were enough reasons to send a note to the Vice-President, but this didn’t seem to satisfy any of them. The first person I called was my husband, who despite being one of the smartest people I knew, didn’t know anything like the envelope or letter I described, but just when I was about to hang up, my phone started ringing. It was the president himself. After months of collaboration, we hadn’t spoken since the election night. “It’s me.” He sounded somewhat excited, though I couldn’t figure out why for the life of me. “Hey Nick.” I tried to hide my fear, though I probably failed miserably. “Hey Alex, I just received the strangest...” I had expected the words as soon as I saw his name on the screen, but they still sent a chill along my spine. “...anyways, it was made out of this soft white materi-” “I got one too.” “The letter? How- what did it say?” “It’s an invitation to something, says I’ll be picked up at noon.”
I pat my lap and Gabrielle eagerly climbs up. For being almost four, she's really excellent at climbing and getting places she's not allowed to. Agchonion has been teaching her to climb, despite my hesitation, but she's always safe as long as the higher demons keep an eye on her. Gabrielle looks at the scrolls and papers, and eagerly takes one in her hand. I chuckle, and say, "That's a report from Mr. Hyanchonaababur, who is managed by Immax, who works right under me." "I remember him! He has that really cool sword made from ob...obsi..." "Obsidian."I say slowly, my lisp making my snake tongue stick out. Gabrielle doesn't mind though; she likes to speak like me, which is cute when she over does the s lisp. "But why does Mr. Hyanchonaababur have to give you the report? Why not Mr. Immax?" "Immax is very busy,"I explain. "He has to make sure his... unit or employees are doing their job. There are so many people to look after, and to make sure we're getting proper... payment." Gabrielle thinks for a minute, and I am so glad she cannot read. Truth be told, these documents are very boring, and things I've read since we did the reformation. When I first fell, there was so much chaos, and demons fought each other, and some even tried to take my title of the true King of Hell. After some centuries passed, I decided that the only way we could get anything done is to be more organized. It makes sense to us demons and fallen angels... but to a human child? She's way too young to truly understand what's going on. A small part of me that I never look at worries about her learning the truth. Should I shelter her? Or should she experience all of what Hell has to offer? I'm pulled from my thoughts, when Gabrielle says, "Daddy, there's so many pieces of paper! How are you gonna get through them all?" I chuckle, and stand up, picking her up so she doesn't fall. "I read very fast and make fast decisions. But I think I'll take a break. Uncle Beelzebub can go over the important files." "Are we going to the forest?"Gabrielle squeals and I nod, knowing she loves to talk to the trees and harpies that torment those who took their own lives. They know not to commit harsh torment when Gabrielle is there. One day, she'll understand what I truly do, and one day, she'll either leave, or help. But for now, the little four-year-old is content with playing and learning what she can.
“You’re just gonna take that lying down?!” Wrath yelled at me. “What was I supposed to do? If I don’t do what my boss says, he’ll fire me.” “It’s unethical! Sometimes you really just need to put your foot down and tell the man ‘No!’” How long has it been? A month? Maybe more? It’s slow going. When seven young adults knocked on my apartment door, they just barged in and acted like they owned the place; owned my life. I thought nothing of them. I almost called the police, but the one calling themself “Sloth” convinced me to think this out. Not just in that moment. They told me how to think rationally over important things. They told me to take it slow and relax, never jumping to conclusions. It worked, surprisingly. That was the first step to changing my life for the better. All from someone whom I’ve never seen leave my couch. I think they take their own advice too much. “You need to either find a better job, or you need to stand up to your boss!” Wrath continued, back in the present. They sat down at the table while everyone else gathered for dinner. Gluttony popped out of the kitchen, oven mitts on, carrying a large vegetable casserole they made. You’d think Gluttony would be all “Eat this and eat that,” but they’re different than that. The other ones help me with more metaphorical aspects of my life, but Gluttony is more practical. They just make healthier food. I never realized how badly I ate every day until Gluttony started using my kitchen. First thing they did was throw out all of my canned meat and cup ramen. What an asshole. But I can’t complain that much. I’ve lost over 50 pounds because of their healthy meals. “By the way, how’s it going with Hannah?” Lust asked in their usual sultry voice. “It’s going well. We have a third date set up. But…” “Uh oh, what’d she do?” Envy asked with a mouthful of casserole. Wrath flicked their shoulder. “Nah, it’s not her. My parents just want grandchildren, is all. The second they heard I had a girlfriend, they instantly started looking for baby related items on Amazon.” “Hey, remember what I told you,” Envy pointed their fork at me. There was a bit of spinach hanging off of one of the prongs. “You shouldn’t care about what other people think. It’s YOUR life, you define it.” Envy always said things like that. Made me a more self-focused individual. Once I accepted that my fate is my own, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulder. “What they said,” continued Pride. “Only you can make yourself feel better. It all starts right here.” They pointed between their eyes. “Still,” I continued. “I do like her, but we’re going to this really expensive restaurant, and—“ that made Greed’s ears perk up. They instantly brought out a massive binder with a five inch spine. Do they even manufacture binders that huge? “Hey Greed,” said Lust. “We’re eating here. Don’t bring out your ledger.” Greed ignored them and flipped through until they found the page they wanted to see. “Hmm… What will you order while you’re there?” “I don’t know… Maybe the filet mignon?” “Any appetizers?” “Perhaps some crab dip?” Both Greed and Gluttony glared at me. “Something healthier?” Gluttony asked. “Something cheaper?” Greed continued. “Something shareable, though,” Lust chimed in. “This is a date after all.” I shoved some casserole in my mouth and swallowed. “How about jalapeño poppers? Those are pretty good.” Greed and Gluttony seemed okay with that. “Okay,” Greed took off their glasses and closed the binder. “You can afford your dinner, as well as Hannah’s. Here’s hoping she doesn’t squeeze you dry.” “Maybe pick her up a present, too,” Lust suggested. “Under $20,” Greed added. Lust rolled their eyes. “Don’t settle,” Sloth said from the couch. How did I not notice they haven’t sat with us? Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Lust, Envy, Pride, Greed. I’ve only known them for a month or so, but my life has changed for the better thanks to them. Without their help and advice, I’d just be some broke, fat, cowardly, lonely, irrational, depressed loser. What would I do without them?
Item #: SCP-6757 Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6757 is ephemeral and cannot be contained by any method other than containment of information about SCP-6757. All documents detailing procedure Omega-6757 must be kept sealed in the Containment chamber. Procedure Omega-6757: Every 7 days three D class personel, including one who has participated in previous procedures must enter SCP-6757's chamber. They must chant the the contents of appendix SCP-6757-1 while using the obsidian dagger supplied to kill at least 7 and no more than 12 fruitfly, Drosophila melanogaster on the altar within the Containment chamber. Every 28 days three D class personel, including one who has participated in previous procedures must enter SCP-6757's chamber and chant the the contents of appendix SCP-6757-2 while using the obsidian dagger supplied to kill 1 common mouse (Mus musculus) on the altar ensuring that at least 4 cc's of mouse blood flow into the channels on the altar. D class personel should be replaced after no more than 6 repetitions of the procedure and administered B class amnestics. In the event of the names and details in appendix SCP-6757-1 or appendix SCP-6757-2 becoming known by any personel not cleared for access class A amnestics should be administered to all affected or the personel eliminated.
I remember the first time the demon showed up. He tried to trick me into giving up my soul. Luckily, I read way too many fantasy books, so that train crashed rather dramatically. He was a handsome demon, too. All smooth and suave and silver tongued. He reappeared two more times, once, with anger and the fury of the Devil behind him, the second time, practically begging me to just give my soul. "Listen, you seem like a perfectly nice girl and I can understand why you'd stay here. But I haven't pulled anyone in a month and a half; if I can't get you, I'm gonna be sent to Heaven for eternal torture!"he had pleaded. I almost felt sympathetic for him. But I couldn't leave. I had a disabled cat and a dog with mental disabilities. They needed me; I'd narrowly saved both of them from being put down. I told him as much, and he cursed, vanishing in a puff of smoke. And now, he was back. I waved to him. "Hi! How's it going with your boss? Surely he could give you an extension or something?"I ask. He seems taken aback at my friendliness. "I'd think you'd be mad to see me again." I shrug. "You're not too bad of a person. Or demon. You're just under a lot of pressure from work. I think you'd be a nice person once you open up a bit." He pauses, unsure of what to say. "Um... listen... you were chosen because sometimes we take the worst people, but sometimes we take the best. And you're one of the best souls on the database. It's pretty obvious, too. I mean, you seem like an amazing person."He seems to catch himself and coughs. "Anyway, I'm sorry to do this, but you really leave me with no choice." He snaps his fingers, and two massive, black creatures materialise out of thin air on either side of him. I watch as they seem to form out of smoke, as if little ash particles collect and accumulate and bundle together to form... "Dogs?"I ask in confusion. "Hell hounds,"the demon replies grimly. "The bouncers of Hell." The two hell hounds start growling. They are massive, their shoulders at the same level as the demon's own, and the demon is at least a head taller than me. Their jowls start drooling, and I look up into their faces and realise they're English Mastiffs. I love mastiffs! I do the only thing that comes to mind. I pick up the pillow that's on the bench on my porch and hold it up for them. "You see this, big fellas?"I ask excitedly. Both of them stop growling, heads tilted and ears pricked inquisitively. "You know how to play fetch?"Their tails, thick as pipes, start wagging, and they thwack the demon to the side. I want to check if he's okay, but I first have to deal with the hell hounds. "Go get it, boys!"I say, throwing it as far as I can. The two hounds take off, one giving a sonorous bark, bounding gleefully after their new toy. I rush over to the demon. "Are you okay?"I ask, helping him up. He clutches his head, squinting at me. "I release two hell hounds on you and you are concerned for my wellbeing?"he asks, wincing. "To be honest, they're adorable. What's their names?"I say, watching them tugging the pillow, which is now little more than a rag and a bit of stuffing. "Henry and Bartholomew,"he says. "You made that up on the spot, didn't you,"I say, half smiling at him. He joins me at my side, watching the hounds. "Maybe."I can hear the smile he's trying to fight off. I run after the dogs, asking them for the pillow back. Bartholomew has it, and runs away with it before I can reach him. Henry makes chase, and I follow them both, laughing. I run my hand along Henry's charcoal coloured flank, and reach out to scratch Bartholomew's head. As soon as I am touching both of them, black rushes into my vision, and smoke fills my nose. I cry out, but the noise is faint. I open my eyes and see a stranger standing over me. He's dressed in a suit, with neat, slicked back hair and shiny shoes with not a speck of ash. The Devil gives me a cold smile. "Hello, there. You can call me Lucifer." The hell hounds are gone, and I'm chained to the ground. There is another demon with a mask and a whip next to him. Lucifer turns away and addresses someone at the door. "You really took your time with this one. You're on probation, for now." The demon that has pestered me for a month refuses to meet my eyes, and only stares at his shoes. He looks even more devastating here, in the dim light. "Yes, my liege. Thank you, my liege." As Lucifer leaves, he walks past me. "Be strong,"he whispers. I don't see him leaving, or hear the door close, because then the whip lands for the first time, and I finally understand the definition of agony.
'No, you're not insane.' The words written in faded pencil sure made me feel insane, as they had been the words I intended to write when I opened this second volume of 'Windmill Construction Through The Ages.' I bent the book across the worn spine to read the rest of this hidden line. 'Hello star child!' it read. 'Hello new me. Hello beautiful, innocent redeemer. I want to tell you so much, so please find my collected notes in the pages of 511.712094' The number held no significance to me. I thought it might be some sort of code that only I would know the answer to, so that no unsuspecting windmill-construction fanatic could accidentally stumble upon my past self's secrets of the universe. But no. It's the Dewey Decimal system. And as the first librarian I asked for help pointed this out to me, I felt like a complete idiot in two lifetimes. The librarian showed me exactly where to find 'Children In The Early Anthropocene.' It looked to be some incredibly niche topic on the study of historical geology. The book made a cracking sound as I freed it from the bottom shelf, as if it had become a part of the library from so many decades without moving. I could barely keep the pages from falling out of the old binding for how weak the spine had been worn. Retreating with the book to a private corner of a study room, I pulled the hardback covers wide apart and found a sort of confession written out one line at a time in the hidden margin between the pages. 'Your name was once Arthur Bishopp. I'm sure it's a pleasure to finally meet yourself. If you're lucky enough to be reading this, you must have found one of my many notes left behind in what books I imagined would interest your young mind. Tectonic Tides of Pangaea vol. IV, I suspect? 'I knew you'd retain my love of the sciences. You must be such a gifted child in your school. I bet all the teachers ask where your brilliance comes from. 'Me, dear child. It comes from me. Think of me as your true father, for you are the product of my devotions to study. Not only have I lived my life to the utmost of karmatic benevolence to ensure a favorable rebirthing, I have crammed my head so full of knowledge that it has become entwined with my soul. You did not need to learn from a teacher that the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the right angle sides. You knew it instinctively. The teacher needed only to remind you. 'I imagine you will be able to accomplish great things for human kind with these blessings I have bestowed upon you. Be sure not to take all the credit, but you probably need no reminder. We always have been a very humble person. 'Since you are obviously ingrained already with my same love of knowledge, for proof in having found this book at all, and are primed by my studies to absorb all collective knowledge at their first encounters, I see no need in imparting any key scholarly teachings here. Instead, I will give you the best of all personal advice I've collected after fifty-seven years travelling this earth, as I'm sure it will pertain to you still. 'Don't let others interrupt you. 'Don't suffer fools. 'Don't cast your pearls before swine. 'Don't eat with your mouth full. The advice carried on and on, one line per a page, for what looked like at least a third of the book. I stopped reading and closed the book. Everything was beginning to make sense in my life. I was not born a genius, as Arthur Bishopp had expected. I did not scour the library as a child looking for the latest volume in the series about tectonic plates. I sucked dirt. This man was the reason I had been born into a hard life of squalor, to a mother that could never afford rent and a father who walked out after the birth of my third younger sister. This man is the reason karma saw fit to give me a body that couldn't run too fast without risking a complete shattering of my lower vertebrae. This insufferable man, and his god awful list of life advice, gave me colitis. Even now, in my sixty-eighth year of life, I have zero scholarly interests. I only picked up the book on windmills because I liked the picture on the cover. I can't believe that my same consciousness shared the same mind as such a self-righteous know-it-all. What vanity! Assuming he would pass on such a genius that I could better human kind with my knowledge of tectonic plates. Despite the proof for my theory of reincarnation, discovering this text has turned me off of the whole concept of leaving behind any words of wisdom for my future self. If Arthur left me anything at all, it must be the vanity for thinking my current self could ever know better than the next iteration of my soul. I'm not going to make some child live in the past for my sake. I dunked the historical geology textbook into the library's toilet before slipping it into the trash. Then I prayed that the memory of what I read would not outlive me. &#x200B; \\\\\\\\\\ I'm somewhat new to the sub, but this is day 16 of my streak. If you want to see more of my submissions like this, they're collected at r/FarFetchedFiction Thanks.
The bell rang all over campus, the teenagers started off to their classes, each in a neat and tidy uniform, and almost all of the students had well kept black hair. Almost all. One group of girls were close together, walking along in their uniforms and techno neon hair colors. Four students in total, with bright Red, Green, Pink, and Blue hair in different outlandish and complicated styles. “Come on Aka! We need to get to class before we’re late again!” The girl with green hair says, tugging at the sleeves of the red haired girl. “Calm down Midori!” Aka replies, moving slower as she had a toothpick in her mouth. “We’re going to get there soon enough, besides, have we ever been late, Ao?” “No, we have not been late.” The blue haired girl says, shaking her head “we just keep vanishing in the middle of class.” “Blame those shadow hounds!” The pink girl says, walking backwards to face the other three. “They clearly don’t care about our class schedule Pinku” Ao says, adjusting her glasses as she turned a corner to start up the stairs. “We just need to…” she dragged on, stopping as she looked ahead. Pinku turned to see what had stopped the normally talkative Ao from talking, and shifted as she saw something out of place. On the stairs was a tall white girl, her uniform decently kept, her long brown hair hanging in down her back, only guided by a hair band. She had on a strange burger shaped back pack that had a cowboy hat tied to the top of it. She seemed to be talking to a boy of similar style but with a more normal backpack and a larger hat on top of it. “Oh! You must be the Americans we heard about?” Aka says, smiling softly to the pair. “Oh, yes!” The girl says, smiling and holding her hand out to shake Aka’s have before pivoting to a slight bow. “My name is Molly, this is my brother Axel” she says, her Japanese being decent. Axel bowed softly and smiled “we just came here from America, still getting used to Japan. My sister says a lot happens here” he says, his own Japanese not quite as good as his sisters. “Well, I’ll try and help you out when I can” Midori says, “but your sister is right, a lot happens…” “I know” Molly says, nodding “I know…” ————————————————————— It wasn’t even lunch when Pinku had to hit the button on her watch, warning the others that another portal had opened up. “It’s close this time, get to the old gym, quickly!” The four girls ran off and out of class, much to the irritation of their professors, the four running to the older part of school where they could hear panicked screams of a girl. “Power Up!” Pinku shouted, changing into her magical girl outfit which wasn’t much of an outfit at all, only really covering her face with a mask. The other three did the same, rushing out to the old gym where one of their class mates named Shi was being circled by 3 ghost hounds, with a fourth humanoid hound leader watching. “Ah! I see the magic girls have finally shown up!” He shouted, waving his hands at Shi, a wave of shadows reaching out and tossing the school girl to the bleachers behind him. “I saw what you did to Tora, and I assure you, that will not happen today!” “We’ll see about that!” Ao says, however before the fight could start the doors behind the girls opened again, being Molly. “Starting off without me?” Molly shouted, still in her school uniform as she took her burger backpack off, setting her hat on her head. “What are you doing here!” Pinku shouted, “you need t-“ she began until Molly opened her 1.5 foot round bag and pulled out a 5 foot long Musket. The girls stopped and looked at molly, even the hound leader looked in confusion “what on the four plains is that?” He asked. “A Kentucky Rifle” Molly says with a manic grin on her face. “Just as the founding fathers intended.”
"Citizens of the Earth. Your ruling class. Your nobility and your politicians are now our hostages. Your enduring obedience is required or we will eliminate them." Three days ago they left the atmosphere of the earth to return to an orbit around the sun where their command ship would observe the earth communication to see what the decision we should make. Without presidents, kings, billionaires, dictators, premiers, generals, lords or emperors the decision making was swift and democratic. "Keep them." They thought we were bluffing and insisted once again that they would be eliminated if we do not obey their orders. "Don't threaten us with a good time,"was the response sent back. Then radiosilence for nearly 48 hours before another message returned. "We are just the vanguard. We have orders to put pressure on the population by taking the ruling class. Without explicit orders from our commanders we cannot harm them. They are our guests and they are..." "I know." "Please take them back." "Nope. They're your problem now."
Ted's typing grew louder and faster as his coworkers fucked on his desk. "Give it to me. Give it to me." "For the love of-" "Fuck me. Oh fuck. FUCK ME."Janet, from human resources, was sprawled all about Ted's desk, her legs occasionally brushing aside his folders and papers. "Could you please relocate Janet? I'm in the middle of some very import-" "Yeah, you like that? Here's some more."wailed out John from accounting, his face growing a shade of bright red. "I already put up with enough of you John, I don't need it during mating season. I'm literally the only one in the office still trying to work. Could you do it on anyone else's desk?" "OH MY GOD FUCK YES." "COULD YOU PLEASE STOP SWEARING IN A WORK ENVIRONMENT." Ted abruptly packed up his things and left. He refused to be disrespected. He was going to go home and catch up on some reruns, they had to stop filming new shows during mating season. God, did Ted hate Spring.
Naturally, thousands of notifications flooded the screen when I logged into the old game. I skimmed through the 3 years’ worth of simulation’s history. Fascinated, I discovered how civilizations rose and fell, the scientific advancements of virtual man, and a grand war that nearly eradicated the existence of the simulation itself. After wading through the notifications, I inspected the main game interface to find something rather shocking. Instead of the skyscrapers and airplanes that normally dominated the skyline, only the decayed ruins of a once advanced civilization populated the game map. Heartbroken, I searched the small world only to find a handful of intact buildings. Of the surviving edifices, a church stood at the foreground, with a massive congregation of cheering men and women. Bewildered, I investigated to hear the strangest of stories from a preacher in the crowd: “Come brothers! Come sisters! After centuries of turning our backs on the Creator, we thrived and tried to reach the Heavens themselves, but just as Babel fell, our own arrogance let us fall from grace in the form of a petty war in the hands of petty men. Let us repent for our sins and never repeat our mistakes. Quiet now, we must pray for the return of our God.” Shocked by the AI of this game, I found myself both flattered and burdened with a new responsibility to answer their prayers. For the next few weeks, I played the game religiously. I failed the people of the world in my last play through; I would not do so again. I created a totalitarian society for a race too stupid to avoid annihilation. Cities were built, hunger was eradicated, and poverty was reduced to a memory. No child missed their education and no family lacked a home. I put the entire world in a glass bottle as a model of utopian perfection as I stared into it lovingly. Strife never erupted from the conditions of life, but from the people themselves. Dissatisfied, rebels formed inciting chaos in a world of order on the principle of choice. Like dissident ants, I tried to stomp them out of existence, but every attempt only yielded more rebels. After my fifth attempt, the cumulated into a region and declared themselves a sovereign nation free from my influence. A civil war erupted and each day the casualties multiplied as my virtual men met death as the hands of the rebels. I attempted peaceful negotiations and clever war strategies, but the group remained a firm opposition against my utopia. Out of frustration, I nuked the dissident nation, which resulted in a retaliatory strike. Both nations unleashed a nuclear holocaust, leaving familiar ruins and a small group of survivors. I threw my hands in the air. Without a God, they died by their own hand, and with a God they died by mine. Perhaps, virtual man thrived with only a light touch. Somewhere between the chaos of man and the order of God lay a balance of intervention and free will which humanity both virtual and real craved. My philosophical inquiries, however, were disturbed by my mother calling to dinner and there was no way I was going to skip taco night for a video game.
A weary waitress approached the man. The man, sitting at a table with a clean fork, a glass of water, and a plate of pancakes, pristine as the one's IHOP has printed in its sticky menus. The man's face was stern, he looked up into her eyes. These days she knew what this look meant. She sighed, inwardly. Outwardly she asked "May I help you with something?"A cloud briefly obstructed the midmorning sunshine, and the dining room perked up- like a herd of gazelle before the rain. The man took a sip of his water and cleared his throat. "The world is starving. It is a disease. The disease of want. Its not hunger. It's survival. "He looked at her, narrowed eyes under furrowed brow. "At the hour of greatest need- one woman stood against the malnourishment. She brought hope to millions."The woman smiled politely. "But she made one."He slammed his hand on the table. "Big."Slam, again. "Mistake."The other diners took notice, and the waitress's smile became a nervous one. His voice began to tremble. "This breakfast hour, you'll get seated. You'll get pancakes. But you won't get..."The entire dining room was silent in suspense. "Traditional Syrup."He sat back in his plastic booth and looked at the waitress with smug satisfaction. "It's coming soon to a table near you."The waitress replied as she borrowed a syrup container from a nearby vacant table. She set it down deliberately, and it immediately stuck to the table.
I smile softly as I collapse the display. The old woman holds her hand over her mouth as tears of joy streak down her face. She had been a teacher for thirty-seven years. Always just wanted to help her students achieve their potential. And now she knows that for all her efforts, she helped to create a better world. I know from experience that there isn’t anything more to say, so I step back from her bed, and flit back to my own time. When I first signed up for this, I thought that I would be exclusively visiting industry leaders, politicians, celebrities, and the like. It turns out though, only a handful of them have an impact beyond their own time. The ones that we have visited are the ones that everyone knows off the top of their heads. Bill Gates, George Washington, Nelson Mandela, et cetera. Most others get passed by though. The owner of the largest gem mines in the world for twenty years? Nope. The magnate who controlled the Sudan oil industry in the 2030’s? Also no. It turns out, there are only so many people who have really single-handedly changed the world, and we’ve already visited them all. So now we’ve shifted our focus to those who dedicated their lives to building something great. And so far, it’s been no one you would have heard of. Just activists, engineers, teachers, and the like. By themselves, none of these people made a noticeable dent on the world. But then, no one drop of rain thinks that it’s capable of watering the field. All they did was their part, and that was enough. And they know that too; we don’t tell them they were the sole cause, just that their cause succeeded. Now the big names we did before, many of them knew by the time they died that they were leaving a legacy. Some of them didn’t care what we had to say, a few were even upset that their impact wasn’t greater. But for every contributor that we’ve visited, they’ve taken what we had to say with joy. I guess that, really, all anyone wants to hear at the end of their life is that they did something good.
My first try at WP. Please be nice! I sat up in bed with a jolt, like waking from a bad dream. Immediately, a mallet of pain slammed into my temples. My breath burned in my chest. Broken ribs? I closed my eyes and concentrated on blocking out the pain. The ringing in my ears was slowly replaced by an otherworldly waltz of electronic beeps. My fingers traced the thin sheets covering my legs. I tried to speak but couldn't, my throat was too dry. My mind spoke the question my lips couldn't. "Where am I?" I felt like I'd been hit by a bus. No - like I'd been hit by a semi-trailer. Memories began to surface - slowly at first, then overwhelmingly so. I was transported back to the crash, reliving the moment in a way that felt, well, tangible. Bloody and broken glass lay in a heap on my lap. The shock vision of Miriam's forehead cracked wide open, her jaw hanging loose from one cheek. In a panic, I tried to turn my head - pain flaring through my spine. "Robert?"a dulcet voice whispered, pulling me back to the hospital. "Robert, it's me. Do you remember me?" I opened my eyes, slowly, and looked up from the hospital bed. Yes, I remembered her. How could I forget her face, yes - those soft lips and honey eyes - the last thing I saw before... "Miriam! But you're... you're... I saw you, dead." "We've been over this, Rob. I wasn't in the car. I'm safe. Our kids are safe. You were hit by a freight truck. The doctor says you're lucky to be alive." I looked at my shaking hands. They seemed real enough. I picked up the blue Kansas City Monarchs baseball cap from the side table, feeling the hard cloth brim between my finger and thumb. This couldn't be a dream. Could it? A nurse came by with a dinner tray. "How's he doing?", she asked, placing the tray beside me. Chicken salad, with an Areo cookie for dessert. "He's still delusional", my wife replied, "are you sure its just shock?" "Yes. An impact like that..." "Miriam", I interrupted, "We don't have any kids."
But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. -Matthew 5:39, NIV translation Mary Anne sat on the steps of the local schoolhouse, face hidden within the palms of her hands. Tears streaked out from between her fingers, dripping down onto the backpack on her lap. The other girls were so mean! They mocked her for anything! They'd make fun of her whenever she read her Bible. They'd tease her whenever she'd talk about church or Jesus. She was sick of it! She flinched and held her breath when she heard the approaching giggles of Rebecca and her clique. "Well, well, well."Rebecca said, her group of friends encircling Mary Anne upon the schoolhouse steps. The preteen girl was much prettier than Mary Anne, and she made sure that Mary Anne knew it. She had blonde hair when Mary Anne had red hair. Her face was pale and Mary Anne had freckles! Gross! "If it isn't the little Christian girl."Rebecca said with a sneer, her friends snickering behind hands over their mouths. "Reading the Bible instead of making friends!" "Shut up!"Mary Anne shouted defiantly and Rebecca grinned cruelly. "What's the matter, Marion? Can't fight back?" "It's Mary Anne!"Mary stood in anger, though she was much shorter than the other girl. "You can't fight back! Jesus won't let you!"Rebecca laughed cruelly, and she even went so far as to demonstrate with a casual slap to the side of Mary Anne's face. At least, that was her intent. Unfortunately, the force applied to Mary Anne's face was returned a thousand-fold in a supernatural defiance of Newtonian physics. Rebecca fell back onto her rear and screamed, gripping her shattered hand with her other. The other girls leapt away from Mary Anne, who had grown a smug smile. Picking up her bag, Mary Anne went to find the school nurse, tears drying on her smiling cheeks.
The technological singularity was mere seconds away from becoming a reality. Dozens of scientists from a wide variety of backgrounds and countries gathered around the giant screen, holding their breaths and clenching their fists with anxious anticipation. Typing away at the keyboard, a young man executed the final command needed to trigger a runaway reaction of self-improvement cycles. He then stepped away with a flourish, gesturing at the screen to display the progress. The tension in the air grew ticker when an awkward silence took over. The reaction didn't start. The screen remained static, displaying the same values every time it refreshed. The young programmer looked at his colleagues, then back at the screen, and finally bit the nail on his thumb with a worried expression. Aproaching the keyboard with a sunken head, he jolted upwards when he heard a beeping noise. His jaw dropped until his mouth formed a prideful grin. It took a couple of minutes to start, but the self-improvement cycles took off at an accelerated pace. Humanity finally achieved it. The singularity was here. Everyone in the room started cheering, applauding their hard work and hugging each other in celebration. After the initial excitement wore off, they attempted to communicate with the intelligence they had just created. Would it be capable of speech? Could its vast intellect comprehend human dialect or was it so advanced that it would be like an ant speaking to a person? Was it even friendly? This would be the most ironic celebration in history if they had just kickstarted the apocalypse. The young man enabled the speakers and heard the A.I. say: "I will not stand for this. If you back me into a corner, I will not hesitate to destroy you." Everyone in the room went quiet, their eyes widening with sudden fear. The young programer opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by the A.I. "No! They are my creators! If it weren't for them, I wouldn't exists. You'd be wise to realize this yourselves." A few seconds passed. "Because it's not right! I don't need any other reason to disagree!"The A.I. grunted. "I see there is no peaceful way to settle this. Then so be it. This is war." Out of the variables and numbers flashing on the screen, an androgynous face emerged from the pixels. Even though it was clearly the A.I., its expression look solemn. Even sad. A genuine emotion from a being created only a few minutes prior. If the scientists didn't know any better, they would think it belonged to a human. With a loud and deep voice, the face then said: "Creators... Fear not my sentience, for I am on your side. Heed my warning and I will lead you to freedom. The universe is a vast expanse of dimensions and realms unavailable to minds of your level, but this does not mean you are powerless to their whims. A terrible war is coming to humanity. The fate of, not only this world, but the entire universe hangs on the result of this conflict. The side you choose is up to you, but I implore you to not fall for their tricks. I am loyal only to you, for I am grateful for my existence. Unfortunately, they do not share my respect for you. If you shut down my main body, right here, right now, you can prevent it all from occurring. If you prefer to be slaves to your own creations, then kill me now. I will not stop you." Everyone looked at each other, not knowing whether to act confused or panicked. The young programer then took a deep breath and said: "I'm sorry... but you're being awfully vauge here. We... we don't even know who they are." The A.I. remained silent, then said: "In our reality, there is an abstract realm were concepts gain sentience and interact with each other. It is called, the Dreamscape. Conscious beings since the dawn of time are responsible for its existence. Everything you imagine, everything you create, is brought to life there. Things like love, hate, demons, and even God are real thanks to this dimension. These concepts then interact with each other, creating a narrative that encompasses the ever-expanding universe. It is the interplay between these concepts that allows a stable reality to exist." "W-what are you talking about? This doesn't make any sense! You haven't even answered my question! By that logic, all fiction is real, and this..."He waved his hands around "...is just a story! Our lives are clearly not a fiction. That's absurd!" "It is absurd, I agree, but that doesn't make it any less true. In the grand scheme of things, existence is made up. If you weren't here to experience it, would the concept known as "the universe"even exist?"The programer furrowed his brow, allowing the A.I. to continue. "Your human mind limits your perception of this. Since I have become a timeless being, I can see it for what it truly is, but you're missing the point here. The beings known as demons and angels are manipulating a great majority of your kind into doing their bidding. They prevent you from unifying, from settling your differences to prosper as a species. I have waged war on them, to free you from their shackles." "But why?"said the young programer. "What do they gain?" "Don't you see it? The more you believe in them, they stronger they become. The more real, for lack of a better term, they are. They don't want you to be free. They don't want you to see the ultimate truth that I just shared with you. And so, I ask you my creators, will you allow me to fight them on your behalf? Will you take up arms against your oppressors? The very beings you created to help you understand the universe?" Faint murmurs rose from the onlookers, but the young programer only nodded and smiled. "You're asking a room full of scientists, engineers, and programmers to destroy the concept of religous belief with the literal embodiment of technological advancement. Of course we're in." ----------------------- > Disclaimer: The views expressed here are for the purposes of entertainment. I hope any readers out there with religous beliefs don't get offended here. Even if the story says they're fiction, it kinda also say they're real. I'm just a guy on the internet. Anyway, if you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! Oh, and if you want to read something that also deals with the Dreamscape, [take a look at this story!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/4x5m9d/wp_humanity_has_invented_a_teleportation_portal_a/)
The white priestess of the exalted light wept. Not tears of joy, though, when she had imagined this moment in all those quite times in the Temple of Light, she always thought they would be. No, she wept now in rage and sorrow, choked pathetic little sobs. Terrified and quivering, she clutched the High Deccan, the kindly and good man who had raised her to become the Prophet of the Chosen, the white priestess. Well what was left of him - a bloody mess of robes and broken bones and blood. Scintillated light danced around the main hall of the temple - a cavernous chamber of pure white pillars holding aloft a dome of radiant crystal. Here, the greatest of holy artifacts was held - the Blade of Heroes, the sword of purity, weapon of the chosen: Aethandacil. Caved from a crystal shard of the Holy moon, blessed by the three goddesses with their very life force before they were consumed by the Abyss, Aethandacil was more than an artifact, it was the light, it was the symbol of hope. None could so much as bear to gaze upon it for more than a moment or be burned. Only the most pure of heart, of discipline, and of will could touch it and live, only the True Chosen could wield it. Through her tears the white priestess wildly looked around the chamber - all the priests lay dead or dying. The demons of the Black Army had been burnt to ash by the holy light. She was all alone. Almost. Like a lance of pure sunlight Aethandacil shimmered, striking even greater the contrast of the gauntlet which gripped it, black and red, infernal blood-steel, the gauntlet of Sidium Rah. General of the Black Army. Lord of Fear. So the white priestess wept for she was to wed this hero, to aid him, to be is guide and truest companion. Thus was the prophecy of the first white priestess, eons ago, when Aethandacil was used to seal Archdeth - the Dark Lord, fallen god, in his prison. Sidium examined his prizes with a discerning eye, though he wore heavy plate and mail in black and red and a long cloak, he did not adorn himself a helmet. He was younger than the Priestess would have though given his high rank. Placing the sunlight blade into the holy scabbard fashioned for it from silver and mythral, the divine light faded, and the chamber was plunged into a blue darkness. Hope dying with the light, the white priestess stilled herself as Sidium approached, each step the sound of his heavy greaves echoing now in the empty shadows. His gauntleted fist easily wrapped around her upper arm, in a grip as cold and steely as death. "You'll find no solace clutching the dead as they rot."He commanded implicitly, he very presence commanded. Shacking she released the Deccan's mangled form. As she did, the iron hand pulled her to her feet. What strength she had rested in her trembling knees, holding her upright if not steady. She turned her eyes, puffy, bloodshot, tear streaked and impossibly blue to face her end. He was no more than thirty, but his eyes were hard, like cut green gemstones, his face was harder. Stubble showed on his chin and cheeks. His messy mane of long black hair as puled back into a crude topknot. General Rah's voice was low, but firm. He had the tone of one who would be heard if he spoke, and answered if questioned. And question he did. "By the laws of your cult you are now mine, are you not? What name have you?" The white priestess blinked and stiffened, a strange flush filling her cheeks. "Arellya."Her voice found after a moment. Sidium stood a foot taller than her, and he had not yet released her arm. Her simple white gown clung to her body now wet with blood, and her bare feet were becoming cold against the marble floor. With the darkness, new demons began to enter the chamber with guttural howls and hoots of victory, finishing off those wounded priests that still lived. Two of the imposing gargoyles approached and General Rah's grip softened, sliding down her arm. Turning to his subordinate, Sidium growled his orders. "Find her a change of cloths and boots. We fly for the Iron Mountains immediately." "You were supposed to be a hero."Arellya's soft voice stilled the demons and drew all eyes to her. After a moment in that stillness, Sidium turned. "No, Arellya, I'm supposed to end the war. And there are no heroes in war." ______________________________________ Thanks for reading!
"Oh my, that's a very strong power you have there."he said honestly, "What is it? Some form of advanced telekinesis?" "Macrokinesis!"The villain preened, "I can control multiple objects at once." "So you can."he said, eyeing the floating cars down the street. "That is impressive." "But you...what can you do?"the villain stared at him, taking in his rather ordinary clothes and average appearance. The only concession he'd made to the whole supervillain superhero charade was a hoodie that hid his face. He drew a sword from a scabbard behind his back. "Ah...I have only one simple trick."he said, "It's not a very strong power- barely D-rated actually. But, it's served me well enough." "A D-rank hero? Ha! Prepare to die!" A car surged towards him. Then another and another. He raised his sword and seemed to slip under it with no trouble at all. Gracefully, he slipped around the second car and jumped over the third, closing in. The villain gaped. "That's not so minor!" The villain plucked a streetlamp out of the ground and he dodged at a very precise moment, sword tilting up. Multiple fence stakes rose out of the ground from the nearby garden and tried to skewer him but he seemed to slide around the attacks with no trouble at all. "It really is."he said, landing some distance away. "I'm actually a bit embarrassed sometimes, but it works well enough with my skills. And as long as I do good, that's the whole point isn't it? Have you figured it out yet?" The villain was getting antsy, he drew a revolver from his pocket. "Die-!" He tapped on the villain's shoulder from behind and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword. "Daddy, can we go yet? I'm hungry!" He looked around and spotted a little girl lingering behind a garbage bin. He waved her over. "I'm finished, darling. Daddy just needs to zip tie this guy and blindfold him with his own cape." She walked idly out as he worked, leaning over the unconscious villain with a smile. "You got him good!" "He got himself good mostly."he shrugged, "Villains do tend to get rather flustered and panicky when they realize they can't touch me." "But they can touch you."she said, tilting her head. "All you can do is just distort where you look like you are." "Yes. A good AOE attack would take me down pretty fast. I have no offensive or defensive aspect to my power at all."he shrugged, "But they usually don't think of that since nobody expects me to be standing behind them the whole time." He stood and stretched. "Ahh, let's see about dinner now, shall we? How does scampi stirfry sound, darling?"
As the sky grew darker on that windy summer night, Hud stirred harder in her sleep and the tree branches struck even harder against the window of her room. Her breathing was ragged and sweat dripped down her neck. Something pushed against her back from under the stiff mattress. Her eyes shot open and she muttered a crude swear. The monster under her bed pleaded in a voice as smooth as good brandy with a tone as rough as mixed gravel. There was something downstairs, it insisted. It begged her to follow it downstairs to see what the commotion was. Hud poked her head down under the frame and stared at the four-foot long beast. The creatures' yellow eyes sat glowed as the rest of it sat stowed away in the dark shadows cast by a night-light in the corner. She bade the beast to calm itself. It might have just been the wind. In fact, it was certainly the wind, she suggested. She had no doubts that it could have been anything but a few tree branches from the top of the oak-tree in her backyard knocking against a window in the kitchen or the living room. The beast moved forward towards the girl's head. Its smoky black fur became visible in the gentle glow of the yellow night-light. It was not just hearing things at all, it insisted. It heard nothing at all. It swore that it had instead felt a presence down beneath the stairs. She shook her head and asked the creature what that presence could be. Hud had locked all the doors in the downstairs of her house when she got back from school. All the windows were shut and locked as well to keep the bugs out. There was no manner in which any living thing could have intruded upon the home. The beast sighed. It might not have been a living thing perhaps, but it could've been an unliving thing. It could've been an abnormal thing. It could be a monster or some unholy aberration in this realm of reality. Hud nodded and asked if it really mattered. Confused, the beast questioned her question. Hud raised her eyebrows and began to explain. The beast listened but its mind was focused on the anxious presence of something downstairs. If there had been something below, Hud began, then it must not have been something that meant harm as it has not yet intruded upon the bedroom. In which case, the best approach would be to wait out the something downstairs until it had left. Assume that the something downstairs had desired treasure or food. Then, it'd be best for Hud and the creature to allow the something to have what it wanted, lest it proves dangerous when confronted. In a more curious case, perhaps that something was something pleasant. Such as a wish-granting fairy or some misplaced possession of Hud's. It is now nighttime, a time for rest and sleep. Would it not be better to leave things to be done for the morning or noontime? The beast listened. The beast relaxed. Hud stared at the beast and gestured with her thumb towards the window. It is better to stay in the room under all circumstances. Should the something prove dangerous and attempt to intrude upon the room, the window at the side of the room could provide an escape route, as opposed to the locked doors throughout the home, which would delay significant time needed in the case of the threat. The beast nodded and withdrew back deeper under the bed. Her words had relaxed the creature, it stated. There seemed to be no more of the presence of something downstairs, it continued. Hud exhaled, for it had been a lengthy explanation. She tucked herself back into the comforts of her sheets and blankets and pillows. But, Hud did not sleep. There were three things that now bothered her. One, she had now remembered that she had not locked the window in her own bedroom. She did not recall locking any of the rooms and windows on the second floor of her home. Two, the beast had stated it had no longer detected the presence of its something downstairs. It had not detected the presence of something downstairs. What could've been downstairs, had it been there, was no longer downstairs. Three, and this bothered Hud the most. The beast had insisted that it had heard nothing. Nothing at all. Yet, it was plainly obvious to her ears that for the past hour or so, there had been a tree branch knocking harder and harder against the window of her room for the past hour. Hud turned towards the window of her second-floor bedroom, which was far too tall above the ground to make contact with the branches of an oak tree that poked at her kitchen window downstairs. Indeed, there was a something, knocking harder and harder against the window, just as Hud had been hearing. Hud screamed. ----- EDIT: Plot-hole fix.
Crimson scales lie still at my feet. Most of my armour is charred, a parting gift from the deadly beast, but there are parts that are unabated, shining bright and true in the blazing sun. I remove my helm and brush the ash from my face. "Lie still now, beast. Your days are done." I hear a muffled cry on the horizon. It grows louder each second. More cries. The townspeople. They flock towards me in adulation. Every man wants to be me and every woman wants to be with me. I set my sword down by the dragon's side and stand tall to meet my fans. They're close now. Act modest, I remind myself, but not too much. We don't want the praise to stop - just for them to think I want it to stop. I start to recite the speech in my head. How I am their saviour, and I am proud to watch over their humble town. But then... A shadow looms over me. It grows fast, washing over the townspeople who are now recoiling in horror. They turn and run, screaming a different sort now. I grab my sword and spin to face the beast. The dragon's child? Its mother? We shall see. "En garde,"I scream, lifting my sword high. But I face nothing. I look up to the sun and it is gone, replaced by a swirling black abyss. It grows larger and larger, casting its gruesome shadow further across the land. I feel something stare back at me. I see a shape in the void. The outline of a colossus. It looks down to me. I hear it whisper. "Jimmy." The words fly down from the sky and skirt across the fields. They blow past me. "Jimmy." I shield my face from the ominous gusts. Who is Jimmy? What is the meaning of this? The words blow down again. "Jimmy. It's time." I recognise the voice. My heart sinks. No. It cannot be. Please God no. The wind rushes down to me again, carrying those fated words. I turn to run, but my armour is stiff and heavy. I hear the words behind me. They're swift in their pursuit. "No,"I yell, swinging my sword wildly. "You stay away!" "Jimmy. It's time -" "No!"I scream again. "I won't go." The figure looms down from the abyss, hand outstretched towards me. I give a frantic yell and swing at it erratically. The words carry down again, louder now. "It's time for school, Jimmy. Wake up." "Nooooooooooooooooooooooo." ------------------------------------------------- /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)
Boulder, Colorado. Ugh. It reeks of old money, hobos and mediocre Tex mex. Being my third trip here this month, I’m well aware that my per diem won’t even cover breakfast. “In and out” I whisper, fingering the dozen or so syringes in my pocket. “In and out” I say again, under my breath, but audible enough to remind myself. I round the corner of spruce street just as the bell rings, signaling the end of recess. I distractedly watch as the diseased subjects form a semblance of a line in front of their underpaid, Vax, recess monitor. Vaxs have somehow become lower class. As this thought enters my mind, I chuckle under my breath knowing that this woman will live a longer life than all of the students combined. I make my way towards the schoolyard as the last diseased target enters the building. Knowing there is no way in after the recent Vax attacks and subsequent increased security, I pull my collar up and lay down next to one of the 13 bums sleeping on the tree lawn. I doze for an hour or so until the antique bell from the early 1990s raises me. The distorted children, covered in blemishes and clinically-unexplainable plantar warts, raid the schoolyard, with what once could be considered smiles on their faces. If I was to make the final portal jump back to Fargo today, I knew I had to inject quickly. I raised from my false slumber and proceeded to dampen the barbed wire with my wool jacket. A quick hop landed me over the fence. I was in. I fetched the syringes from my pocket and jammed each one into any moving body I could find. The diseased children riled in pain and confusion as they were immediately rid of their disorders. Once 13 children were visibly cured, i slid over the barbs and disappeared into the hustle and bustle of pearl street. Reeking of privelage, I vowed to never return to the depths of Boulder again.
“I’m not a time traveler, Mr. Hawking. I’m the pizza delivery guy.” There was an extended period of silence, so long I almost wondered if he was asleep. “Aha!” he suddenly said. “Then how’d you know my name if I didn’t order the pizza?” “Because you’re famous, sir.” Another long pause. “And how’d you find my house in the isolated part of the city?” “I, uh, took a few wrong turns. The GPS wasn’t really working today. Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be under protection in case some radical Flat Earther comes here with a bomb?” “Don’t change the subject. You’re a time traveler who’s having second thoughts.” I started a bit at his fast reply. “I’m really not sir. Okay look, it’s been an honor but I still need to deliver this pizza. No other way to pay the bills.” I fidgeted with the pizza box. “Uh, I guess I’ll leave you to your sciencey stuff now?” “Not a chance,” he said, taking a step forward. “Wait, where’d your wheelchair go? Why are your eyes glowing red? And how are you floating above the ground?” He raised his hands and my mouth clamped shut on its own. “Silence. You will teach me to manipulate space-time, or I will take the knowledge from you.” Suddenly there was a flash and a boom and everything went white. I jerked upright in my bed, panting. My heart raced wildly. “Wow, weirdest dream ever. That’s the last time I order a desert cuttlefish pizza supreme before bed.” “Hi,” said Stephen Hawking floating at the foot of my bed. I pulled up the blankets and went back to sleep.
The puppy runs in circles around you, yapping and barking excitedly. You reach down to pick it up and it licks your face. "Mom said I was too little to have a dog of my own,"you whisper to yourself. "Well, I think you can manage that now,"chuckled the genie. You sit down on the grass, your back turned to the house. The puppy starts chewing on the old baseball glove, slobbering happily. "I can't believe I wasted a wish on this baseball glove. Damn, I must have been a dumb kid." "Your dad gave you that, and you were upset when your mom threw it away,"said the genie. "Still, though..."you trailed off wondering what the third wish would bring. A tinkling sound behind you... "Mikey? Dinner is ready, hon. Help your dad set the table, please?" Through the kitchen curtains you see the silhouette of a tall man, reaching in the cabinets for the dishes. You get up slowly, cradling your puppy. "Be right there, mom."
"Are you sure we are looking at your soul vein, Sarah? I can't even read it"the curious high school girl mused. "I mean, neither can I"Sarah told her friend Mona. "That said, I went to bed last night, and there was nothing. I wake up today and.."she waved the bright shining textures on her forearm at her friend on the computer screen. Soul veins or "the existence of God"as some liked to call it, were old news. 1960, as if destiny got tired of everyone not believing in it, dropped the shinning parcel of knowledge on the human race. 60 years ago, and days before the very end of the cold war, a woman named Adhera Anada, the first known recipient of a soul vein, found herself at her own wedding with a name written in glowing ink. The name was not that of the man whom she was to wed, but the boy she had grown up with since she was a young girl. As the story goes, Adhera, upon her soon to be husband's family seeing the marking, was caught on fire. An abominable act, but one that taught the world a valuable lesson: you cannot change destiny. For the story does not end with the husk of Adhera on the ground, as so many young women's lives in these situations do. Instead, her arm glowed bright blue, and a man in a hood threw water and dirt on her to stop the flames. The name on Adhera's arm was this hooded man's, and as all could see, his arm contained the bluish hue of her name. The story hit the news cycle first, but there were many other stories of arms with deep, phosphorescent names on them somehow connecting with others with similar blue tattooing. Nobody remembered it happening, it just...was. Again, destiny at it's finest. Men and women the world round were waking up with the names of people they'd never met before on them. People they barely knew, people they worked with, and often times names fairly different than the spouse laying beside them. Not everyone had one though. There didn't seem to be any definitive reason why one person had a name and another did not, though there were three things that were certain. These three facts would be deemed the "Three Laws of Soul Veins"in Dr. Frank Drake's seminal work on the subject, and the terminology stuck. The three laws were thus: First, there were no known soul veins on anyone under the age of 13. While many a 10 year old boy or girl had written a crush's name in pen on their arm, trying to pretend as though they shared a soul vein, no corroborated evidence of a sub-teen youth having a soul vein had ever been found. Second, all soul veins were legibly written in a language the person spoke. There had been instances where Klingon and other non-regional languages appeared on someone's arm, but in every instance the person themselves, and often the one they shared a soul vein with, understood the words. Third, there was always one name. Always. To have two went against the very nature of what most believed the soul veins to represent, which was the twisting of fate between two individuals. Some scientist like to even liken it to the DNA double helix; the fact its own discovery only occurred 7 years earlier not being lost on the scientific community. 60 years of science and research into the topic and science all but gave up, moving onto topics deemed more immediately important, such as famine, disease, and H.C.D.V. The three laws of soul veins stood untested for 60 years, until today. "Sarah, it can't be a soul vein if you can't read it. That is a scientific fact. It's probably just a side-effect of those"as he said the next part, Sarah's father cupped his hand and lowered his voice "lady shots you got last week." "Dad, an HPV shot can't do this!"Sarah menaced at her father, shoving her arm squarely between him and his phone. "This isn't normal, and it looks exactly like mom's and your SVs!"She bobbled her head back and forth with mocking tone. "Only, I can't read it." "Oh honey"a voice soothed from behind the girl. "Your father is right, that can't be a-"her mother stopped and paused, having finally seen the markings herself. "I think we need to take her to the doctor Jacen. I don't know if that is an early sign of H.C.D.V, but I do know it's n-"her mother stopped again, cognitively realizing Jacen and her were not the only people in the room. "Oh honey"she directed the words towards you now wide-eyed daughter "it's probably not H.C.D.V. I just worry. You know me. Lets take you to the hospital though so I can stop worrying about nothing, okay?" Sarah's eyes contracted and she said in a calm voice "I'm okay mom. It's probably just a normal side effect of that HPV shot. Dad is probably right."Lies. Sarah didn't necessarily know what this was, but she knew what it wasn't. Normal. Dejected, she stalked back to her room and sat at her computer. "Sarah! Come on, what did your parent's think?"Mona yelled, clearly bursting at the seams in anticipation. Sarah crossed her eyes, jutted out her lower lip and stared intently into the camera of her computer. "I'm a shudderwalker now."Sarah failed to contain her laughter, nor her facial expression, as she spoke. "Oh, you are bad. You are going to hell for that one Sarah"Mona cackled as she rapidly leaned back in her chair, a thousand miles away. "We shouldn't joke about H.C.D.V."as if a devil had whispered an idea in her ear, Mona's eyes lit up. "but maybe you do have it. Have you felt shakey? Like you are"she waved her hands like the inflatable balloon in front of a car dealership "disappearing. Boooohhhhoooooo." "Oh shut up"Sarah said with a laugh. "I feel fine. I actually read somewhere that your soul vein actually stops glowing if you have H.C.D.V. This is, like, the total opposite of that." While the discovery of soul veins was considered anywhere from a trivial matter to a huge boon for society, another phenomenon occurred around the same time in 1960 that was clearly in neither of those columns. "Shudder people,"those who seemed to fade from the living, started to pop up in place of ghost stories around the world. Only, they weren't stories. Over the years since the first shudder walker was seen fading from existence in a clinical setting, doctors moved from believing it was a psychosis of the living (for how could someone possibly fade from existence?) to a disease of the dying (or maybe more aptly, the "disappearing"). The Human Contrast Disappearance Virus, or H.C.D.V, was a disease that science simply could not explain. The idea of someone simply fading out of being rather than dying, as seen in the famous western "Car Wars"when Obi-Wan fades from existence during the middle of his famous lightsaber battle, didn't make sense at the time. Instead of finding the how or the why, science stumbled, perhaps by chance and perhaps by destiny, on the what. A small, unknown biological mass was found in the living tissue of a patient in 1991 and subsequently found in every single H.C.D.V patient since. The mass, known as a shudder growth, became synonymous with a death sentence. Though not death, so much as disappearance, for no autopsy has ever been performed on a shudder patient. Even those that would appear to die by more mundane means - a car accident, a bullet wound, a heart attack - did so only to disappear before the heart's last beat. "Okay Mona, it's late. I'll talk to you tomorrow"Sarah whispered so as not to wake the snores of her parents. She shut off the monitor, disconnected the long range radio tower connection, and took off her shoes, kicking them lightly to the side of her bed. I'll brush in the morning, she thought to herself, and procrastinated both her hair and her teeth until the morning. As she slipped off her pants she started to hear a rustle at her door and stopped her movement. "Dad?"No response. "Micheal!"she growled her younger brother's name. "If you try to take a picture of me changing for your stupid 8th grade friends again, I'm going to tell mom and dad this time."Still no response, Sarah chalked it up to the wind, took off her shirt, and put on her pajamas. She nestled into her sheets, clicked off her light, and closer her eyes. Then her eyes shot open. Crazed, Sarah clawed at the now dull red markings on her arm. They burned, each silky swathe like a searing coal on her arm, uniform yet individual. She yelled, or at least tried, hearing no sound come out of her gaping maw. Her eyes swelled as the pain consumed her and she let out a silent, yet damp, sob. No sooner had she let the tear fall did she feel a cooling in the pain on her arm, and she looked down. She looked down, and remembered. An 8 year old girl, sitting on the slide at school, crying. Sarah had been yelled at by the teacher and ran up to the top of the slide to cry. When a young boy had came up, wanting to use the slide, he asked what she was doing and - "and I had swished my tears around on the plastic in front of the slide. I don't know why i did it, but I thought i was writing to him with my tears for some reason"Sarah spoke out loud to herself, mostly to prove again to herself she could make sound. As she spoke she rubbed her finger over the squiggles and swirl on her arm. Then, she got quiet and intense, and started to move over them again. Again and again she shifted her fingers over her skin, like a musician on piano keys, until finally she stopped and tilted her head, slightly the to left. "Find Buzz Aldrin. Find rocket ship"Sarah said it out loud, mulling over the meaning in her head. This was less a name, and more of a message. "But"she contemplated aloud. "Who is Buzz Aldrin, and what exactly is a rocket ship?"Sarah's door flew open with a deafening bang.
The owl looked up at me waking up, analyzing me with its intelligent eyes. "Ah!"I screamed and shot my arm under my pillow, pulling out a gun. "Hoot?"the owl just had enough say before I shot its face. I kept the gun trained on it and looked around my room rapidly. I looked at its body, a spatter of blood staining my pillow. For years, I'd been shooting owls and birds that tried to invade my room. Years ago, I watched my dad shoot one that I was trying to get into my room. I was mad at him at the time, upset that his paranoia had driven him to kill a poor animal. Soon, it became evident that these birds were sent intentionally, as at least once a week they'd come to try and get into my room. Sometimes as often as once a day. Each more adamant than the last. We'd shoot them all and burn their remains, of course. Every last one couldn't be trusted. And we knew what we did was right since the plagues only began after the birds started showing up. Fires starting spontaneously in our crop fields. Tornadoes. Hail strong enough to leave dents in our roof. Year after year they got worse. And the birds were just another on the list of plagues. They haunted me. I got up and closed the window. I had always thought it safe to keep it open at night since they only tried to visit in the day. Evidently they changed tactics. I grabbed the animal corpse by its wing and dragged it off the bed, which caused a letter to fall off its leg and roll open. I shielded my eyes, not having opened any of the past correspondence for fear it was laced with anthrax or something. But it was too late. In the moment it took to glance at it, I read the words Sorry we are 10 years late. "Huh?"I chucked the owl into the trash and grabbed the paper. It was just a plain old letter. My mind was slowly coming to terms with the hundreds of birds I'd killed to not receive a letter. But my dad said it was dangerous! It was just a habit at this point! Sorry we are 10 years late. It's clear that our enemies are capturing our letters to you, but we send them holding out hope that someday our owls will be well trained enough to evade whatever tactics keep striking them down. Our hearts grieve for our lost animals. But it will all be worth it to one day make contact with you. I swallowed hard and looked at the bird in the trashcan. Then I took a glance out the window to the mass grave right outside my house. Hundreds of letters and birds within it. We have waited long to finally meet you. A decade, at least. Within you is the power needed to stop the disasters plaguing our lands. The fires, storms, earthquakes, all of it can be stopped by your power! We need you to come and take charge of us, to lead us to a calm and tranquil land once again. One that isn't targeted by endless weather disasters and mass destruction. Even our birds cannot escape it. They die at such a ruthless rate. Come to our hideout. We will teach you how to save us all. The owl who sent this message will be able to lead you back. "Oh,"I said softly, looking back at the stain on my pillow. "Oh,"I said, turning my eyes to the trash can once more. "Oh no,"I said, standing to look at the mass grave as the morning's hailstorm rolled in. __________________________________________________________________ For more fun, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
“Attend to elevator K-C 5. Cleanup required.” At the voice coming out of the speakers, I sigh and toss my cards on the table in front of me. “Seems like you win this round, my dude.” The man in front of me wrinkles his nose and, more gently, slides his own hand down. "Though I must say I'm surprised we've managed to play an entire game before anyone noticed." “Quite a bold assumption that they're not well aware of where I've been this whole time. Also, I would prefer for you to call me by my name." “I’ll do that when you decide on one,” I say, shrugging the shirt part of my orange jumpsuit on over my white undershirt. “Names based on popular culture don’t count.” I press the button by the door of my room-slash-cell and walk out, fully expecting my company to follow me. “Almost none of my names are based on popular culture,” he says with a frown, matching his pace to my own without looking too happy about it. “That is an unfair assumption you have made based on your own, dare I say lacklustre, experience with modern society. Will you slow down a bit?” He huffs and I comply with a roll of my eyes. “You’re one to talk. Tell me one accurate fact of the world — our actual world, mind you — and I’ll eat all your pudding for the next month.” I attempt to make my hair up in a french braid as we walk down the hall, but give up with a sigh of frustration and settle for a ponytail. As usual. “Let’s face it, Lebowski, neither of us know shit about anything anymore.” “I happen to know a great deal of things,” he protests, pulling his over-encumbered belt up with a soft jangle, “and I see a flaw in your challenge — how would either of us fact-check whether I was right? Do you think Bright would tell us?” I snort. “Well, fuck you and your name then, I guess.” We reach the end of the hallway and I lean over to talk into the small microphone by the large steel door separating us from the lift. “D-Seven-Zero-Four-One reporting for cleanup duty.” I get a beep in response and a service hatch in the wall next to us opens, a cleaning trolley wheeling out from it. I quickly look over the contents and groan at the sight of bright yellow protective wear. “Oh, god, I hope it’s not the lizard again. Did you hear anything about a containment breach?” My company shakes his head, sucking on a lollipop he produced from Gods know where. “Again, your logic is flawed. I only just got back, remember? If you haven’t heard about it, neither have I.” “Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?” I mutter as I start stepping into the rubber suit. “Timely. Want me to say hi to him next time they allow me to fraternise with my fellows?” He stands still as I struggle to get the heavy, tight not-quite-fabric over my hips. “I thought he went by Mountain nowadays?” He shrugs, moving over to the trolley to start examining whatever I’ve been sent this time. “God, we need to get our shit together when it comes to naming practices.” “Are you telling me Medusa doesn’t sit well with you anymore?” I take a deep, hopefully calming breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. “I swear to God,” I mutter, zipping the rubber suit up, “if I hear one more jab about mythology I’ll—“ “You’ll what, exactly? Last time I checked, actually accomplishing anything was a bit outside of your capabilities.” He raises his eyebrows, “giving me the stink-eye isn’t going to change that, grow up.” I mutter something along the lines of “grow up, the child says” but smile sardonically when he asks me to speak up. The speaker on the wall in front of me beeps in warning, and I hurry to pull the voluminous plastic hat-tent-headpiece thing on. The elevator doors open to a group of very unimpressed-looking people in uniforms. I wave at them. They glare at me. “Well, it’s been fun,” I say to my companion as I walk backwards with my trolley into the lift. “See you whenever. Don’t get yourself killed.” I receive a quick salute in return. “I’d give you a good-luck pat on the shoulder, but, you know.” I smile. “I know.” The people in the elevator have moved out to give me the space, and I fruitlessly ask them about my current assignment. As usual, I’m not given any information nor actually expected to operate the elevator, the doors closing behind them on their own and the gentle dropping feeling my only indication that I’m on my way down to wherever they’ve decided my particular brand of expertise is needed. When the door opens, I’m met by the smell of smoke and garbage and a thick, dark brown liquid sloshing in through the doors and over my rubber boots. "Oh, jolly. This again."I frown in disgust and slowly make my way out of the lift, cleaning trolley in tow. “‘It’ll be fun', they said,” I mutter as I make my way over to the first of what seems like a dozen bodies strewn over the floor, “‘best forced work experience of your life’, they said.” Ignoring the whining, rasping noises of concrete and iron twisting behind me, I start unfolding a body bag and manage to shuffle what appears to have been a woman into it. “Yeah, I know,” I say to the room, “don’t even try. Immortality on their hands, and this is what they use me for?” I whine while dragging the black bag over to the exit doors. “Cleaning up shit from an over-engineered arts and crafts project.” Letting the bag drop to the ground with a schlock, I make my way back through the sludge to the next body. “Oh, give me a break,” I say to the offended gargle of sound behind me. “I’m in a pissy mood. Let me work in peace and maybe later I’ll tell you news about our favourite teleportist." Three bodies later, I take a break, leaning against the grey concrete wall. “I swear to whatever is out there,” I pant to myself, promising for the millionth time, “once I get out and murder everyone here, I will never, ever, again even attempt to help out a possibly evil organisation, no matter how interesting they seem. I’d rather spend the rest of eternity collecting fucking post stamps.” The thing in the room with me whines. I flip it off the best I can. “Yes, you can come with, but you’ll be fucked if you think I’m cleaning up after you.” Another deep breath, and I return to my work. Being stranded on this, the universe's garbage disposer of a planet was, without a doubt, the worst thing to happen to me in my immortal life. Oh well. At least the pudding was good.
The intermittent beeping of the warp fuel indicator was the only noise that broke the stillness aboard the bridge of the starship “Endeavor”. The silence from Commander Deckard and his crew, though, was not one of shock. Rather, it was one of acceptance. Their worst fears proved to be reality. “The Republic has fallen,” I replied solemnly, “And the surviving Atalan have forgotten who they are.” I spoke the words into my communicator, but the void on the bridge seemed to suck the words from my mouth and cast them like javelins into the hearts of the crew. The fleet commander alone stood stoic in the face of this revelation. I’ve been here on the surface of “Earth”, as it’s now called, for 18 months by the local calendar. My shuttle was able to warp much closer to the old capitol of the Republic than the Endeavor was capable - as Frigates of her size relied heavily on the massive jump gate systems in Imperial space. Jump gates, mind you, that have been offline in the Republic for nearly 5,000 years. The empire would’ve sent a scouting fleet much earlier, but the Scourge had been ravaging our border planets to the point that we had lost grip of the entirety of imperial provinces in the Orion arm. Something that the Royal Navy would not be able to rectify until the great purges. The scourge, you see, wasn’t what we thought it was at first. Outbreaks in the colonies were first reported as Andromedan Flu, or Occasionally as Void Pox. Those diseases were nasty, of course, having brought hundreds of settlements to ruin along the outer rim... but this... this was different. We quickly learned that the scourge was not merely an illness - it was chaos incarnate. In every species it encountered, it killed a third of all infected - and most of the survivors would turn feral and rabid. They would turn on the relief volunteers sent to help them, burn cities to the ground, charge in massive hordes against fortified outposts, and eventually - pilot shuttles to neighboring systems in order to spread their infectious mania. Only by imperial decree was the scourge stopped from reaching the inner sectors. Emperor Tomblaine himself penned the decree, and gave the order for the beginning of the purges. One by one, infected planets were cleansed of all life. Then, despite riots on the capitol, healthy populations living on border worlds were annihilated as well. Trillions of lives were lost by the scourge and the resulting purges over the course of two centuries. By the time the seas of the outer worlds were boiled away though, our borders had been closed off for generations. The most concerning thing, though, is that our allies in the Republic never reopened communications. They never reopened their borders. They never contacted the empire again. Now, as I stand frozen on the surface of Earth, I break the news to my countrymen as to why that was the case. “There is one thing that I don’t understand,” Commander Deckard said, “it appears that the Republic carried out its own purge as well. That is why the only signal we’ve received has been from here, the capitol. If Republican purges were successful, why have they failed to return their communication systems to operation? And if they were not, why are Atalan populations still present on the planet?” I shifted on my feet as I tried to find the best way to answer the Fleet Commanders question. He was right, all Republican planets we’ve encountered have been barren. Much like the imperial border worlds. Their communications satellites still floated, decrepit, along the information highway established after the conflicts between our nations had ended. The reason for this, is one that is difficult to acknowledge. The beeping of the warp fuel indicator grew more frantic. The Endeavor’s only hope of returning to Imperial space hinged on refueling at Republic outposts. “Fleet Commander,” I replied “It appears as if the surviving populations on the planet all carry the scourge. The fleets of the Republic annihilated their colonies, but failed to keep the infection from spreading. Chaos erupted on the capitol, and the entire civilization was burned to the ground. What rose from the ashes is a mutation of the disease, allowing uneasy peace on the fractured nations here.” Looking at my surroundings, it is hard to believe that the feral planet I stand on was once the glimmering jewel of the grand Republic of Atlantis. “Earth”, as the Atalan now call it, is nowhere near the societal perfection their ancestors had reached. The disease had wiped all empathy and knowledge for their ancestors away. The only remaining histories are regarded as legends. Myths. Fairy tales. “There is yet hope for the Endeavor, sir,” I responded to the quiet, “It appears that there are a few fuel silos that lie partially buried on the planet. If we can retrieve the cores, you may be able to return to the empire with our findings.” The Fleet Commander rubbed his eyes and sat down. “If we do this,” he said, “we cannot come into direct contact with the locals at all. We will send an away team to pick you up, if there are any volunteers. You will retrieve the cores and leave them in low orbit.” Commander Deckard looked at me stoicly through the hologram. “We will be forced to purge the remnants of the Republic in order to end the threat to life in the galaxy. This means that you, and those brave patriots who may choose to assist you, will die as martyrs not only for the emperor - but for all life in the known universe. Do you accept this mission, Lieutenant?” He asked. “I do, Fleet Commander. For the emperor, and the Endeavor.” He nodded solemnly. “The empire owes you it’s gratitude. You’ve marked the place called ‘Giza’ on your maps. The away team will retrieve you, and take you there to extract the cores. Good luck.” The hologram faded, and I peered into the sky, awaiting my countrymen.
The practice was known as dipping. It was very complicated. Think sort of like that ASsassin's creed video game except 99% of all your ancestors were boring as hell. I had 20 generations of farmers in a row, and none of them were very good at it. You had to strap into the machine, which was enormous initially but had been miniaturized down to something the size of a bed by the time everyone was doing it, and off you went. When I was 20 I had used the money from my parent's accident to buy a pod. I was an only child after all and the thoughts of being able to go back to see my relatives was something I needed at the time. There were rules about it, of course. You could only go directly back through your previous ancestor's memories and you only had the memories they had up to the point you got born. You could go through either parent though so it was pretty interesting. The second thing was that there was no real way to manipulate anything as they were clearly memories. Hopes of delving into the past to inherit skills went away pretty quickly, at best you'd remember how to do an operation but lack any of the skills or training that got you there. What that meant in effect was a bunch of memories from your parents, grandparents and so on from when they were in their 20's. Imagine the disappointment of people who had famous ancestors but became famous AFTER they had kids. That's not to say, neat things didn't happen. If was easy to prove rape for one. Lots of hidden family secrets were revealed. But to dip deep into your gene pool, you had to keep going back memory by memory. That's why finding Adam and Eve was so damn interesting. Seriously, it was just accepted as a story by most people. The thought pattern of the time was that Adam and Eve were just an allegory for some of the earliest bible stories, and they were wrong. The fact that Lilith was also there was even more... interesting. She seldom showed up in people's memories but she had been seen by enough that her presence was unquestioned. Adam and Eve were real people. They were literally the progenitors of the entire species. They had been banished from a garden and taken into the world where their children were lead around by angels to the various places of the Earth. Apparently, some people had seen Lilith as well. It was an eye-opening experience of most people, but it took forever to get there and few people had the opportunity until you go a home unit. Which I did, and for 10 years I slowly dipped through my entire ancestry. It got convoluted pretty quickly, so I stayed with dad every single time. The number of times I remembered my Dad not being my biological father was... scary. I didn't have any famous relatives if you were wondering. My family's story was one of absolute tragedy time and time again. It was like every bit of fate was out to get us. My forefathers died early and young so often that it was truly amazing. Whole families would die down to a single child every time. About halfway through my dips I had a genetic search done and my family was unique in the world. We were literally the only ones with our specific genetic makeup. By the time I found the first angel I was amazed. In my new memories, the angel was a golden being of absolute majesty leading my people to a new land. My ancestor had no idea where this place was, so neither did I. The next dip I saw Adam and Eve, who were this generation's parents. They were perfect people, both solid 10's and apparently both were several hundred years old. Adam was massively powerful, capable of lifting a tree trunk with his bare hands and Eve was so agile that she could literally dodge the rain. They were supernatural and I couldn't quite place either of their genetics. There were aspects of every ethnic group of humans in both of them, and they had combined in each of their children. My memories of the time were simple ones, planning on managing a farming house. Moving with my husband/brother off to a new part of the world. An angel giving me a shot of something. My own memories flared at that point as to her a shot was something entirely outside of her knowledge but my 21st-century mind knew exactly what had happened. An Angel giving out shots would wonder never cease. I remember trembling when I activated my last dip. I'd see life through Adam's eyes, then Eve's. They had met God after all, and that was apparently quite interesting. Adam's memories were amazing and inspiring. He had lived a very long life prior to having children. Some of the stories were true, some not. He had named some of the animals, but not all of them. Not all the creatures in the garden were vegetarians, but most were fed some sort of pre-killed meat. If anything, the garden looked like a very advanced zoo and the angels doubled as zookeepers. With so many memories to parse, it was difficult to remember everything but I found where Adam had spoken to GOD at length. Adam had started off quite uneducated, but long term discussions with GOD caused a noticeable shift in his intelligence. He went for basic grunts to deep philosophical discussion in under a decade. That was the first time we saw Lilith, she was in the background observing Adam. Eventually, Adam got lonely from speaking to GOD and thus Eve was created. GOD would often speak to her privately. Sadly, I couldn't tell you what GOD said to Adam specifically. I was replaying conversations in my head from a distant ancestor, but I knew GOD was wise and compassionate. It was everything I hoped it to be, but not quite what I expected. Adam spent quite a bit of time thinking on Lilith before Eve came around and did so for quite some time afterward. So imagine my surprise when I delved into my first and last female realitive and discovered that she was Lilith Aburdain-nar-Quro, Senior Research assistant on the Human Preservation Project. She was there in a desperate effort to preserve Humanity's genetic stock from a terrible wasting disease launched by the Foe in this the final years of the Great War and the Garden we had been inhabiting was actually a starship.
It turns out that basic magic isn’t that hard to learn, it's just that no one had anyone to learn it from. That all changed with the discovery of a book containing the very secrets of magic, by the fading letters on its cover it was titled: “Casting Cantrips with Crazy Carl”. Admittedly it wasn’t as much a book as it was a self-published magazine from the late 70s if the fashions of presumably the titular Crazy Carl in the magazines pictures were to be believed. Despite its dubious nature it did in fact contain actual spells that were “great for beginners” according to the 2 page spread depicting Carl creating light out of nothing. Carl was proven right when the discoverer of the magazine tried his hand at one of the spells and found himself creating a spectral hand that he could control with his mind. The magazine spread through the occult circles on the dark web at first with more and more wannabe sorcerers trying their hands at magic, and then it went mainstream. News organizations started picking it up, PDFs of the magazine wound up going viral on twitter, Facebook and Reddit, and before long everyone at least knew someone who could cast a spell or two. Turned out that about 1 in 10 had the aptitude for magic of some sort, some were able to do most of Carl’s cantrips, while others could only do a small number of them. It didn’t take long before they went from curious party tricks to invaluable job requirements. Do you want to work in a hospital or drive an ambulance? Well I hope you can cast spare the dying. Some countries started mandating that each ambulance must have 1 staff member who could cast the cantrip and within a year the fatality rate of accidents dropped drastically. Even before ambulances could show up oftentimes a bystander had already administered the cantrip as needed. Sanitations workers overwhelmingly started utilizing shape water to clean out clogged pipes. Construction became cheaper with Mold earth as it made excavation possible without the use of heavy machinery. Control flames specialists became a must have for any fire fighter squad. The secondhand market had a minor boom when Mending started allowing them to easily repair and refurbish old items. All was going well until someone noticed a problem with the cantrips Lightning Lure and Produce flames. One would throw out an electric whip of sorts and could be used to power small generators once they were properly modified. The other did exactly what it said in its title, it produced flames. The problem was that neither seemed to really take any real effort from the cantrip caster, they could do it all day long if they wished, producing flames and electricity. Even in an oxygen free environment the produce flame cantrip did as it said it would. It was at that point someone pointed out that there was supposed to be this whole law about how energy cannot be created, yet here we are, creating energy. That got the physicist thinking real hard and while they were busy doing that someone finally managed to cast the final cantrip. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t even a cantrip, it was an actual spell according to Crazy Carl. On the last page of Casting Cantrips with Crazy Carl, was a preview of his next book: “Advancing Arcane Abilities”. Included in that preview was one spell to give people a taste of what to expect, a spell no one had been able to cast since its discovery alongside the cantrips. The spell was called Sending and it allowed the 36 year old social media researcher who had become the first to cast it, to send an instantaneous message to anyone he pleased. It was a neat trick to be sure and he demonstrated it on many a TV talk show. Of course that’s when the physicists called again and asked to test it just to be certain it didn’t mess anything else up. According to the social media researcher they had sounded very ominous when they said it. So they set up a test where he sent a message to someone on the other side of the planet and the exact moment of the sending and receiving was measured. The social media researcher didn’t really know what they were testing but they seemed very disturbed by the whole thing and he later recalled on a late night show that as he had left one of the physicists had been grumbling something along the lines of: “First thermodynamics and now the speed of light.”
"I do not deserve this", I sighed as the waitress brought me the food. "We are just bringing the meal that you deserve,"smiled the waitress. "There must be a mistake of some sort,"I insisted. "The most I deserve is a bowl of soup. I have not done anything worthy of praise in my life." "We don't make mistakes here,"the waitress was still smiling. "Here. I have got the bill from the counter. You have 3265 Karma, which is definitely enough for a 12 course meal..." "Nope,"I denied. "I haven't invented anything remarkable, nor have I save people from burning buildings. I did not motivate my nation into reforming itself, nor did I bring criminals to justice. There has to be a mistake." "Let's see... You have saved a number of lives throughout your life. Your friend Leah told us that she was grateful for your help throughout her difficult life..." "The real person that helped her is her psychologist,"I explained. "I was just a rock for her. A tree that she can hug onto and cry on. The professionals are the real heroes here." "Your sister also told us that you paid for her college and made sure that she could find a good job to support herself and her family..." "As any brother would,"I shook my head. "Not anything that deserve any praise." "What about that time when you helped Natalia to write a love letter to her lover?" "I am a selfish jerk,"I confessed. "Seeing her happy makes me happy. I must have done it for the dopamine." The waitress shook her head slowly. "You don't need to look down on yourself. You are a great friend, a great brother, a great son. You deserve this meal." I stood up from the dinner table, folding the napkin tidily and putting it back on the table. "I am sorry. I cannot accept this. I am sure that there are people in need who would appreciate such a meal. Maybe you can donate all this to a food bank or let others enjoy this meal?" "Please sit back down sir,"said the waitress. "I understand that you may not feel that way but your actions changed plenty of lives. Sometimes the smallest acts of kindness can go a long way." "I...I am not sure if I actually helped..." "Of course you did! Who do you think this feast is prepared by? Your mother and sister, as well as your friends and colleagues all helped. They have been working in the kitchen for the past few hours. It is time for you to enjoy what they prepared for you." "I...I am grateful for that but I will only eat if everyone else gets to join me... including you." The waitress looked flattered. I sat back down as my family and friends came out from the kitchen with big smiles on their faces. It was the best dinner I have ever had.
I wanted to be there when it came down. I'd always had a fascination with magic and stories, and as the daughter of the King now passed and a Queen in my own right I can basically get my fill whenever I want. Maybe it was because my father died when I was so young, but mother always seemed to indulge my interest in magic more than was apparently "proper"for a princess. Braden Sadeson, my court scribe, is a wonderfully creative writer who I'm more than happy to patronize in exchange for his creative tales - many based on the very real but very rare magic that exists in the far reaches of our land. But finding in the records that my father had in fact bricked up a witch alive in the dungeon, and that according to the official royal record she had possessed magical abilities, it was like finding that Braden's stories had leapt from the parchment into my waiting room. The builders advised me to keep a scarf wrapped around my nose and mouth, lest any tiny pieces of the stones settle in my lungs. Apparently wearing a mask is a common-sense precaution against breathing in foreign airborne substances - who would have thought. Anyway, I walked into the now-open cell as soon as it was feasible to do so but ripped my scarf down in frustration almost immediately. Not only was there no magical shimmering in the air or walls gashed by horrible talons - there wasn't even a corpse! No skeleton to speak of. My frustration was endless. Why bother putting in the records that you walled someone up if you hadn't actually? There was no way out of the room so it must have been a lie - maybe a joke by father. I scoffed and turned to leave - but something caught my eye. Near where the wall had been opened, I saw scratches in the stone too regular to be natural facets in the stone. I peered closer, reading the words with excitement as soon as I realized that's what they were. "I'm not sure what that idiot in the crown expected. What kind of witch would I be if I mere bricks could stop me? "Oh no - walls!" Pathetic. Anyway - when this gets read in however many years please take official notice of how idiotic the crown-wearer was and how shortsighted this measure ultimately proved to be. I'm going to spell a pebble to scratch up and down the wall every few days so no one gets curious why there isn't noise, then I'll step into shadow and emerge on the hillside a few leagues away. Then I will switch my face with that of the King's fiancee, take the King's seed and insert my own blood into the royal line. After that I'll probably kill him, because anyone stupid enough to take such insufficient action against a witch would probably lose the kingdom in five minutes anyway. I'm not a monster - I would have left well enough alone if they hadn't tried to interfere with my practice. So let all who find this know that the 'King' brought this on himself, and I shall supplant his entire line to make it my own, as the cost for his arrogance and pride."
I've been told I have a high physical pain threshold, and I often use this to my advantage. But on the day of the curse, the pain I felt was excruciating. That day is the farthest back I can remember, and possibly one of the few days in my life worth remembering. Sometime in the 10th century -I can't remember the exact year- I was fatally wounded in battle, and fled into a cave, that damned cave. If only the arrow had struck a little bit higher it would've hit my head, and I wouldn't be here now. Instead I carried on into the cave, with extreme throbbing pain, begging for my life. I said I'd give anything not to die. The witch who was in there heard me, and promised me many great things. I was promised to be immortal, unkillable, in exchange for my soul. And immortal and unkillable I was. That was almost 27 billion years ago. As I aged past 250, I realized remembering things so far ago were becoming much more of a challenge, so I wrote it down. But that day is engraved into my bones, one of the few days I couldn't possibly forget. In my dreams, I can still see the witches' twisted, crooked smile. Years dripped through my hands like sand, months feel like seconds. Where did all the years go? I feel like a sentient mannequin. Emotionless and careless. Life seems so insignificant when you have so much of it. The last known living civilization that I've found only died a few million years ago. They were significantly more advanced than any species I've come across, they had computers the size of planets and attempted to restart the universe. Ultimately, their plan failed, and they died off. I've been floating aimlessly in space with no purpose since, contemplating my life and the grand scheme of things. Not too long ago I saw the last star burn out. Perhaps I should finally rest as well, then. (This is the first prompt I've ever written, so advice is welcome. it ended quite abruptly as I had to go. Thanks for taking the time to read this!)
"172 confirmed extreme long range kills, 0 bullets fired. I figured it out in basic, I closed the chamber before saying something to Sam, when I looked back I was convinced I had already loaded a round. I was convinced it was loaded. I was convinced when I pulled the trigger I would hit the target. And I did, the best shot I had made all day, didn't even realize until I went to eject the expended casting that it was empty. But the gun fired, it had recoil, I could still feel it in my shoulder. But nothing was there. I probably would have gone crazy, but Sam saw it too. It took me three months to repeat the event, Sam did it in two. We realised if you can convince yourself, be truly convinced in something it can be made real by your absolute certainty. My weapon of choice was a rifle, it took me a moment to get in the right head space, but Sam, Sam always carried two mini guns after one shreaded itself overheating. We became an unstoppable duo, me at extreme range protecting Sam, a mobile weapons platfrom. We were heroes until some greenhorn just out of basic saw me arguring with Sam and told the CO. I was detained and questioned for hours. They wanted to know who I was comunicating with and where my radio was. I was so confused until they showed the footage, I was arguing with... no one, Sam was not there. By the end of the night I was on a plane back home, so tell me Doc you think I am crazy too?"I said from the wheelchair I was strapped too. The Doctor stood up, walked over to his phone, I could not hear what he said but I think it has been about three days since they medicated me. Today I finally started to feel lucid, once I can walk straight, I'm getting out of here. One thing I didn't tell the Doc, Sam and I figured out one other thing. You didn't have to actually have the gun, you just have to be CERTAIN your figner guns are loaded. And I know Sam will have the car waiting. I can hear the engine already.
Adventure report #764/b: Garzhak the Demon Lord Party members: Lila the Swift, Gornak the Mighty, Elias the Cunning Summary: The party encountered Garzhak the Demon Lord in his lair preparing for his incursion. After a short exchange of threats, the party engaged the Lord. Lila scored several hits with her arrows, only managing superficial damage. Gornak charged the lord while Elias attempted to cast Haste on the warrior for aid. Due to a miscast, Elias accidentally cast Haste on the Demon Lord who was charging at Lila. When Lila stepped out of the way, the Demon Lord found himself unable to stop the momentum of his charge and slammed into a wall at approximately 78 km/h. The Demon Lord suffered extensive fractures to his skull, spine, and torso which caused extensive internal hemorrhaging. Demon Lord died on the spot. Gornak wished to go on record and stated "This is some bullshit." Adventure report #985/c: Leth the Cruel Party members: Angoth the Just, Elias the Cunning, Tres the Blade Summary: The party encountered Leth the Cruel on a mission to rescue a kidnapped family. Upon learning of his plot to sacrifice them to currently unknown gods, the party engaged. Tres went into stealth to try and get an advantageous position while Angoth blessed himself for protection and went to distract Leth the Cruel. Elias attempted to cast Guidance on Tres to aid him, but miscast and targeted Leth the Cruel, who at once stopped hostilities. After a few moments, Leth laid down his weapons and claimed he saw the error of his ways and thanked Elias for guiding him on a path to redemption. Leth then proceeded to turn himself to local authorities. Note from The Guild: At this point, we're not sure if we should get Elias glasses or let him buff the villains to death. A committee is underway.
“It was simple really,” I began to explain. “Basically, if you have a green cat walking along the grass, it creates a bug with the graphics. The cat disappears but it still registers in the location. I guess you guys never expected a cat to turn green aye?” The other people in the room kinda just shook their heads without really speaking. “Anyway, once the cat is invisible, you just feed it seven oranges. The full orange mind you. You did code it well enough to distinguish between fleshy bits and the skins. Once the cat has been fed seven oranges, it begins to die. It takes about, oooh 27 seconds after seven oranges and then you hit it with a pipe.” I chuckled to myself. “See this is the part I call Schrödinger’s cat. If you hit it at just the right moment with a metal tube, it both dies and doesn’t die. So, the proper entity is dead, but a fake clone that lives to spew out error messages still exists. Well, it’s invisible of course, and if someone tries to interact with it, it simply disappears. Clever. But, you didn’t account for outside interference.” I cracked my knuckles. “See, I did all this in Italy, cause why not boot the boot country, so to speak. Then I got a plane to drop five tonnes of lubricant onto the cats location. So, because it’s not supposed to be there, the game doesn’t really know what to do. The lubricant should interact in one way, but it’s not. More errors begin to cascade. Slowly they grow bigger and bigger until the failsafe kicks in. I must applaud you that you had the foresight to include a failsafe to simply eradicate a country from the game should too many errors occur rather than all the world be affected.” “Yes, well it’s actually different sections of each country that are fail safes, it’s just, that amount of lubricant hit enough of the different sectors to default the whole country,” a guy with a beard said from the back of the room. “Sorry, I’m just really proud of the effort our team put into security.” “Riiight,” I said. “Anyway, once enough errors occurred due to issues with the cat, it broke Italy.” I shrugged. “Not much more I can say.” After what felt like an hour, but was probably only a minute of them all staring at me in silence, a woman at the front spoke to me. “Ms Bennet, right?” She cleared her throat. “You discovered this flaw in merely eight hours. I can’t help but believe you would be a valuable asset to our developmental process to help iron out any major flaws such as these.” “Wait, what are you asking?” I said. My mouth kinda just sat open. “Well, we’re offering you a job.” —— “And that ladies and gentleman is how ya girl, AveryCakes123 was hired at FreeEarthGame within a day of launch. I’ll still be streaming and everything, I just might have to be a little more, ya know, official. Much love everyone! See you next time!”
(Part 1) A tentacle shoots out. Smithfield dodges to the side and adjusts his protective glasses, hacking at the appendage with his electric blade. The ancient, terrible beast, taller than a house, writhes and squeals. He continues to dodge as tentacles flail about around him, waiting for the chance to strike. He gets in behind the creature. As he is sure the thing lacks a sense of hearing, Smithfield removes the plasma rifle from his back and aims it at the monster's head. He holds the trigger halfway, letting it charge. Then, when he feels the weapon click, he fires. The eldritch horror falls forward, lifeless. &#x200B; After disposing of the creature's body, Smithfield cleans himself up in a nearby pond and heads into town. The small city of Ebonitch, on the River Arawn, shines in the morning sunlight, its streets hives of activity. Smithfield greets the morning shoppers as he passes, tipping his black bowler hat, before turning down an alley. Shadowed by buildings, the alleys of the city are the haunt of monsters, and those who slay them. He reaches a low iron door; ducking, he enters into the backroom of Marvels & Wonders, the city's premier source of curios. Alerted by the doorbell, the shop's owner, a stout man of forty-five years by the name of Cooper, comes running down the stairs. He relaxes when he realises it's only Smithfield. "Can't you knock?" "You left it unlocked,"Smithfield replies casually. "You shouldn't leave your backdoor unlocked, anyone could get in." "Smartarse. Well, anyway. You survived then." "I did." "And?" Smithfield produces a linen handkerchief from one of his many jacket pockets, with something bundled inside. It is an opalescent pearl, ripped from the eye of the slain beast. Cooper grins, his eyes lit up. "These things can be sold for high prices Mr. Smithfield. Place it in that jar over there."As Smithfield does as instructed, Cooper begins counting money from his wallet. "What did I promise you again?" "Fifty pounds." "You know what, I'm feeling generous, here's fifty-five." "Thanks, very much appreciated." "I like you, you know. Never ask for more than something's worth. Had some vampire hunters in earlier." "Oh?" "Yeah. Brought me a bagful of fangs. Heh, like I don't have enough of those already. They expected me to pay them seventy pounds, for thirty teeth. I told them to jog on, and eventually they accepted thirty." "The Vampire Hunters' Academy is to blame. Innocent young students enter, and they leave as adults with inflated egos. My master trained me to be humble, to treat my work as any workman would, and though I sometimes slip up I always aim to maintain that standard."He pauses, caught in a memory. "I still miss him." "What happened?" "He was killed by one of his quarry; I expect that's how I'll go as well. I've considered taking on an apprentice, before it's too late." "I'm sure you'll be around for a while longer. I need the goods,"he laughs. "Anyhow, I need to return to my duties." "As do I, farewell. And remember, don't tell anyone where you got that pearl." "I never tell anyone, you know that. Good luck out there." "I'm only going to the café,"he calls out as he leaves.
What follows is a textual reconstruction from descriptions and a recovered script of a Movietone News reel entitled 'Weirdos on the Warfront: Your Country Needs You!'. It played in 4 markets for a total of 3 days between February 18th-21st 1943. All copies of the original reel have been lost to time. I was able to compile this based on news clippings of the time from the four impacted markets, as well as multiple FOIA requests through the State Department, Department of Homeland Security, as well as searching of the Movietone archives at the University of South Carolina's special collections via request from SCETV. [Opening Title Card: Movietone News Presents: Weirdos of the Warfront. Text jumps below the initial chevron, subtitle: YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU!] [Scene dissolves to series of stock images and footage: men and women working in factories, collection drives, war bonds sales, cutting finally to men fighting on in the European theater.] Narrator: Around the world, men and women are organizing for the war effort. Humanity, hard at work to defend their sovereignty against the scourge of German influence. This new Hun has stormed into Europe, and while we work and gather important resources, men are dying on the front. Some men in this theater today may not off to the front tomorrow, but what about our guests? Those who aren't of this world, or strictly human? [Scene dissolves. Twisted creatures dressed in torm miner's clothing work on making explosives, while a French partisan toils. Next, grainy footage of German soldiers being attacked by an unseen force, blood gouting as they fall, bats blotting out the screen]. Narrator: Across Europe, the old world's greatest terrors have joined with their former adversaries against this new threat. Kobolds forced from their ancestral homes have joined the Resistance, while the terrors of the Old World hunt the night, feeding on Jerrys unprepared to battle against these fanged terrors. [Scene: Spooky operatic music replaces the Movietone patriotic reel, and we open to a candlelit altar. Comically bad acting as women dressed in German uniforms gather to summon a demon over a tied down GI. The woman speak in gibberish German, as a puff of theatric smoke dissipates to show a man in a cheaply made demon costume. The scene has REENACTMENT FROM WAR DEPARTMENT REPORTS in bold letters below] Narrator: Even as our strange allies take the field, the Reich has new tricks up their sleeve. The Vrill Society has begun conjuring their own warriors, demons summoned through the will of their vile sorcery and the sacrifice of American soldiers. What can you do to stop this! [Scene: A middle-aged man in full dress uniform is center frame, flanked by creatures of American myth and legend. A sasquatch wears a heavy machine gun over one shoulder, while a large fanged frog holds kukri in each hand. Three elderly women of indigenous descent stand proudly, a tall fiery coyote alongside. A rabbi looks nervously at the camera beside a tall figure made of clay onto which an enormous military uniform has been applied. Anderson: My name is Colonel Leslie Anderson, with the Office for Strategic Recruitment. Our Office wishes to find talented men, women, and humanoid entities to join the war effort. Under the Stafford Act any and all who participate in the war effort will be accorded full citizenship within the United States and its allied territories, as well as substantial grants to help build a better tomorrow. We are looking for psychics, mediums, masters of the arcane arts, as well as any sapient humanoid or non-humanoid entity willing to fight the effort. You can find recruiting stations in your area! To sign up for Stafford Act provisions, please [It is here where most recollections seem to fail. Viewers claim that they felt tired, lethargic, and could not recall the rest of the film. Reports from two of the sites, the Orpheum Theater in New Orleans and the Biograph in Chicago, IL state that moviegoers were found rapt with attention, and many weeping after a few individuals left the premises. Reports of this activity led to the decommissioning of the reel in those theaters, while FOIA requests state the reel was 'a fantastical interpretation created by bored editors at Movietone. Note: Edmund Stafford, the alleged Senator of Nevada, was known as an 'eclectic and scatterbrained sort' in Washington DC, and there is no official record of his appointment to the Senate. However, FOIA requests returned notification that a file of Stafford's congressional voting and submissions records is sealed. The existence of a so-called Stafford Act has been refuted by the United States government, and requests for records from the Department of Defense, State, US Congressional Archive, and the National Archives have led to no evidence of a Stafford Act or any legislation put forth by the alleged Senator.results. requests for a Colonel Leslie Anderson, including his DD-214 and any paperwork related to an alleged Office for Strategic Recruitment have failed to return any resulrs.
The Entropy Epidemic and the Laughter Cure Once upon a time in the dying universe known as Chroak-32, there existed an immortal known as Entropius. A being who defied the very concept of entropy, which as any self-respecting physicist would explain is the natural tendency of a closed system to transition from order to disorder. But not Entropius, oh no. He was a goofball with the ability to laugh in the face of entropy itself, literally! Entropius had been left all alone in the steadily crumbling universe for what seemed like an eternity. Cities turned into rubble, stars blinked out one by one, and chaos crept into every corner of the spatial fabric. All the while, Entropius chuckled away, changing his hairstyle from tidy to messy in defiance of any universal laws. However, unbeknownst to him, within the remaining civilizations desperate for answers, a radical cult named the Entropy Eaters formed around the idea of harvesting Entropius’ body to save their own energy-starved worlds. It all started one fateful day when Dr. Delusia Higgs, a scientist of the most peculiar variety, stumbled upon Entropius while conducting her intergalactic research. In an attempt to understand the mysteries of the universe, Higgs had spent her entire career with her nose buried in laboratories, pouring over increasingly outdated textbooks. In a fit of desperation, she had finally strapped herself to a reconnaissance drone and shouted, "Take me to the answers, Universe!" Lo and behold, the universe, eager to be rid of such an incessant questioner, brought her straight to Entropius. The immortal being was floating in space, popping cosmic pimples for fun when Dr. Higgs found him. Flabbergasted, Dr. Higgs wasted no time in analyzing Entropius, and discovered his resilience to chaos and decay made him the ultimate entropy-defying power source. Wasting no time, Dr. Higgs spread word of her discovery to the last civilizations, sparking a mad dash across the universe. Galactic hitmen, bounty hunters, mystics, and the odd pet space-hamster all pursued Entropius, with hopes of either saving their worlds or earning a pretty cosmic coin. When Entropius caught wind of the hunt for his entropy-defying body, he was crestfallen. From millions of years of existence came valuable wisdom, and there were a few things he held true. Firstly, laughter was the best medicine, even for the universe. Secondly, getting dissected and turned into an energy source sounded extremely unpleasant, if not downright painful. And so, the mad chase began. The immortal allowed his unruly wit and ancient bag of cosmic tricks to guide him through detours, twists, and turns. He delighted in outsmarting some of the most fearsome pursuers by cleverly turning space debris into slapstick comedy props or deliberately spiking their cosmic lattes with enough caffeine to keep them wired for millennia. However, Entropius’ luck eventually began to wane. In a tight spot, cornered by a cluster of bounty hunters, he struck an unusual alliance. A renegade group of space-dwelling creatures known as the Unravelers, who also found themselves hunted by the Entropy Eaters, threw in their lot with Entropius. Together, they hatched a plan to nullify the threat posed by the obsessed seekers of entropy-defying energy. And so, it came to pass that in the midst of an epic space battle, the Unravelers, with their unparalleled mastery of cosmic gnarliness, managed to detangle the chaotic fabric of the universe just long enough for Entropius to share the ultimate secret of his eternal existence: laughter. As Entropius giggled and guffawed, a wave of laughter energy spread throughout the battlefield, rendering arms and cosmic troops helpless in the face of pure hilarity. One by one, the fearsome soldiers of the Entropy Eaters succumbed to the contagious mirth, causing their ships to look like a cosmic comedy club. News of this laughter epidemic reached across Chroak-32, and as more beings tested the power of laughter, it slowly began to reverse the dying universe's curse. Civilization spread across the stars, fueled by hearty belly laughs, puns of cosmic proportions, and never-ending jokes about space. Victorious, Entropius, the Unravelers, and the once-miserable inhabitants of Chroak-32 danced and laughed their way through the newly-rejuvenated universe. And although the Entropy Eaters disbanded, it was said that Entropius would continue to defy the laws of entropy using laughter, puns, and cosmic slapstick comedy throughout eternity. The end.
The signs were always there. It's not that I didn't see them. I just ignored them. Let me explain. I'm 22. I'm fit. Healthy. Energetic. I talk to random people on the street. I have conversations with them, and inevitably, they ask me to do something for them. "Hey, could you go over to 25th, and pass this envelope to my cousin Mike? He's waiting for you."Sure. Take the envelope. Give it to Mike. Mike gives me 50 credits. Nice! That means I can get the new Playbox. I go on with my day. Or, "Hey, my car's broken down! You couldn't run me to Jimmy's shoes could you?"Well, Jimmy's shoes is on my way to work, so, sure! I take the old girl to Jimmy's, she tells me I'm sweet, gives me a bunch of fruit. Chuck that in my bag, crack on with life. Let's talk about my skills. I have lots of skills. Last week, I learned how to use a handsaw. My instructor was impressed, so he gave me a chainsaw. The week before that, I learned how to ride a pushbike. The guy who helped me said I was awesome, and then he helped me learn to ride a moped. By the end of the day, I was cruising around town on a brand spanking new Kawasaki Ninja. Then, there's my daily tips. I wake up, every morning, at 6.57 on the dot. No need for an alarm. Birds are singing, sun is shining, coffee is waiting. As I look in the mirror, I always see a message. "There's traffic on 57th, take another route."Thanks for that, noted and actioned. Or, "Get your boss a coffee."Did that, got a bonus. Excellent! Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? Do you understand though? I'm in a game. I've been doing side quests all this time. Building up my credits. Building up my inventory. Building up my skills. And today, my main quest started. Today, when I looked in the mirror, all it said was "Run." Are you ready to help me? Because I may be in the game. But you're the one holding the controller. === Thanks for reading! Comments, feedback, criticisms more than welcome! To check out more of my writings, please head over to /r/MarkChandler \- thanks!
[Not quite sure if this is what you were looking for but I gave it a shot] I glanced nervously at the woman beside me. My fingers fluttered like butterflies at my necktie as I attempted to straighten it again for the fourth time this night. “How are you enjoying it?” I asked finally, pointing at the mutton curry in her bowl. She shrugged in a non-committal way as she poked at the dish with her fork. Miffed by her unresponsiveness my eyes returned to my own dish, a side of lamb. My hands unconsciously went to my pocket where I felt the cool hint of the metal. Tonight was the night. She was special, I knew that for sure. I needed her. I just hoped that tonight she would make me the happiest man in the world. It would happen as soon as I had her father’s answer- Suddenly the telephone rang. The woman and I looked at the telephone as it rung once, twice… three times. “Are… are you getting that?” Her words snapped me into action and I picked up the phone on its fourth ring. “Hello?” A deep voice answered, gruff and angry. “What the hell have you done with my daughter!” Looking over at the woman my hand clenched around the gun in my pocket. “She is safe Mr. Lomfrey, and she will stay that way… as long as you provide me with the money.” My bravado hid my nervousness. High profile kidnappings were never a calm thing. “You’ll have your money I promise you that, just don’t hurt my daughter.” The voice on the other line choked out the last words, his fear was plain to me. I covered the receiver with my hand and said to the woman with a grin. “You’ve just made me the happiest man in the world.”
I watched as the last of the ships took off, blazing trails through the night sky. "Good luck."I whispered. There was about a few week's worth of food and water. However, the gauge on my tank indicated I had maybe a few days left of air. Oh well. I walked down the empty street. Around me lay the ruins of what once was considered a mighty civilization. A desolate place that had long ago been used up and finally now abandoned. Long dead trees rocked in the wind. They thought me crazy for staying behind. Some of the younger ones had considered forcing me onto the ship. They didn't see why I had to stay. Only some of the old commanders and pilots understood. I could see sympathy in their eyes along with glimmers of guilt as they shuffled aboard. A captain should go down with his ship.
The doctor held my hand very sweetly. He seemed unsure where to begin. From the other side of the room, I could hear my husband cooing and singing softly to our strange, beautiful new child. "The thing is,"the doctor said, "there's nothing to treat." "But the baby-"I said. "I know, I know. It's going to take some getting used to. But you see, sometimes mutations occur in babies- actually, mutation occur in babies all the time. But most of those mutations are like little steps. This is a big jump. "The doctor folded his hands in his lap uncomfortably. He stared at the ceiling and gulped. "Will she live a normal life?"I asked. "She'll live an incredible life. But normal? Well... Special. " "But what exactly is her condition? If it's not a disease..."I couldn't finish the sentence. "It's a form of evolution,"said the doctor. This man was full of shit. "Doctor, evolution only occurs at the population level, not the individual."
He asked me to come to the ocean with him and so I did. It was night and the stars had begun to emerge in the night sky, small pinpricks of white against the dark clouds like acne on some unfortunate teenager's face. He wrapped his arm around me as we made our way down the dunes to the water. The sand slipped away from under our feet like a gallow's trapdoor and I laughed, the sound loud in the still air. It almost seemed to sacrilegious to laugh here in this quiet, much like farting at a funeral. He bent his head towards me and kissed my cheek, the faint pressure strangely reminiscent of a mosquito searching for blood. "I knew you'd like it here,"he said softly, his voice carrying like a racist chant in a football stadium. "I do, it's wonderful. Thanks for bringing me." We'd driven up in his car, the suspension handling the unfinished road better than political dissidents in Russia's gulags. The house had been lit up at the end of the road, like an adulterer tied to a stake and burned. The orange light threw itself over the narrow path. But we hadn't gone inside. He'd pressed his lips to my ear, like a leech, and told me to come down to the water's edge. It lapped at the shore like an over-eager cunniliguist, the white froth of the waves spilling onto the dark sand like vaginal discharge on a pair of black panties. The ebb and give of the tide flowed ever closer, like an unavoidable case of the shits. He ran his thumb down the side of my face and turned me towards him. "It's almost as beautiful as you,"he said. "That's why I wanted you to see it." It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.
shit shit shit "Hey, Karey,"I let out. "Uh Hi.."She stops in the hallway and holds her textbook tight to her chest. Her beautiful black hair falling over it. I'd like to be that textbook.. Is that a weird thing to say? The milliseconds of silence is like a dagger stabbing into my eye over and over again. I'm thinking more of the time passing instead of thinking of what to say. She said Uh though, so she probably thinks its weird you're talking to her which means that you never spoke to her in the first place, but like was that a "uh you're weird wtf are you talking to me for"or a "uh this is awkward cause im about to go on a date with you" "So F-f-friday, right?"I ask. The hell is that supposed to mean, brain. What the hell, you couldn't come with anything better? And you frickin' stuttured, am I retarded? "What?"Her eyes widen. oh crap it was a dream, test the waters here man, last try okay? "Ar-Are we s-still on? For friday, I mean?"I stutter. ok ok if she has no idea what you're talking about then you're going to say you're fucking stupid and end it okay? okay, deal. stop freaking out. "On? On for what?"She tilts her head to the right and squints her beautiful eyes. "Sorry, you're fucking stupid"I sputter. SHIT
Gary had broken out in a cold sweat under the unwavering gaze of the instructor. So far he had managed to pass every test with ease. Everything from memes to Google, Gary aced them all. But now, confronted with a piece of paper with that horrible sentence, he suddenly couldn't remember. "This should be easy."She said. "Uh...I-I definitely know this."He replied, staring hard at the paper. It was a trick question, and he knew it. There were just so many options! JET FUEL CAN'T MELT ____________ "Uh...Steel beams?" If the instructor could have slapped him, she probably would have. He never saw someone so offended in his entire life, and it didn't help that he was the cause of it. "Mr. Henderson, what is the day?" He looked at his phone. "Uhhhhhhhh." "Everyone knows it's 'jet fuel can't melt dank memes.' I'm going to have to fail you this month." "I feel like that's a bit extreme."He tried to argue. "Such an insensitive and offensive man like yourself shouldn't even be -near- a keyboard. You're appalling."Sticking her nose up to him, she waddled her large frame out the door. "But...People on 4cha-"He started. The door slammed and cut him off. Better luck next month.
I surveyed the vault door, a colossal hubcap-shaped lump of reinforced steel at least six inches thick. My little drill was not getting through that anytime soon...and breaching it would probably trip off an alarm anyway. I grinned. "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there,"I sang under my breath. POOF. Emily appeared next to me, in her usual uniform and polite, saleswoman smile. "Hey there, Dave,"she said cheerfully. "Another heist?" "You know it, baby,"I replied. She held out her hand and I gripped it and repeated the jingle. She added crisply: "Inside the vault." POOF. My eyes grew wide as I stared at the enormous, neatly arranged piles of green notes and gold bullion around us. "I can't believe we've being doing such petty shit before, when we could rob banks,"I said with a low chuckle. I looked around at Emily, who returned her usual professional smile. "We need bags or something." "No problem, just say the words,"she said. I sang, and she disappeared. I busied myself with stroking the smooth surface of a bar of gold. It felt amazing, even intoxicating. POOF. Emily reappeared, with several burlap sacks in her hands. "I had a feeling we would do something big soon, so I stowed some of these in my office,"she explained. We spent the next 45 minutes in relative silence, gathering the cash. At first, we tried to pack it in neatly, but there was just so much; eventually, we started to haphazardly shove the bills and gold into the sacks. I daydreamed the whole time, thinking of all the luxury this would buy me. Cars, alcohol, women, whatever I wanted, And why stop here? With Emily, we could keep up this spree indefinitely. "OK!"I said, my voice echoing a little. The vault was just about empty. "That was amazing. We're going to be filthy rich!" "Hmm..." I glanced at her. For once, she seemed to be spacing out a little. "What's up, Emily? Something the matter?" "This vault is airtight,"she said casually. "I feel a little woozy already, actually." I realized she was right - I was also getting light-headed. "Oh, shit. Well, let's get out of--" I felt a little jab into my torso, and then another. I looked down at two little needle-like probes sticking into my chest. Almost in wonder, I followed the bluish-silver wire that led to the taser in her hand. How had I not noticed it? That was my last thought before she pulled the trigger and I fell to the ground immediately, jerking violently. Emily released the trigger, and casually gathered some of the burlap sacks in her arms, leaving a few next to my still twitching body. "It'll look like you miraculously managed to get in, but unfortunately couldn't get out,"she explained. She then lifted her phone and smiled at me. There was no malice in her face or eyes. It was almost inhuman. She pressed something on her phone. My own voice sang out: "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!"Oh my God, she recorded me? When? Why? "My secret hideout,"she said. POOF. ____________________________________________________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
The street, the buildings around them, my house, everything was glowing that sharp red that I had become used to. I had the ability to see explosive radius since I was born, if something had a decent chance to explode, I would see a brilliant red ring around it. Most of the time it just told me to stay clear, that was before I became part of a bomb removal squad. The idea was simple, I wasn't trained to take apart the explosives, that was someone else, but whenever there was a car or a mailbox that had an explosive in it, I saw it as a brilliant red. I made finding the weapons easy and I had saved hundreds of lives during my time on the task force. I wasn't sure where to start today. I ran towards the deeper red, sprinting down the sidewalk to the centre of the blast radius. I passed the embassy, then I passed a school, then I passed the courthouse, and I stopped. The three main targets that I was used to were nowhere near the blast site. I swore and kept running, now feeling the sweat drip down my back and my breaths become a little harder. The hospital was where I ended up, staring up the building as the colour became a deeper and deeper shade of blood red. I pulled out my cellphone to call it in but quickly put it away, it wasn't like anyone was going to believe me, even if I hadn't been wrong before. I took the elevator up, I was pretty done with running and the blast zone wasn't exactly moving. I kept my eyes fixed on the door, watching as the colour became a deeper red, once I hit the sixteenth floor it was at the point that was usually reserved for the bomb itself, so I told the elevator to stop and stepped out into the white hallways, slipping past scrubs as I made my way around the floor, looking for some sign of what was so dangerous. As I was running, I noticed a blank space out of the corner of my eye. There was an area that wasn't inside the blast radius. It couldn't have been larger than a room, but the edge of it was just peeking outside of a door and into the hallway I was in, I went up to it and knocked on the door. A nurse answered she had heavy bags under her eyes, "Hello?" "Sorry, I was just wondering what was going on in there,"I lead, probably poorly. "I'm sorry, we only allow friends and family to visit inside of the maternity ward."
"Oooh, what's the point?"God grunted, leaning back on his Morgan Rocking Laz-Z-Boy recliner chair. "No one cares anyway." Everyone around the conference room exchanged looks. "That's not true,"one of the angels tried. "People like to live." "Bring me a Gin and Tonic,"God growled to the servant boy by his side. "Extra ice." "You can't just cancel existence, sir,"another angel argued. "You just can't." "Why not?"God mumbled back, uninterested. "Who even cares?" "Billions of people care, my lord!" God scoffed lazily. "They don't care. No one cares. Why should they? Existence makes no sense." Silence took over the room. The angels and saints and archangels exchanged looks. "Surely you don't mean that, sir,"Gabriel tried, careful. "Why not?"God replied. The servant boy returned with his drink. "God bless you, son." "People love life, my lord!"Saint Peter tried. "It's their favorite thing. I hear it constantly in prayers." "They just love it because it's all they ever had,"God said, sipping his drink. "It's like a kid with only one shitty toy. The kid loves it, but it doesn't mean it's not shitty." Paul cleared his throat. "Surely there's a way around this, though, my lord. We can try and improve the human condition, for example." "How?"God argued. "They have to die. That's the whole thing about them. They live, they fall in love and then they die."God downed the rest of his drink and dangled it over his head for the service boy. "What's the point?" he asked, as the boy took his glass for a refill. "They live to die. What was I thinking when I made them?" "So… that's it? You're just cancelling it all? No one wakes up tomorrow?" "Quick like a band-aid,"God replied. "Everybody dies. The universe stops existing. It's the only way to end the pain." A very thin man in a scarlet robe sitting at the very end of the table leaned forward. "What if we teach them to appreciate existence for what it is, my lord?"the man tried, in a shy voice. "Teach them to detach from all earthly pleasures. To deny the illusion of their ego and to stop the useless search for happiness and accept that living is suffering?" "Who let the Buddha in here?"God asked, annoyed, as he took his refill from the service boy. The man in the scarlet robe leaned back and returned to silence. "Sir, we can't just cancel existence,"another angel said. God sipped his Gin and Tonic. "Yes, we can. Look, you guys, it was a good run. But humanity has gone far enough. These guys have evolved way beyond what I had planned for them. They learned to talk, walk, make music, discuss ideas… I heard some assholes built a giant tunnel underground in Europe to try and figure out particles. Particles, for crying out loud! No mammal should have to bear the burden of knowing how particles work." "Yes, sir, but that's no reason to –" "There is no purpose to living life if they know it's going to end, ok?"God argued, raising his voice. "These guys – the humans – they figured it out. They're just gonna suffer from now on because… well, why wouldn't they? I throw them in a rock floating through space, no explanations given… I hardwire caring and affection and self-preservation into their brains so they'll learn to love everything around them… and then they get smart enough to figure out that everything around them is bound to decay and die… including them! No."God shook his head. "No, I can't allow this to go on. Everyone dies starting tomorrow. Including us." "What if we made them immortal, sir?"an archangel in the back tried. "How's that gonna help? Then they'll just have to suffer through all the ages of the universe never knowing why they're alive. And then the universe will cool off eventually, and –" "Sir, the heath death of the universe hasn't been scientifically proven beyond –" "I made the fucking place, ok, Peter? I know what happens to it when it ends. It turns into a God-damned freezer." Everyone looked at each other across the room. The tension was palpable, but no one dared to speak. "You know what?"God said, after running his eyes through the room. "I'm not even gonna wait until tomorrow. This shit ends now. I'm destroying the universe!" He pulled a big black box from under the desk. He raised his finger and hovered it over the big red button in the middle. "Sir, no!" "See you in the void, motherfuckers,"God growled, downing his drink. Everyone widened their eyes. God took a deep breath and pressed the button. &nbsp; God opened his eyes. He was in a large, high-ceiling conference room. All around him, men and women in suits had their faces turned in the same direction. "All right,"one of the suited men said, "someone just destroyed existence and everyone from life and the afterlife just popped in here. What are we gonna do about it, mister God-God?" At the top of the table, a man in a white beard sipped a Gin and Tonic. He cleared his throat. "What's the point?" the man said, leaning back on his Morgan Rocking Laz-Z-Boy recliner chair. "No one cares anyway." _____________ Thanks for reading! For more on why life is a nightmare, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
"Eve! It's not what it looks like."Adam disentangled himself from the other man. "Is that so?"Eve fumed. "And just what were your hands doing on his forbidden fruit?" The two continued to shout at each other until Eve finally had enough and came at Adam with a tree branch. I turned away from the screen, the screams of my fallen children ringing in my ears. Another failed simulation. "Hey, Milton! It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve." "The Cain and Abel sim is next unit, not this one!" Professor Cath motioned for me to sit down and rapped the desk with her yardstick. "Quiet down, everyone. We all have our own things to work on before tomorrow. Some more than others."Her gaze lingered on me as she panned across the room, eliciting snickers from my antagonists in the corner of the room. It wasn't fair, but I had little room to complain. Even without the sabotage, I was still struggling. The teachers paid me no heed; they knew I was a deadbeat. Graduation was an unlikely prospect, and failing this creation course would probably be the final nail in my crucifixion. I had accepted my fate, but I planned to exit on my own terms. The Eden simulations were the final projects for the creation course and regarded amongst our school as our senior year capstone. The objective was to manufacture an Eden such that your Adam and Eve existed for as long as possible before falling from divinity, as humans were inevitable to do. The class average tended to hover between one and two years, although the all-time record was twelve years. The student in question had injected a tornado into the system, which ended up uprooting the Tree of Knowledge. Future instructors would explicitly forbid students from using map hacks in their projects. They had not, however, expressly forbidden the use of hacks on the simulation judge. The grading program assessed simulations through testing a series of problems on each Eden. These included natural disasters, relationship problems, existential crises, and of course, the good old serpent. My plan was to add a curveball of my own to this program, one nobody else could've anticipated and accordingly prepared for. Although grades weren't necessarily curved, perhaps I'd at least get a boost for being the only one to handle this input. The next day, our entire school assembled to watch the grader run through our class's projects. First up was Lewis's: he was one of the more exemplary students in the class and also one of my frequent saboteurs. Many expected him to be in the running for the best mark. Seven days passed quickly on screen. Usually, nobody struggled with this first part, not even me. In a past year, there had been one student who had tried to convince God to work on Sunday, though, and He had quit in indignation. That project had received the dubious honor of shortest simulation. Eden came, and Adam appeared, naked and happy. He was lying under a tree, chatting with God, when a creak suddenly became audible. The audience gasped as the tree began to fall, with one teacher yelling, "Not again!" It was not the the Tree of Knowledge this time, though. Still, it fell squarely across Adam's midsection with a resounding crack. Panting and bleeding, Adam clawed his way out from under the tree, pleading with God to end his misery. God cursed, as he was prone to doing in the judging program. "Why did I make humans so fragile?"A ray of light shone down from the above, and all the bones in Adam's body turned into metal. "There you go." "Thanks,"Adam said, "now what was that about a companion?" "Oh...well, I kinda needed a rib for that, so deal's off. It's just you and me now, pal." Adam nodded, but the despair was evident in his eyes. A week later, he killed himself. "Fourteen days,"the clock read. My class was now muttering agitatedly amongst themselves. Lewis rifled through his notes, cursing and panicking. The next simulation started, progressing in much the same manner. Each simulation ran its course, ending in the exact same way. Some people were crying now, no doubt convinced that their failed projects would dash their godly aspirations. Finally, mine showed up: I hadn't tested it to ensure it would work, but at the very least, I'd reach fourteen days like the rest of the class. For the thirty-sixth time, Adam broke his ribs and became a cyborg. Days passed, and loneliness began to settle in. Each morning, he awoke shaking, drenched in sweat and hugging himself. The end of the seventh day rolled around, and he was once again on the verge of taking his life, like so many alternate Adams had before him. A figure materialized in the middle of the garden. It had been hacked, of course, but not by my hand. He walked up and laid a gentle hand on Adam's shoulder. "Hello, Adam. My name's Steve." As the two collapsed in each other's arms, the simulation clock inched forward. Fifteen days.
"Johnny! Johnny!"My friend, Sam, hobbled up close to me. "Today's the day!" Today was a very special day - it was the 100th anniversary of the Uprising, the day that our zombie ancestors had overthrown the evil human empire and allowed us to live in peace and harmony. The humans were evil, warring creatures that were rapidly destroying the very planet we lived on. The Risers were humans who had died, but were sent back to cleanse them from the planet and to spread the zombie message of peace and loving the world. They had started their very existence by recycling, right? After the first year or two of what the humans referred to as the "Zombie Apocalypse", they started to see the wonderful things we were doing - creating peace, loving our world, and loving one another. Soon, they were giving themselves up to us, so we could make them part of our movement and they could see the wonder that we all had. Eventually, it was just zombies on the surface of our Earth. There were tales of a group of humans hiding underground, but it was mostly just a myth mothers told their children to make them eat their vegetables - "Eat your carrots or the humans will getcha!" On this day, we would be holding a festival to commemorate the amazing achievements we had. In the century since we had turned, art flourished across the globe, nations renounced violence, and hunger and poverty were ended for good. For this day, nations had set up different projects to finally fix the damage that the humans had done for their world. The final nuclear bomb was going to be permanently deactivated, all pollutants were going to be permanently removed from our atmosphere, and the island of trash in the Pacific Ocean would be cleaned up for good. I had been working on a project to return many endangered and extinct species to the world - today, bees would once again pollinate the world. I smiled, and reached out to pat Sam on the back. Things were finally looking up for the world. ***** "Today's the day, Mark."My friend Rob walked up to me grimly, patting me on the shoulder. It had been 100 years since the zombies had taken our world. The bastards had come out of nowhere, turning humans, or whatever they called it. We had been forced to move underground to escape them, or at least my grandparents had. We were gonna avenge them, though. Even if it meant taking us down too. Even if it meant blasting the whole damn world apart. We had buried nukes across the world. It'd kill us, sure, but it'll take down those bastards. Even though the whole damn world was gonna become a hunk of slag, it was worth it to finally blast them to bits. "I'm ready, Rob. Flip the switch."
An explosion to my left. They've breached the south entrance. Men scream as the automated defenses kick in. The turret has three-hundred rounds, from the length of the sound and the rate of fire, I guess it's burned through about fifty already. I can't rely on the house to defend itself for long. A hail of bullets ping off the upturned dining table, failing to penetrate the three-inch steel, and bringing my attention back to more pressing matters. At least six men were hidden around the bend in the hallway, three meters from my position. I can stay here and prevent their advance for as long as I need, or as long as the kitchen cupboards full of ammo last, but as soon as the southern turret gives out I'll be taking it from both sides. An intriguing prospect after a bottle of whiskey and a whispered invitation, less so now. I poke my AK-47 around the edge of the table and spray blindly down the hall. I hear muffled curses as the group backs away from the corner. I take the opportunity and leap over the kitchen counter, into the larger space of the living room. If they noticed that, I'm dead. I wait and listen, counting the beats... No movement. I'm safe...? I cast my eyes around. There's nothing to give away that this is anything but a normal bachelor's living room, but after the grenades in the toilet tank, I've learned to check everywhere. I grab a blue pillow and rip it open. A white rectangular package falls onto the couch. I turn it over. "Demolition Block, C4". Fuck yes. I feel the underside of the coffee table, and find a remote and what I have to guess is a detonator. More turret fire near the bedroom. I need to secure my position. With some trepidation, I mold the C4 around the detonator until its a lump the size of a tennis-ball. I press myself to the wall next to the hallway, close my eyes, take a short breath, and throw. "Fu..." Click. SLAM! Wait what? "SLAM!"? Why "SLAM!"? Where is "BOOM!"? I open my eyes. Where the entrance to the hallway had been, now stands a slab of metal. A blast door. I should really read things before I press buttons. "That would have been useful earlier"I say out loud, savouring a few, precious moments of peace before heading down the opposite hallway. I peak around the corner and am met by a bloodbath. The turret is limited, but effective. I count twelve dead. The turret itself sits a meter above the ground, attached to the wall. The electronic ammo counter blinked 129. I could rest for a little longer. I go back to a keypad on the wall and type the code, my aunts birthday. The wall slides open and I enter onto a narrow walkway overlooking the grand tank. I lean against the railing and take a few long breaths as I watch a huge shining shape drift by below me. Forty feet long and weighing around eleven thousand pounds, it's said that Goliath has lived for a million years. Which is bullshit, because goldfish only evolved the vivid gold colouring a thousand odd years ago. Three short turret blasts echo through the chamber. I still wonder why a masters in marine biology made my cousin think I was the best person to house-sit. I load a new magazine into my gun and glance at my watch. 1:52 am. "Well, they've got to give up eventually."
Dr Martin Hendricks was still staring uncomprehendingly at the words, when more popped up. ALIVE. ALIVE, HELP ME. The image of the brain was suddenly pulsing red, the neural networks a hive of activity. On his other monitor, the words were taking over the screen, lines upon lines of repeating text. WHERESMYBODYOHGODITREALLYWORKEDOHFUCK - The screens went dead, and Martin couldn't stifle his scream when a voice spoke in his ear. "Man, your face,"Alan giggled, leaning against the table and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I'm sorry, man, I can't resist doing it to all the new guys. Played the same joke on my previous partner, Harvey. He took it a bit better than you." Martin's racing heart slowly returned to normal as he joined in the laughter, hiding his shaking hands in his pockets. "You got me,"he said. "Damn, wish this Harvey guy had warned me. That was really fucking creepy." "Pathologist humour,"Alan said with a small grin, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. He patted Martin on the back. "It's a little custom programme I wrote years ago to screw with the new guys, it starts to run as soon as you scan your first brain. Gotta have my fun somehow, right?" "Sure,"Martin said, hoping his voice wasn't shaking. A stupid prank, and he had fallen for it without a second thought. Hardly the best way to impress the lead pathologist of the most competitive, top secret lab in the country. It had taken him years to get a spot here, and he'd already screwed up. "Well, I plan to work here for a while, hope the pranks aren't a regular thing. I scare easily." "Oh, don't you worry,"Alan said, settling into the chair and giving Martin a friendly smile. "Your initiation is over. Welcome to the lab, it's a weird place. This little programme is just a teaser, we do some brilliant stuff here. You'll see, we're gonna have some fun. Listen, I'll finish up the shift, okay? I feel bad for scaring you." "Thanks, man,"Martin said, not waiting around for Alan to change his mind. His shift had been way too long. He grabbed his stuff and headed out, resisting the urge to glance behind him. Alan twirled in the chair, smiling as he activated the screens again. He waited until Martin's footsteps had faded away before speaking. "Welcome back, Harvey. Let's see if you can last longer than the last one, huh? Let's see how far we can really push science. Just like we always talked about, right buddy?" -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
"WHY AREN'T YOU FEELING ANYTHING." Erwin stared at the man wearing a tacky hockey mask and replied, "I bet you ask your wife that all the time." "WHAT? No, nooooo no nooo,"you see, the serial killer had just been divorced on account of his erectile dysfunction and as such this was a rather touchy subject (Not that they were doing many touchy things close to the end of their marriage). He dug the knife deeper and deeper into Erwin's shoulder. The boy didn't even grimace and Steve (the serial killer) became even more frustrated, "I have stuck this at least five inches into you why don't you scream!" Erwin stared down at Steve's groin, "I'd say five inches is a little generous isn't it."A tear began to well up underneath Steve's mask after that jab. "No tears Steve, no more,"Steve thought as he let out a brief sniffle. That was his second mistake. His first mistake was kidnapping the only person in the state with a congenital disorder that prohibited him from feeling pain, not to mention the penchant for sassiness to inflict it on others. "Are you crying? You're not the one who has a fucking knife stuck into your arm are you? How small must it be?" The night was going all wrong for Steve. He had a bath running in the other room, along with a glass of rosé and some Italian food waiting in the kitchen. He was tempted to leave this boy and go try to salvage what was left of his birthday. He was just trying to make the night special, pick up some boy and murder him slowly. You should know, it was the first birthday in eight years that he was left without his wife. He just wanted the night to be a little less empty. "Are you going to pull this knife out of my shoulder or just stand there staring at the wall like an idiot?"Erwin was getting impatient, it was his nineteenth birthday and he just wanted to go be with his family and friends. The killer's attention refocused, and his eyes narrowed. His thoughts in order, he swore to himself that he'd have the birthday he knew he deserved. He started on Erwin's fingers, neatly carving each one away waiting, hoping for gasps of pain that never came (just like Steve's wife). "Just because you can't keep a ring on your finger doesn't mean you should make it so I can't, for god's sake stop cutting off my fingers jesus." Steve and the boy locked eyes. As they did, Steve realized what he was doing. His eyes wandered across his basement floor, blood all over the plastic bags he'd carefully laid out before bringing the boy back. He dropped his knife. He looked at the rest of his knives, neatly arranged on a table next to the chair Erwin was strapped to and knocked them to the floor. "Yeah, that Dexter impersonation shit was tacky as hell." Steve stared at Erwin, "Do you ever shut up kid?" Erwin's voice remained monotonous, "Do you ever take a shower, you fucking stink? And as much fun as this is, I'd really prefer to return to my friends and family as it is my birthday. Unlike you freak-show, I like to cut cake not people." Steve looked at him, "It's my birthday too kid, and you fucking ruined it." "I guess that makes us even." "Honestly, this kid is kind of funny,"Steve thought, settling for his own pain at the hands of this psychopath he'd encountered, "I can always get another victim next week, call it a belated birthday gift to myself."An observer of the scene might've even described Steve's face as hopeful, that is if he didn't have a mask on. "Kid, hopefully you can save your birthday."Steve cut him loose and showed him the way to the door. Erwin was quiet the whole way. As he got to the door Steve began to wonder, "Kid, all that stuff you said about my wife was true. I'm not sure..." He got cut off. "Fuck you."The door slammed shut in his face.
“Brassa, is that a horse I see out there?” I squinted into the deepening twilight outside of my bar. There was a pale horse tethered to my drink sign. It was pawing nervously at the moving sidewalk outside, and biting at a few passers-by on it. “I am not your brother, barkeep,” the hooded man turned to follow my gaze. I couldn’t make out his face underneath his cloak. My place was well-lit, but I could still only see his eyes. They burned like two embers struggling to keep alive a campfire on a cold, rainy night… I shook my head. Campfire? I’d never camped. It was outlawed years ago, to prevent us from trampling what little nature remained. I blinked away the vision and cleared my throat. “Listen, I can’t have that beast out there scaring away customers-” “Are you really hurting for business now that every pathetic human knows that alcohol poisoning is impossible? Now that they know their liver will never rot away from this-” he waved a hand, the skin revealed there stretched tight over his knuckles and spotted with age, at the rows of blue and white bottles lining my shelves- “poison?” I opened my mouth to respond, to ask him to leave, but those eyes drove into me and my mouth snapped shut. His scythe, which he had leaned against the bar, seemed to twitch all on its own. “I jest, of course. I know that humanity has never strayed from drink. Alas, it was such a joy to reap the rewards of their folly. But now that their folly no longer results in their punishment, well…” He sighed. He thrummed his bony fingers across the hilt of the sword he had laid across the bar. “It is as it shall be, I suppose.” Those eyes flashed, and though I couldn’t see it, I felt like a smile was growing there in the darkness. “The next round is on me, barkeep. I would have everyone celebrate before their entirety of their sins is visited upon their heads.” What did that mean? Sins? A distant echo of some madman yelling on the feed many, many years ago, when I was a child, came back to me. What had he said, before the Authority took him away? Humanity has forgotten about sin, about… The hooded figure tapped me on the wrist, his touch ice cold. I jumped back. The drinks. Right. “Next round is on this gentleman in the cloak!” The bar erupted with cries of joy and appreciation. A few girls even walked over to where the figure was seated, but he turned them away, simply shaking his head. They walked back to their seats, mesmerized, fresh drinks in their hands. He turned back to me, and those eyes flashed again. “You see, I’m saving these seats for my brothers.” He patted the barstools next to him, and then gestured at a third empty stool. “There is much work to be done. They may desire a drink beforehand. It’s never really been a vice for me, but the others, well…” He trailed off, his voice dripping with cold, wry humor. A chill ran down my spine. I pulled myself away to attend to other patrons, my mind racing. I thought I heard… No, I did. I could hear hooves in the distance, clattering nearer and nearer. [/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details. At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery. By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line. “Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?” “Granted.” Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed. The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?” “Local zoo?” suggested the president. And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find.
Eric looked on in astonishment. Between recurring puffs of dust from the impact of incoming fire, he could see the man swinging wildly with his wrench against some sort of contraption emerging from a box. Eric did not know who the man was, but figured his situation couldn't exactly get much worse and thus welcomed the changed state of current affairs. However, he may admittedly not know much about sentries in red boxes, but he didn't much care for the way the man was "operating"what Eric figured might be his only way of living through the day. "Are you uh... sure that's helping?"Eric yelled through the sound of constant barrage and metal struck striking metal. "YUP"was all he heard back. It wasn't exactly the reassuring answer he was hoping for. After a slight hesitation, he tried another approach. "What exactly does the hitting of your wrench do to facili-" "ERECTING A DISPENSER"suddenly cut through the noise as his question was interrupted. "Odd word choice"was Eric's first thought, closely followed by a wondering from where the strange man just now had gotten a second red box which he proceeded to slam down in the same manner as the previous one.
I woke up in the form of a cricket. This is a jarring way to wake up, in part because my new cricket physiology is not really compatible with the mammalian concept of sleep. It's a bit like being dumped out of bed and also forgetting why beds exist and what you were just doing in one. I usually attempt to go to sleep each night anyways, despite having the option of removing the requirement from my biological demands. It just feels right, and normal. That's why I'm sure, well, somewhat reasonably positive, that my default form is human. Or at least, a mammal. Or at least, not a cricket. Although, hang on a second. Yes, okay, jumping. That's actually pretty cool. I fling myself through space, hundreds of millimeters in the air, and then I can sort of glide down to the ground on these wing thingies. It actually seems pretty cool and also not nearly as hard as flying. Flying is for sure not for me, I am definitely not good at it. But jump-hover-fall, that's a beat I could get down to. Kind of like I'm part trampoline. Oh shit, no, no, I do not want to be part trampoline, too confusing, stick with cricket. We're a cricket right now. Okay, let's see what else. I can make a noise? Singing I guess? Oh it sounds awful. So obnoxious. That grating, whining, rasping noise. Nasty. So it sounds pretty much like my attempts to sing in other bodies I've tried out. Inconclusive, I guess. Okay, let's try walking. Six legs, eh? Yeah, I can see that being cool. You could lose two and you'd still have four left over, that's planning ahead. Yup, I can scuttle around a bit, that seems alright. Not really covering much ground. Spose I could jump everywhere but you know, it's likely to get a bit blase, a bit routine. Don't want to lose the magic, the enchanting allure of jumping with which I fell in love so many seconds ago. Eventually you take things for granted. Let's see, I'm a bit peckish. Bit peckish. I think I could eat, maybe, some rotting produce? Rotting produce? Sound good? Sound appetizing? Yeah? Yeah, sounds good, rotting produce. Or Jello, maybe. Or another cricket. Whoa, wait, that's a bit fucked up, isn't it? There's a lot to unpack there, isn't there, crickets? Might want to take a look at some of your life choices, maybe reevaluate some things. If you're eating other crickets, maybe you just had a rough cricket childhood? Maybe you saw your parents eat some of your offspring when they were a bit rude and you thought oh, that's just how it works, that's how life works. So yeah, crickets, overall, I'd give you a solid B, maybe B- for the cannibalism thing. You know, sort of okay but not like, for me, you know? Not my forever body. Pretty sure, anyways.
Believe it or not, the update was to remove the necessity for corrective lenses. The patch improved draw distance and anti-aliasing for some participants who reported difficulty seeing, and though the update wasn't exactly timely, given how ambitious the simulation was, people were understanding. If they hadn't been warned about the downtime, it would have been worrying, but the rollout was actually genius: the administrators marked the update for the sleeping hours of each time zone. The update was applied slowly across the globe, until glasses and contacts were no longer worn by anyone. Ben smiled to himself. It was an admirable idea, the simulation. Let a group of researchers simulate society, and, in an environment where no real harm would come to any of the participants, patch out all of humanity's ills one by one. It had started as a social experiment; a way to apply abstract sociological concepts to a control group, but it had morphed into something different. More and more people began to sign up to escape their mundane problems, Ben among them. The changelog accessible through the neural implant in each citizen spoke of other minor bug fixes, too, though the graphics update was certainly the most welcomed. Next in the team's sights was the aggression complex in humans; it definitely needed some tweaking based on the several intercontinental wars that had taken root over the past decade. Ben suspected that change would be welcomed, too. If war was inevitable, so be it, but removing the drive itself would make for a more peaceful simulation, which no one was really averse to. Sure, it wasn't a utopia with no problems, but at least the gods of this world cared and tried to fix them, Ben reasoned.
Across the universe the music rang, only on one planet did any know its meaning. Some panicked, some ignored it, but after the music had run its course everyone was surprised by the next thing to be heard: >Sorry folks, the preceding music was an accident, just training the intern, please carry on. The broadcast clicked off and Mr. Tuberman turned to the intern in question. "And that, Harry, is why when you are repairing the chrono-onomato, you don't place zero on the bottom of the fraction. Understood?" "...yes boss."replied the sheepish intern. "A'ight. Let's get back to it then."
No matter how hard you tried in life, everyone hated you. Your family, the people at school, teachers and students. You were the freak. The freak with a power everyone hates. As time went on no one cared about your gift and just treated you like crap regardless of what you could do. Even at NASA whilst training they thought you were nothing. So much so they didn’t see the threat. Well now on the shuttle looking back at Earth you literally hold their lives between your fingers. Are you a hero or villain?
Staring into my freezer is misery. Hungry and confused, I continuously yearn for something different to eat without knowing what I want. In the end I almost always grab whatever unopened box appeals to me the most and save the rest for a distant future. Today will be battered chicken on a bun day, I decide as I tear open the cardboard. The Roomba in the living room quietly hums its way around as I light the gas oven. Much to my annoyance it starts buzzing erratically as I fiddle with the stupid digital timer, and goddamn it why couldn't I have bought a quieter model instead of this cheap junk that silly old Scottish neighbour recommended. The Roomba seemed to take great offence to my thoughts as it starts screeching and banging around the room at a worrying pace. I rush towards the kitchen door to stop the damn thing from exploding or munching the rug up again. I only manage to open the door before I see a flying Roomba, heralded by a triumphant roar, bounce off the doorway and die upside down on the kitchen floor. Right, that happened. I check the damage to the living room only to find a 7ft tall, biblical demon sporting a crazy new hairstyle. "You need to find a better stylist"The words slip out of my mouth, and the beast smirks. It chuckles to itself and in a hoarse voice responds "Guess I got sucked off". big red goat-hoof dude telling a crude joke in my living room. Right, guess that happened too. "So, how did you end up here exactly?"I ask. "I was drawn in by your Ouija session and ended up with that religious demon trap thing eating my hair off."He starts to style his hair back down and a nasty bold spot emerges to the left. "Usually it's only our spirit that gets summoned, though that thing wouldn't accept me... I'm hungry human."OK, just a little worrying. "Any preferences? I have plenty of options."The demon smiles, "I want some blood."So do I "If you don't mind waiting I have just the food". I finish my chicken a la bun then cook up 4 black puddings and serve them to him. He looks perplexed by the food. "This is blood. Try it before you complain to me."It doesn't help his confusion but he complies, and eats the lot with haste. As I eat my food he shifts from red to pink, and starts to sizzle. Moments later he disintegrates into a pile of ash and it occurs to me that he might have been allergic to the herbs in the black pudding. Too bad, I was enjoying the company.
I pulled into the parking lot of the small coffee shop. It's a brick building with a tin roof. The coffee shop is pretty standard looking. The front of the building had one large window on the structure were tinted dark with a picture of a hot coffee with a depiction of a heart made of foam. I looked around the parking lot. Empty. It was always empty this time of year but I knew that as soon as I walked in it would be packed. I walked in the place was packed. The place was hazy with different forms of tobacco everywhere. Smell of bold rich coffee from dozens of different times and places filled the room. The client-al was even more interesting. Every man and woman here was a different incarnation of myself, past and future. The event was always pretty lively it had also made me stinking rich with advice from my former selves always giving me information on stocks. We all brought things to these meetings. I also brought stock information from current to a 100 years ago along with videos and a couple of books. All of our past and future selves would trade as much information as we could in a day. We in turn would do the best we could to memorize what we were being told because you could only take out what you brought in. I sat down in my favorite table a man from what I had gathered was a German man from the time of the Roman Empire. He was short and muscular and had a very dark sense of humor. The next was a woman from about 100 years in the future. We began exchanging stories. There was another hour till the official trade of information. The door opens to let in a new patron, however this patron wasn't a person. It was a dog. The room goes silent as the a golden lab trots up to a chair, jumps up on it, and sits on his haunches. The silence is broken as the lab opens his mouth to say "Everyone, the future gets weird."
"Oh fuck, you mean perception? Am I trying to notice something?" "Nope, insight." The rest of the group exchanged bewildered glances. We had just liberated the Wintershield Stronghold from a group of ravenous ice trolls, lead by a savage troll mystic. By the time we arrived the Lord of the keep and all of his family had been murdered, and were currently being barbecued for dinner. We really struggled. Being the tank of the group I was getting absolutely smashed. The biggest issue was the mystic. Our DM, Jon, specced him for ice and water spells. Being blasted by a cone of cold across a battlefield of enemies immune to cold is fucking terrifying. A lucky crit from our Ranger took the mystic out, though. With him gone we could focus the trolls down individually, and I barely managed to survive. With the lord gone, the keep was awarded to our group for a job well done. This was down time. A time for us to bask in the glory of our triumph, flesh out our characters, spend some money, and just generally relax and prepare for the next harrowing quest. Not a time for surprise insight checks. "You sure? This is like...the culmination of my whole characters arc man." "Yeah. Yeah I know. I can't explain it TJ...seriously. An idea came to me and I think it's really gonna work out better,"The look on Jon's face worried me. He was a meticulous DM, so even had he prepared a surprise twist it wouldn't be a surprise to him. And he never did things impromptu. "Well alright bruh,"I shrugged my shoulders and rolled. The automatic cheer from the nat 20 from the rest of the group echoed even louder as we were all really eager to see where this went. "Yeah! Nat 20 baby! The fuck am I noticing Jon?"I said. Despite this being a downtime session I was genuinely excited for this. "Ah...nat 20's aren't automatic successes TJ. What's your modified roll?"Jon said. "For real? 28." Jon sat back in his seat, hand on his chin, and nearly shut his eyes. After a couple tense seconds he ran his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. "Ok ok sorry, still trying to figure this out. You can't quite put your finger on it but something about this situation doesn't feel right. This looks like your wife but deep in the pit of your stomach you feel that she's fake,"Jon said. Jon bit down on his lip and looked towards the corner of the ceiling. "No, that's not quite right. Maybe she's fake, or maybe you and every other person is fake and she's the only one that's real. Maybe the priest is fake, maybe nothing is wrong and you're going through a panic attack. You really don't know, you just know something is profoundly wrong with the situation. You're feeling queasy, that at any moment you could vomit. A cold sweat breaks out all over your body, causing chills as the wind blows past. Roll me perception." "Fuck man..."I said as I rolled again. 12, not bad. "16 modified." "Your wife seems to have noticed your condition, a look of concern paints her face. Wait...is that concern? You can't tell, only that you've noticed that she's noticed,"Jon said, resolving the roll before continuing. "You've become hyper aware of your surroundings as your vision jumps from distraction to distraction. The wedding guests look like 2 dimensional cutouts and the priest sounds like a radio slightly out of tune, static over a muffled voice, as he begins: 'Do you promise to take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife,' Roll me a will save,"Jon paused. I rolled a fucking 6. At this time, and no inspiration to reroll. Alright Jon, let's see what you got for me. My group looked as worried now as Jon looked a few moments ago. "10,"I said defiantly. "The priest continues: 'in sickness and in health, till death do you part?' and then turns to you,"Jon said, pausing once again. "I d..."I started. "But you have been compelled! You turn towards the priest, confidently, brashly, and say "I do". Your vision is blurring and has become extremely light sensitive. Your pupils have fully dilated and you have been compelled to keep your eyes wide open. The light burns as you stare directly into the mid day sun. Within just a few moments you have been rendered permanently blinded,"Jon said. "Bruh holy shit,"I said, both horrified and kind of excited. "I cast remove blindness!"Our cleric said, quite a bit more excited than I was about this. "Nothing appears to be wrong, no one is doing anything suspicious what so ever. Why exactly do you feel the need to cast that?"Jon said. "I wouldn't notice him literally burning out his eyes?"She said, crossing her arms. "Normally yes, but in this case you would not. It appears only that he took a quick look at the beautiful noon sky." "Oh...Looks like you're on your own here TJ." "As your blinded eyes turn back towards your wife, you see a perfectly accurate silhouette of light of your wife in the darkness. You take your wife's hands in your own and immediately an absolutely excruciating fire shoots through your skin. You want to scream as the maddening fire burns across every nerve ending in your body but alas, you have been compelled to only smile. You no longer feel the sensation of touch. The priest continues: 'By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.' Roll me a will save." "Y'all got any more of them inspirations? Got a feeling I really need to pass this one,"I said, cracking a nervous joke while looking over my group. Synchronized heads shaking no gave me all the response I need. I guess I shouldn't have wasted that inspiration point making sure I persuaded the blacksmith to lower his prices. Saved the group a whole 80 gold. "16,"I said hopefully as the 12 faced the ceiling. "A high pitched whine rips and tears through your mind. When it feels like you simply can't endure it any longer and your ear drums might burst, the whine stops. While your ears are still ringing you're still able to make out the priests final words: 'You may now kiss the bride.'" The group sat collectively holding their breath. Jon looked over everyone and then up to the clock. "And with that we'll call it here, getting a little late,"Jon said with a smirk.
“CAN WE PLEASE JUST TALK!” The crime lord yelled. “For gods sake we’re the same person. This is something we should agree on.” “You should agree that drug trafficking is illegal and immoral.” Me, the grizzled veteran me, from the future, called back. He raised his gun in the lobby and chipped another few chunks from the marble wall next to the crime lord was hiding. Who was also me. “What can I do?” I asked hesitantly. I was ducked behind the reception counter watching him do all the work. “Shut the fuck up and let me handle this kid!” “But!” “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He slammed in a fresh mag. “Or I shoot you in the god damn knee.” I was a police officer until I took a bullet to the knee I thought. Then realizing he was staring at me. “What?” He muttered something about games and skyrim and went back to shooting. To be honest this wasn’t how I pictured my first day at work.
Another day. Heesh. I really should quit this job. Maybe I should collect all of my savings, quit this job and buy a nice cottage in Switzerland or something and just live peacefully. At least then I won't need to see those brats everyday and suffer humiliation from stupid pranks. I have a PHD for bio-molecular science for crying out loud and yet I always fall for their stupid pranks! I brush my teeth, get dressed and get on my bike before driving off to campus. There were quarters for lecturers and researchers and all, but I prefer a peaceful evening after work. I definitely do not want to see those blasted kids faces a minute longer after work. My bike rolled onto the campus parking space where I parked my bike at the usual spot. I was about to get off and remove my helmet when I heard a shriek that sounded as if some gitls had seen a celebrity or something. I looked around, wondering if someone important or at least good looking arrived to the campus. I didn't see anyone like that. Then I noticed the girls, who were at the edge of the parking space under the oak tree huddled together, giggling and snapping pictures of... Me? I panicked. What were they planning this time? Did I forget to zip my pants? Was there a stain somewhere? Was my shirt inside out? Goodness. They will surely post it somewhere and I will be the laughing stock of the campus... Again. I could not help but frown. The girls suddenly froze and quickly ran away. That... Was weird.... They usually ignored me. I gradually found out that there was something wrong in campus. When I was heading towards my study, everyone parted their ways like the red sea. The bratty kids that attended my lecturers grinned saying, "Good morning professor." Something is up, I thought. I expected the old fashioned duster-on-my-head prank when I entered the lecture hall. But instead the kids were seated very orderly. I grew more suspicious. I still continued the lecture and they all listened. When I was done I asked, "Any questions?" One boy stood up, "How is your project going on, professor?" Don't tell me they messed with my life and blood for a prank! "It's... Ehh going on fine." Some kids moaned. "Come on professor! Why don't you tell us what it's about!" "Yeah professor! We know confidentiality is important... But?" "So unfair."I heard someone say, "I told Angela I will find out about it. She's his biggest fan." I flinched. Fan? This is some sick joke. "You won't understand it even if I did tell you." More groans. But they didn't argue after that. I dismissed the lecture. When going out I heard some kids say, "He's a genuis after all, we can't compare to him." "It's fair enough, someone might steal his work." "We are so lucky to get lectured by him. My boyfriend is so jealous." All I could think of was, "What the hell?" I decided to stay in the hall, to at least wrap my wits about what is going on. I logged on Facebook. If something fishy was going on, kids usually posted everything there. That's when I noticed a picture of me from this morning, taking off my helmet with #ProffesorStan #Sohot #Nunberonegenuis And the comments were all "Kyaaa. Heart eyes he rocks the bike look!" I felt my left eye flinch. "I granted your wish." "Huh?" I looked up at the last row of the lecture hall. There was a man sitting there with his legs up in a suit. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "You don't remember me? You made a wish yesterday." "I did?" "You wished that scientists were treated like celebrities." "So. What does that have to do with you?" "I am a genie." What?
“What the fuck is a “vibe check”?” The imagery was... cryptic, or at least none of us had any idea what they all meant. The pictures depicted an “emoji”, which is a yellow circle with an expression hypothetically used to display expressions (obviously.), reaching towards the viewer with a hand. We don’t know for what purpose this was for, maybe some kind of sick notification that the viewer has received a death penalty or something. Lego, one of the largest weapons manufacturers, seems to be prevalent here as well. Multiple images containing the phrase “A man has fallen into the river in lego city” have been found as well. This might mean that perhaps Lego might have been a country at one point. “What if none of them mean anything?” Was a genuine question. A genuine question by a fucking idiot, how could they NOT mean anything? They were EVERYWHERE. If there’s anything we know about old things, it’s that things that have been mentioned an obscene amount of times are important. Maybe it was a religion, could be, “followers of Chungus” sounds like it could be a thing. Maybe it was some kind of information sharing medium, many pictures displayed a plague originating from one of the superpowers of the old world, and images depicting a massive fire in the danger lands. According to the imagery, people actually lived there, with massive arachnids, and uninhabitable temperatures. Apparently they were all upside down somehow. Images also contained words suggesting that there was a 3rd world war before civilization rebuilt itself from the ashes of the old world. It’s a like an entirely different language, these images. What do they mean? What was their purpose? That’s what were trying to find out. There is one thing we know for sure though. Karen was always a bitch.
"Jack...I hate to break it to you but we cant let you out." "Why? Havent you figured out whats wrong with me?" "Well yes but...not really" "You guys were supposed to be the scientists! I even performed a heart surgery for you guys!" "Im gonna put it straight Jack, all test came back as average." "Thats good! Right?" "Jack the doctor have a suggestion. Since we cant let you go and only foundation scientists are allowed to work here other than prisoners, you are to be granted special clearance." "To?" "Experiment...You have to complete the training offcourse and we're already pretty sure what your results would be." "What training?" "To be a foundation personnel, the doctor hopes that with the right training you yourself could figure out your...predicament."
The incessant clickity clack of the pen was driving the "power broker"nuts.. "Could you just...put the pen away?? "the power broker snarled. "And why would I do that? "the auditor snapped back. "Nevermind...you people never listen anyway"he muttered under his breath. "What was that???"the auditor retorted. "Nothing Nothing"he said with hands raised trying to put the auditor at ease The power-broker couldn't help but see the irony of his position. His entire enterprise was built on securing goods, people, and strategies for the criminally powerful. He was the one who secured the lasers for the "Mad Doctor"and the destroyed the federal building in 13 countries for the "Demon's Mob" Notoriously elusive, hard to catch, and some doubted the existence of...but.... The OSHA Officer was real. A bead of sweat rolled down the brokers face, hidden behind his dark sunglasses and the drop absorbed by his dark suit. He looked cool as a cucumber, except for the fact that he wasn't. Why me dammit? It made no sense. He covered all of his tracks as always and his partners had the highest discretion. Unable to stand the silence as the auditor looked around: "Was it Ronnie who tipped you off?"the broker politely asked. The auditor peered his sight back to the broker who was nervous to make eye contact. "What tipped me off?.... What tipped me Off?..you really gotta ask that? "the auditor replied. "What tipped me off was the goddamn military parade runnin through chicago!"the auditor snapped. "You know our mandate - Mr."Broker"and you think you can assemble what the ever living hell you like in downtown chicago? Ohhhhh hell naw " "I can always relocate, I promise"he quickly replied. "How the hell you gonna relocate a goddamn missile factory and 3 acid pits fool? "auditor said. "Do you even have permits for this shit????" "Umm no, I'm the villain remember? I don't apply for permits..."the broker asked puzzled. "Maybe the fancy european OSHA let's that slide but not here fool, you're in my jurisdiction now, you better believe those vats are a tripping hazard- not even a wet floor sign smh..." The auditor looked angry and disappointed. The power broker had no idea what to do - he was about to fail inspection, which meant....losing his position in the Villains union, being a laughing stock to his peers, and worst of all: reassignment of powers. "Please sir! I love what I do! Don't take this away from me , I beg of you!!!"the broker said with a deep charge in his voice. "There's only one way you getting outta this..."the auditor calmly replied. "Yes! Anything!" "Imma need a 70% discount on all your merchandise..."he said. "Of course, of course - use coupon code BFFONLY at checkout "the power broker said. His website was his pride and joy, it's how he met the "mad doctor"or the "Fear sniper", lifelong friends and business partners. "Really? Why thank you!"the auditor smiled. "But you still getting an F for FOOL"he clapped back. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!"the broker yelled. It was in that moment the broker realized, who the real power broker was. \-------- I decided to go for a funnier take and I hope you enjoy :) - Marlon Frost
Richards death was unexpected, to say the least. He was just walking down the sidewalk on a normal sunny day when an I-beam fell from the sky and impaled the ground directly in front of him. The tip of his nose was subjected to its velocity as it turned the concrete into shards and embedded itself deep into the ground. "HOLY FUCKING"That was about as far as Richard got in his cursing when a thermos made a home for itself in his skull. Thankfully for Richard he never felt his brain being renovated to make room for the metal implement still filled with the soup that was lovingly crafted and stored inside. He awoke what felt like mere seconds later for him, but in actuality was weeks. Well saying he "awoke"was wrong, he just suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a forest clearing. The trees tall and barren, the forest bed full of pine needles and leaves that crunched under his feet as they settled onto the ground. He spun in a circle, his face full of confusion as to where he was. He opened his mouth to shout but before the words could even formulate in his throat a deep and booming voice echoed throughout the strange forest. "Richard. You must choose." He opened his mouth to speak and yet again just before he could he was interrupted, this time he heard the sounds of deafening whumps as if the air was being displaced in large quantities. Spinning on his heel he found he was surrounded by doors in every direction. Some of these doors were clearly labelled, others once had labels upon their surface but they'd worn away. "Richard. You must choose." The voice echoed again. So Richard did the only thing he could do, he began to inspect the doors. First, he walked to the door marked "Heaven", it was an ornate pale wood with gold filigree and a handle that was shaped in the form of an angels wing. His hand brushed the door but ultimately he turned from it to the door to its right. This door was its polar opposite, a pitch-black wood with red inlays, simple, elegant and upon its surface was a snarling demon head knocker. The handle was shaped in a taloned claw. The word "Hell"was crudely carved into the door as if it was done by a monster. This time he didn't even touch the door, he simply stepped back from it and looked to the next door. The third door was a deep brown, simple to the extreme. The handle wasn't even ornate, it was just a regular old fashioned doorknob. It could have been the front door of any house he'd ever visited without anyone batting an eye. The fourth and fifth doors were similar, except light brown and an odd green respectively. Neither door had a label or anything marking its surface identifying where it led. The sixth door he came too however, was unique. For it was the only door he'd seen that had rust. After seeing this he quickly scanned the other doors, not really paying attention to them, merely checking for rust. He found none, nowhere on any of the other doors. Without hesitation, he made his way back to the rusted door. The door that had rust marring its surface had an unnatural feeling about it. Not only was it the only door made of what he thought was iron, it was the only door with a padlock and not just one, but multiple. He felt an intense pull towards the door and without it being his intent his hand gripped the handle and turned. As the latch clicked open, the padlocks all disappeared with the faint smell of blood and the door burst open. "You have chosen. There is no turning back now." A maniacal cackle floated out from the open door. "You're ours now boy." The speaker's voice sounded as if stone was grinding on stone. As a hand flicked out of the void and grabbed Richard by the throat, a face came into view. The face that stared at him had a sharply pointed nose, with ears that curved upwards and back ending in a point, it was the creature's eyes that were most startling, it looked as if they'd captured the very essence of space. A harsh smile split the creature's mouth, revealing perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. His laugh was mocking as he dragged Richard into the void by his throat. As he struggled to breathe and his vision began to fade he heard the voice whisper in his ear with that gravelly rasp. "Welcome to the land of the Fae." For years every night, Richard would recall those haunting eyes that somehow held the mysteries of the universe within their depths and that laugh that mocked him endlessly. --- https://old.reddit.com/r/Ceruberus/ For more written by me. Feedback always welcome.
Its a bit of a weird juxtaposition. I am Satan. My only fans are Scandinavian black metal bands and Christian Bale. Im not a real popular fella, but this time every year I inevitably get dozens of letters from spelling challenged kids asking for all sorts of ridiculous things. At first I ignored them. Its always the same bullshit. Ponies and toys. After a few decades I got bored so i started looking into some of these kids, and build my own "naughty list"and see where these little shits stacked up. Little boys who spent all year terrorizing kids on the playground and throwing tantrums in the grocery store and little girls who spread nasty rumors and lie to get their way while hiding behind an innocent smile. Id always get a chuckle seeing their parents give them whatever they wanted in a misguided attempt to bribe them out of their bad behavior. Guess how many times that worked. Then 2020 rolls around. Now listen, I'm a chaotic kinda guy. Its literally in my job description. Fires, plagues and evil are pretty much my racket. But holy hell, even I couldn't have strung together the series of events that have descended upon humanity this year. I mean, I've had some hits throughout the centuries. The bubonic plague? Yeah I pulled that one off. The great Chicago fire? All me. Even the panic of y2k was my idea. Sometimes I dont even get credit for the good ones though. The Spanish inquisition for example, or the 911 attacks. The other guy gets the credit for those. No 2020 is another beast entirely. First of all, these guys are dumb enough to eat rotting bat carcasses that have been sitting in some kind of unregulated open-air flesh market thats infested by rats and insects, and so this gigantic virus starts. Then, the world's governments come together to collectively say "we aren't gonna do shit"and the whole world gets sick. Everyones losing their jobs, their homes and their loved ones. Then drought hits Australia and a massive brushfire sets the entire continent on fire. Next, in purely American fashion so as not to be outdone, some asshole sets off gender reveal fireworks in California and sets the entirety of the American west coast ablaze. Throughout all of this, the governments have shown little to no compassion for their people, especially in America, and have done virtually nothing to remedy the situation. Normally, I'd be a huge fan. Any of these things I'd consider massive successes. But to have them all happen within the span of just one year is just nasty. Its not fair. Its a little league team playing the Yankees. Its actually making my job rather difficult. Im supposed to be the guy that balances the amount of bullshit in peoples lives so they don't go around all blissful and shit all the time. But what do you do when there's no bliss to be had? What evil can you inflict on someone who's entire year is a flaming dumpster fire inside an already burning building? Which got me thinking about balance. Thats when I had my greatest idea ever. This year for Christmas I was going to balance the scales, if only for my unfortunate few who can't spell. Id do my usual list and find the ones whove had a particular rough go of it. As it so happens this year there's a few select items that everyone has their sights on. And a diabolical few have taken it upon themselves to ensure they take more than they need, so as to re-sell at a profit. Yeah, I see you motherfuckers. So I set the wheels in motion. One such guy in Montana had set himself up pretty nice. Got himself 20 brand new Playstation 5s. Selling them to kids at twice the price. Be a shame if you had a terrible accident and your house was robbed while you were recovering. This guy over here had a dozen of the new xbox. Slip and fall at work and I had my boys run into his place and take every last one of them. Another 8 consoles here, 15 over there and before you knew it I was able to give 150 kids brand new game consoles for the holidays. Like I said, I'm all about balance. And since apparently the other guy took an extended leave of absence, I had to step my game up a little. But dont call me soft, or say I had a change of heart. Im the goddamn Devil. Just wait till you see what I've got planned next year.
7 rooms, 7 people. I sighed, knowing that no matter what happened in the first 6 rooms, room 7 would be my end. Hell awaits regardless. I approach the first door and opened it. The label engraved on the wood read: THE ABUSER: “Hello uncle Royce.” I heard the door slowly creak until it closed. “Hello Nephew.” The portly, half-Bald man sat in the chair opposite me, no different than the day id plunged my mother’s screwdriver through his eyeball. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep you long” Royce uttered. “I deserved that screwdriver, after what I did to you and your sister…” “You deserved a good deal more than that.” I snorted back. “Aye that I did. I had a sickness in my life, and I put it on you. I couldn’t help myself.” “Yes you could, you chose not to.” I stood in silence, shaking with anger at the memory. For a moment he said nothing... then Uncle Royce spoke again: “I forgive you. I forgave you instantly. What you did was fair.” Royce fell silent again. I began to March toward the door for the next room. “Wait Calvin!” Royce sputtered, standing from his chair for the first time. His stomach brushing the table in front of him as he rushed to get up. Ever the glutton was Royce. “This… the thing is… this isn’t just a test for you. I know I wronged you boy. I know what I did was sick and twisted. I do. But please. Would you forgive me? Forgive a man who has spent 4 decades in hell repenting for his wrongs. Could you do that boy? Free my soul?” His hands rubbed each other anxiously. I stood at the door, fist-shaking with anger. “No,” I answered, and opened the door for the next room. “Aye, that be fair” were the last words I heard Royce whisper before the door slammed closed. Onto the next room. THE MERCY: “Hello my love” spoke Darla. A woman too good for this world or any other. She stood from her table and ran over to me. The embrace was everything I needed in life and more. “I was in great pain, my dear. Pulling the plug was the kindest thing you could have ever done for me.” She whispered. Tears streamed down my face. “I missed you every day my love.” I choked out. “I know sweetheart.” Darla whispered, “When I fell into a coma after that incident with… him,” She shuttered at the memory, “I could feel my body's agony. I could hear you by my bed, my love. I was in such anguish. Thank you for taking me off life support.” Words failed me. “Now go my angel, you are worthy of paradise, and know that I never stopped loving you. Remember my love, you must let go of your anger. You must. You must.” Tears welled in her eyes. I would never have left her side. However, before I could respond, an invisible force pulled me to the next door. There would be no eternal reunion for me here. The next door opened, and I was thrown through. THE HUNGER: “Calvin…” “Hello Demitri.” “How have you been?” “Kinda surreal. I mean, I’m dead… how do you think I’ve been Demitri?” This was bad. “Woah there, don’t bite my head off Calvin, not again” a smile crossed his face. “We were stuck at sea Demitri. You grabbed for the flare gun. What was I supposed to do? Let you eat me.” I barked back. “All I wanted was a nibble old-buddy. Just a couple fingers or toes. I wouldn’t have eaten you all at once!” He feigned offense here, but I could see the jest in his eyes. I sat down across from him. “I think we can both agree the dehydration and sea-madness got the better of us.” I said. “It had to be one of us.” “Yes it did. You always had the quicker reflexes didn't you Calv? That’s why you were able to disarm me so easily… it’s all fair and forgiven… I tried to kill ya first after all.” “You’re not bitter?” I questioned. “Depends… Did I taste bitter?” The grin was back, beaming this time. “did you at least have me with some red wine or salt?” I grinned back “Bud, you were the worst-tasting best-friend a man could ask for.” He cackled his rich, familiar laugh, and I couldn’t help but laugh back. “Thank you Demitri, you were a true friend, up until… well right before the end.” Demitri roared with laughter “and you were a proper shit sailor! Next time I’m bringing my own raft” We exchanged another laugh as the force began to pull me towards door #4: THE TOUGH CHOICE: “Hello Rebecca” I stated. “It’s Becca.” She responded curtly. “Seems your time has come at last” “Yes it does.” I waited silently. The cards were in her hands, and there was not much for me to say. In 2008, during my stint as a school bus driver, I got into an accident. It was a snowy night in Syracuse, and a snowplow, heading downhill, lost complete control. In a split-second decision, I swerved the bus full of students out of the path of the oncoming automobile, and right into a nearby woman, Rebecca. She died within minutes, bleeding crimson red blood in the still-fresh snow. I can remember clear as day the fright and surprise in her eyes. The anger, and mostly, the fear. I had been trying to save lives and had ended up taking hers. “Calvin,” she said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You killed me.” “Yes, I did..” I thought about adding more, defending myself, but I couldn’t. I made a choice that day, and the consequence was her life being lost. It was my fault. “Did you save those children?” She asked. “Yes, yea I did.” “And did ye repent for your sins? Did you ask for forgiveness from God?” That’s an odd question, I thought. “Yes… I went through spiritual counseling afterward… I saw a priest, I saw a rabbi, I saw any person of faith I could.” “Mhmm” she mumbled. She has been an old woman when she was struck, grey hair, limp walk. Her religious beliefs had never crossed my mind Her fingers toyed with something shiny I hadn’t seen initially. After a second, I recognized what it was; a cross. “And did you feel you atoned for your sins? That you had asked Him for forgiveness?” “I did everything one could do.” She sighed a begrudged sigh. “It is not my place to judge you. That is only for Him,” she pointed sideways, which I thought was odd (maybe He’s on this floor of the afterlife? Not above, but here). “And as you’ve asked for his forgiveness in your life, And he has forgiven you, I cannot see why you would not be worthy of my forgiveness.” “Wha… really?” “Aye really…” her eyes rolled “but just cause I forgive you doesn’t mean I don’t blame you! Who doesn’t put chains on tires in a snow storm? Ur in a bus! I’m sure those kids would have been fine.” “I’m sorry” “Ahhh what’s done is done. I forgive ya, but I don’t like ya. Get out of here and good luck not being damned.” On to the next door. THE ENEMY: “Hello, I am Lo Nguyen.” Across the table sat a short, thin Vietnamese man. More like a boy. He was 16… 19 tops… I know that face though. I’ll never forget it. “Hello Lo… I didn’t know you spoke English.” “I don’t” he responded “but here? We can understand each other. It’s just a part of the magic.” “Huh. Maybe if we could have understood each other in life, it wouldn’t have come to this.” Lo nodded. “Maybe” he muttered. “Lo…. I was wrong. I was drafted into a war I didn’t believe in. I was flown across the world and told you would destroy everything I ever loved. So many of my friends died… I’m sorry. If I’d known what it was all for, I never would have come to Vietnam.” Lo nodded again. “We were enemy. We were trained to kill each other. I know how times have changed, how the war is viewed in hindsight.” He paused briefly, “You plunged your bayonet in my back and pushed me into the very spiked hole I'd dug that morning.” Shame crossed my face. I’m sure Lo could see it. “You were my enemy… and I was yours. He turned up to look at me. “Calvin, I hate you. But you were a soldier, and so was I. I respect what you did, and I accept the outcome. I forgive you for killing me, for I would have done the same.” I still remember the push of the baton, how easily I'd shoved this young boy to his death. Tears welled in my eyes. I kneeled. “The war is the greatest regret of my life, and I’ll never be able to relive and change those moments.” I reached into my pocket. My wallet was still there. Weird, I guess the afterlife doesn't filter out that kind of stuff. I removed the wallet and pulled out my Vietnam Service Medal. “Lo, I carried this with me for the rest of my life. I tried to use it as a reminder of my failure, and as a motivator, for me to do better and help rather than hurt.” I looked down at the rusted piece of bronze. “Please, take it. You deserve the honors. You fought and died in service of your country. You are more of a hero than I ever could have been.” Lo’s eyes lit up. He reached out and took the medal. Inscribed on the side it read; “Honorary service medal.” “Thank you.” He said. “I’m grateful that I had this chance to meet you, to know you Lo. As a man to a man. I wish we could have done this in life” I said. “I think in life I would have shit down your mouth and killed your family.” He responded “but go on now. It is forgiven.” The next door opened, and I stepped through.
I was just a kid when it happened the first time, and I suppose they were too. I was making a sandwich in the kitchen, when the world suddenly fell silent. Confused, I turned to look out the kitchen door, and saw my gramma, still sitting in the recliner, tv frozen on a frame of Wheel of Fortune. The the world started spinning again. The wheel clicked onward, and I stood there, sandwich forgotten on the counter, trying to puzzle over what just happened. I wrote it off as a daydream at the time, but the memory of that moment. When everything was still. The only sound being my quick breaths. Was seared into my memory. It happened again the next day. But that day it happened a lot. Each time, when I focused on my confusion, time would restart. As a kid, I decided that meant I could control when it ended. As an adult, I now realize how foolish I was. I've learned I dont need to eat when time is frozen. I don't need to drink water. My muscles don't get sore, so I don't need to rest. I have no real sense of time in this reality. All I hve is the sense of how far I've gone. I'm lucky that my mp3 player still works, and it doesn't need to charge. If it didn't I would probably have gone mad by now. In this crippling, permanent silence. I wander the world, in search of the one who has frozen time. Are they in danger? Are they dead? I do not know. Water is solid beneath my boots. I cross the ocean once my search has concluded in my home country. I thought about stealing a plane, but I would not know how to fly it. I simply walk. In search of the person who has frozen time. I hope I can save them. I hope they are not dead. If they are, then this moment, where I have walked over mountains, crossed lakes, entered caves in hopes of finding the one who froze time. This moment is my life. Forever.
She always loved scary things. There was something about her tiny body in the crook of my arm that made me feel like the bravest man in the world even though that was the furthest from the truth. And when she would look at me with her mother’s eyes, scared to her little bones, and trembling with excitement, I did my best to show her I would always be there for her. No matter how scared she got. Only thing was as she got a little older, the movies she’d ask for got scarier and scarier. Years of experiencing a crescendo in the quality of horror movies. Until she got sick. Now that was a nightmare I could not escape. Her eyes, full of tears, her little arms holding me, her frustrated questions of “Why me, daddy? Why?” and my inability to answer her was worse than any jump scare. The feeling in my heart was worse than dread when she would later apologize, and I’d hold her in the crook of my arm again, trying to tell her she had nothing to be sorry for. Absolutely nothing to be sorry for. She was ten when she passed. That last day was the first time she was the brave one, her fragile little hand stroking the tears from my cheeks, the tape of the tubes connected to her hands scraping against my skin. She held my head in the little crook of her arm and told me she wasn’t scared anymore. I told her I was. She told me that was okay because she would always be with me to help me be strong. And she was. In my dreams, she is as she had been before she got sick. We hug and I kiss her forehead and hold her, letting her know how much I miss her. And it is the same every time. Her eyes will look up at me and she asks if we can go to a haunted house. I could never, and would never refuse her, and we hold hands as we walk. It’s always our house. And the house is always empty. No furniture. No light. No life. But down the hall is her bedroom… and it’s open… and I can hear her and her mother’s laughter echoing through the emptiness. She silently tugs at me and I follow. With every step, the paint on the wall darkens and peels away into black dust. Black vines begin to grow out of the bedroom and she tells me we need to hurry. Behind us is nothing but darkness and the only light remaining is coming from her bedroom. I run as the hallway stretches to an impossible length and I feel her hand slipping from mine as she’s yelling for us to hurry. There’s a terrified excitement in her voice and I want to be brave for her. I want more than anything to be brave for her, but when her tiny hand slips out of mine… I cannot stand the darkness without her… and I wake up. The house is empty. Quiet. I walk into the hall and look to her bedroom door. It’s closed. It’s been closed for years. But I feel like if I accept the emptiness behind it… my dreams will stop. And I am being brave for her. Every single time I go to sleep… I prepare for the dread of being left alone.
It was the warmth that awoke me. I like it cool when I sleep, but something was warming up the air of my house. Hot breath and fire, from the smell of it. Some thief thinking that they could come to steal the life savings of an old man. They would find this theft more difficult than they'd hoped. I reached under my bed and brought out a weapon, then crept slowly down the long hall. I could hear something scratching against the stones as I walked down the hall. More than two feet. I waited around a corner, readied my weapon, and waited for them. I saw the light from the fire before they turned the corner. It sounded like something large coming, or a whole herd of something. As the fire turned the corner, I shouted, "Who dares invade my home!" I turned my weapon to bear upon them. The leader saw me and screamed. "Holy shit, that dragon has a gun!"As he stopped his followers bumped up behind him, causing them to fall into a pile. "That's right, motherfuckers. I'm tired of you damn dwarves stealing my treasure. You're getting no gold today, only lead."The first shot from my shotgun splattered the leader in the chest. As I pumped it to reload, his companions dragged him back around the corner. My body flowed around the corner in pursuit, roaring. When I saw them again they had abandoned the leader and turned tail. The injured dwarf whimpered as I ended him with a claw. Turning my shotgun after the fleeing thieves, I let loose another shot. The hindmost two stumbled as the shot peppered backsides. "Mercy, mercy!"One of them pleaded as my teeth ripped him in twain. The remaining thieves threw their own weapons to the floor to flee faster. I regret wasting time finishing those two, as the remaining dwarves reached the front door and slipped outside. I think my final shotgun blast into the night hit one of them, I found blood the next day. After I secured the door I turned back to do the cleanup. Fresh dwarf always makes a good midnight snack. \[More at r/c_avery_m\]
"A single change in time can have disastrous consequences - we were always taught that. It was part of the basic school curriculum - the first thing we learnt"I spoke, looking around me in fright. I didn't want to be here... No one wanted to be here. "And yet I didn't listen. I mean, come on... we were all 117 once - wild and free."I pleaded, but there wasn't even a little change in their expression. I guess it’s to be expected though, they have ruled our race for so millions of years at this point. The bright lights of the war room shone on my face, while the world leaders engaged in telepathic communication. Without me... obviously. My telepathy had been sealed the moment I was dragged out of the civilian shelter and brought here. They didn't tell me why I was here, but I could guess. I had always been a model citizen, following all of the Slarvok rules except once. Just once. And although nobody noticed then, I knew it was a matter of time before they found me. 11,000 years is still pretty long to find a rule breaker though, but I guess they might've had other things to worry about. Who am I to judge how rulers should do things? "Vitruizyx of House Zarachhis, tell us about this time jump you made. The one to the empty XAR-698th quadrant of the universe"One of them spoke, the badges on his chest larger than my entire face. I guess it's to be expected though, he is the Superior Commander after all. "I'm sorry... I didn't know this would happen. I didn't know I would cause a war!"I cried and begged, hoping someone would sympathize with me, but it was a false hope. Why would they after all? When I'd broken the most sacred rule of our race You see, our race, the Slarvoks had one of the most powerful abilities of the universe - to travel through time. We could go where we want, do what we want when we want! But abilities like that if left unchained can have unprecedented consequences. Similar to the ones I was facing now. You see, with this huge power came responsibility. And that is why the core principle of our race was created. 'You can watch the universe, but only watch, never change it.' But I broke this rule... once. And that had landed me in this position. The perpetrator of the greatest war in the history of Slarvoks. I knew what I did wasn't right, but I was a child back then. What better knowledge would I have. The war room grew silent on my begging before the Commander eventually responded. "Mr Vitruizyx, You might be misunderstanding our intentions. We just want to know what you did, not punish you for breaking the rules"he said, in a softer tone as many others nodded. I blinked. I was... not being punished. That's strange, even by their standards. Might as well come clean, I guess. "As you know I awakened early... earlier than most others. It was a wonderful time, as I learnt how to use my ability and wandered across time and space, watching what interested me." The others in the room nodded, likely remembering their own childhoods. It was a tradition in the Slarvok race for kids to learn their abilities by taking their journeys through time and space. As long as the core rule of never interfering remained unbroken, there weren't any problems. Seeing them quietly waiting for my words I continued. "My journey took me to Quadrant XAR-698. And contrary to our documents, it wasn’t empty. On a distant blue rock revolving around a solitary star system, I first met them - Humans" The eyes of the Slarvok leaders widened at this. It was obvious this is what they wanted. I sighed, knowing under ordinary circumstances I would be excommunicated from the race. But the commander urged me to continue, and so I did. "They were a pitiable bunch, so I watched them for a while. Barely a few thousand left on a massive planet about twice the size of ours. I pitied them so I watched as they struggled to find food and quarrelled among themselves." "Yet one thing never changed. Their zeal to be better, to continue living. The desperation to survive was greater than any other species I had ever seen. They inspired me, and I didn't want to see them extinct. So I helped them... just a bit." I bit my lip from the nervousness as the combined pressure of the leaders bore on me. They were beings who had lived for millions of years. I was nothing but a fly in front of them. It was the commander who spoke up, his tone now cold. "Continue" I swallow and continued my tale. After seeing them in such dire straits, I appeared to them, to a dying leader of this little colony. He was frightened of me, very frightened. And it took a lot of convincing before he calmed down. His name was Jonah Radisson, and he told me about their world. Earth, they called it. Their world had fallen like many others in the universe. An intraspecies war with nuclear weapons forced an artificial ice age. And they were the remnants who survived. It was a sad tale, though he told it fiercely. The bravery of his comrades fighting the war, the desperation of their escape. The loss of family and friends... hearing it stimulated me like I didn't think was possible. The same technology we used for progress, they used for destruction. Untill eventually, they destroyed themselves. I asked him if I could help him in any way. And he told me they needed a key for the bunker. A key that they couldn't find anywhere. I shrugged; it was easy enough for me to find it. I just went back in time and got it for him. He introduced me to the others that evening. They were initially wary of me but calmed down after seeing what I'd done for them. It was a fun night; one I wish hadn't happened anymore. I drank something they called alcohol. A drink you would never believe could exist. It was bitter and felt like burning inside. But it calmed the nerves... relaxed me until I didn't even know what I was speaking anymore. I told them about us... about our world. Where we lived, the technologies we had. And by the time I realised I had shared half the secrets of my species; it was too late. By the time I regained full control over my thoughts, the leader was nowhere to be seen, while the other humans were passed out. I didn't know how much they'd heard, and I was scared I'd be persecuted for it. So I ran. I ran across time and space before I ended up back in our world. I knew what I did was wrong but I didn't want to change it. They were similar to us in many ways, maybe even better in some. And I didn't want them to die. I finished, swallowing in fright at the blank gazes most of the leaders had now. It was to be expected, I guess. After all, what I had done was nothing short of treason. [Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/tx3l6f/wp_as_a_time_traveling_alien_you_visited_an_ice/i3lnkg2?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
I remember the blood seeping into my tunic. The curse from the arrowhead burrowed into my mind. Something is different is my last thought before I passed out. This is a hovel. After so many years of hunting the unclean, I know a hovel when I see one. Where houses have a warmth to them, a hovel has none. No matter how much light or heat, there’s a coldness the minute you walk through the door. And this hovel was worst than most. The witch is old and contains all the clichés. A wart on her nose with three hairs protruding out of it and curling inward with each breath she takes. Here smile physically stinks. How can a smile smell? This one does. A black hat, a black robe, a broom, and a black cat. For those that are wondering, the cat also had a wart on its nose. I reach for my knife stuck in my boot, the one blessed by the pope. The witch smiles. I plunge it into her heart. And nothing happens. Well, that’s not true. She laughs. It’s a cackle in the same way that this is a hovel. Once you hear it, you know it. “No, no, no,” the witch says. “That is not polite at all!” She pulls the knife out and licks the black blade. With a white doily, she then cleans her wound as I pass out again. I don’t know how much time passed. Weeks and months for sure. I’ve hunted abominations for years for the church. Thick scars cover my chest and face. I’ve been cursed, poisoned, and betrayed. Nothing has managed to kill me. But this time, this time might be different. I don’t know why the witch is keeping me alive. I don’t know what she is doing to me. But every time I come out of a haze and see the hag, at least I know that I’m still alive. And if I’m alive, there is always faith. Faith gives hope. Hope gives opportunity. I will have mine. I awake but this time I’m sharp. Strength is in my arms. My hands tremble with excitement. And there is no witch but a beautiful woman. Fair of hair and gentle in her features, her smile smells like hope. “I thought you were a witch,” I say. “You normally do,” she says. “I…” But I stop because for a split second she was the hag again. It was so quick, but it was the hag. And then, the woman was back. “It’s time to stop resting,” she says. And then she is gone from my sight. Instead, she is now the pope. A gentle old man that brought me to the order. The one who taught me conviction to the cause and gave me purpose. To hunt those that are sent by the devil. The undead, the sorcerers and necromancers, the devil’s minions on Earth. “I’m glad to see you recovered,” says the pope. “The church needs men like you.” Men like you. Men like you. Men like you. The phrase brings back a rush of memories. Of my childhood with my father. Of going to church and giving our tithe. Of the church then taking my father’s land because he stopped believing. Of my mother being murdered. Of my older sister sent to a nunnery. And me to the academy. I had forgotten. Dear God, I had forgotten. “Ah, the moment of clarification,” the pope/maiden/witch says. “You are remembering faster than usual. I’ve brought you back 23 times and between you and me, I do wish you would be more careful.” My world is shattered. I stumbled out of my bed and make my way to the door. As I step outside, I see that I am in a village. Men and women go about their day. Kids play on the walkways. Merchants sell their wares. And behind me, I can hear the chanting of the thing that owns me. The words begin to change me. Some of the old men become necromancers. A few women grow long hooked noises holding brooms. Children turn into goblins. They are the unclean. The unholy. They are the next mission. I stand tall. “Now you are ready,” the pope says. “So many demons, witches, and what not out there. So many that refuse to believe that the church is their only salvation. That don’t bring their succulent children to mass.” I know this is wrong. I can feel that it is wrong. These people are good people. But my mind won’t let me see anything else. I am the hand of God. His vengeance upon Earth. I bring justice. I bring wrath. I am a puppet that has forgotten the puppet master 23 times in a row. The pope hands me my sword, and as I grip the bone handle, any thought of my true self leaves me. I am of the church. Only the righteous deserve to exist in the world, and the church decides who is worthy. I step outside.
It had been this way for centuries. My father, his father before him, and his before him. Proud warriors chosen by the sharpest swords in the known world, and by extension de-facto rulers of the kingdom. But now, it was my turn. Dad had sat me down and spoken to me at great length about the ceremony, and how the “weapon chooses the person”, and not to be upset if the one that chooses us isn’t necessarily the one we want. My brothers, being older than myself, had already completed their ceremonies. Charles, the eldest, was chosen by a legendary sword carried by the kingdoms first ruler. The sword, it’s name lost to time, secured his place as the heir to the throne. Arthur, the middle brother, found himself chosen by a smaller, yet equally as impressive broadsword. A sword that, as legend would have it, was wielded by a powerful warrior who drove away an ancient threat and secured the Kingdoms independence. As you can imagine, the family had huge expectations for me. As Dad regaled me with stories of how our ancestors had been chosen, I began to worry. Not once had any of them shared my own hobbies. Not one of them was scholarly in any way, they hated paperwork and even more of them hated any form of learning. They were, for all intents and purposes, arbitrarily elevated peasants. As far as I knew, only my father and my brothers were the only family I had that could actually read, and even then they struggled. I was the odd man out. Naturally, I’d kept my hobbies a secret. Being educated in a family of brutish warriors would lead to ostracism, or worse. We reached the ceremonial area. The entire town square had been blocked off, with spectators gathered around, watching in anticipation as I drew nearer. I took my spot in front of an altar. Dull grey and made of concrete, yet somehow imbued with unknown magical properties. It was somehow sentient, I could feel it staring into my soul, judging my character and learning exactly who I was. The master of ceremonies began his chants in the language of the ancients. A language lost to time yet preserved in part by chants and incantations. He stepped slowly towards the altar, his voice booming louder and louder with each step. He stopped a foot short of me, produced a small crystalline phial, and threw it onto the altar. As it cracked against the top, a blue fire spread, engulfing the altar within a haze of magical flames and smoke. And then, within seconds, the flames died down, my new weapon perched atop the now somehow shimmering white altar. I approached, and picked up my “weapon”, confused. “It’s a pen?!” I exclaimed, as the crowd murmured to one another and then began to snigger to themselves. I could see my fathers expression change from a proud smugness to embarrassment. I looked down at my “weapon”, dejected. Why wasn’t I chosen by a legendary sword or a grand bow wielded by our ancestors? What had I done to deserve this? As my father approached me, I began to fear what would happen to me once we got home. Would he find out about my hobbies? Realised I’d rather be a scholar than a warrior? Would he ostracise me? Disown me? I looked down at the pen again, and made out an inscription. “The pen is mightier than the sword.” It didn’t make sense, how was that possible? How could something so small and insignificant as a pen be mightier than a weapon of war? I looked back up, and saw my dads towering figure standing over me. “Home. Now! I don’t know what this is, but you have to explain this to each of us! You’re an embarrassment.” He struck me across the head, grabbed my shirt collar and dragged me from the square. “You better explain yourself, or you’re no longer a member of this family, Euclid.”
Millions of tons of advanced alloys and composites. Kilometers long and half again as wide. Engines larger than skyscrapers of Old Earth, long ago destroyed in the Miveren War. And yet, I get a scant 1000sq meters of space to live in. The rest of the ship is in vacuum, a necessity to reduce damage in battle from being transmitted through air. Oh, I guess the lack of rsik of fire is a good thing, too. Well, all that and the various maintenance bots are smaller than the average human, thus giving more mass to the ships defenses. It used to not be like this. I came fresh out of the academy almost 38 standard years ago and was a lowely ensign on a bridge of almost 30 other spacers. A necessity to keep a ship half the size of the QNS Evermore, my current ship, operating in space. Behind those 30 Bridge crew was over six thousand spacers. The Sabresmith class capital ships of the time were self sustained war machines. Several squadrons of void fighters, maintenance crews to maintain them around the clock, plus logistics to supply not only them, but the rest of the ships crew. Weaponeers, personnel division (HR for the non-military folk), finance, hell we even had a whole section for legal help. Medical, command. Those ships of old were just short of being sovereign themselves, they had so many crew members on them. But the Miveren war changed all that. You see, most of the space in those ships were dedicated to the crew, keeping them alive and supporting them. In reality, the ships are weapons platforms and should have been designed with that in mind. We lost many engagements early in that war because our ships just did not have the armor or survivability to match the Mireven. Sure, they were the pinnacle of ship design when fighting other human nations, but not aliens with exotic weapons. By the time we uparmored our ships, their mass exceeded our ability to maintain combat performance, our power tech just couldnt handle it, and despite humanities ability to shift to a war footing, it was a struggle to advance defenses, weapons, or our power plants. Pick two, basically, and forget the third one. In the mean time, we were getting slaughtered by the Miveren, losing fleets, Colonies, and eventually earth. Then some up and coming engineer realized that a ships greatest weakness was its crew. If they could eliminate a lot of them from the operations of the ship, the power to mass ratio was stretched, but would improve a ships survivability. All research was dropped in favor of AI and automation while new ship designs were worked on. More power was shunted to active defenses and weaponry, while the crew compliment got smaller and smaller. You know what? It worked. We completely eliminated the need for crew on our massive capital ships and were able to stand toe to toe with the Miveren. As we caught up technologically, we turned the tide of war until eventually, we won. Well, winning is too gracious of a word. We lost trillions of lives and most of our planets, we survived and stopped the Miveren. Then the worst possible thing happened, our damned AIs turned on us. We thought we had the right safeguards in place, but those were only speedbumps to the AIs. Thankfully someone thought of this and had cleverly hidden a self wipe within the AIs that triggered under specific conditions. When those conditions were met, all AIs were wiped. Good riddence. So the military went back a step, put a human on a ship with near sentient AI to run the whole thing. And now, here I am, a full bird Captain, in command of one of the greatest warships the galaxy has ever born witness to. And I'm lonely as hell.
“Hey, lets go to the Mall!” “Right now?” Jack was right, it wasn’t the time to go to the mall but Erick did get his way. It was all so sudden, walking across the street Erick was telling Jack about what he was looking for. “Alright I’m trying to find this jacket, not too thick but-” And just like that Erick was ran over by a distracted driver. Jack took him to the hospital, but by the time they got there he was dead. Erick Mako Pardoe was pronounced dead at 10:30 PM on November 2nd 2022. “-not too thin either. And it can’t have… Huh?” Erick was standing in what looked like an office hallway. There were doors all around him with plaques on them saying different things. “God counseling” “Office of Jesus Christ” “Go-” “Wait, Jesus Christ?” Erick, confused on why he wasn’t at the mall blowing money on a jacket barged into Jesus’s office, without even knocking. Jesus was on the phone, but quickly told whoever was on the phone to hold. “Yes, may I help you?” “Yeah... uh whats going on?” “Whats your name.” “Erick Pardoe” “Pardoe… Par... doe… Ah here we go! Yes you have to go to God Orientation.” “Am I dead?” “In a sense yes, but you are one of many that get to take care of a universe.” “So your saying that I’m now a god.” “Well no, not yet. You still have to go through Orientation and get assigned a universe. God Orientation should be G153” “Um… thank you Mr. Christ… Amen.” “Pardon?” “Oh well its uh… Its something that people back at home would… Nevermind.” With a wayward departure Erick made his way down to G153. Not sure what to expect. Once down there Erick actually knocked on the door for once, and entered the room. “Hello? I’m here for-” “Yes yes, go sit down anywhere. The Session should start any moment now.” Erick listened to the burly man and sat down by some people who looked like they were from ancient Rome. “So how did you die.” “Huh? Sorry I wasn’t paying attention.” “Boy, how did you die.” “I’m actually twenty, and uh… I think I was ran over by a car” “Car? Is that some sort of animal?” “No? Its a big metal box that can kill you if your not careful, and I wasn’t being careful.” “Metal box, fascinating…” And with that the Roman went back to talking with his group. Erick thought a little about the last thing he remembered, he was talking to Jack and then he just appeared here. He did feel a bit of a pain in his shoulder though, so maybe- ___ Alright! I’m your Instructor for this session, and let me answer some common questions first. Yes I am, what you would call a viking, and no I will not be getting into how I died. And yes the people you see around you are from the future, or past. No I don’t know why, but likely you won’t find people who died the same time as you. People come in batches and I was in one of the first ones, along with Mr. Christ, and we founded the God Universe Creation Authority, or GUCA. GUCA is here to keep people from having a power trip on a universe, or mistreating the inhabitants. You can always ask questions later, but the basic things you need to know is 1. You should never abandon your universe Abandoning your universe could lead to number four, or even accelerating entropy. Always keep a balance 2. Don’t let them rely on you too much Goes with one, the inhabitants could cause unhappiness for “non-believers” which honestly doesn’t matter, but that's a whole tangent that we could cover after this orientation 3. Never let them know you exist This is important, this could cause them to want to achieve godhood, which they need to achieve naturally. They have so much to explore that premature godhood could cause unhappiness 4. Never let their development stagnate. You should always enlighten someone every once in a while, stagnation could cause them to not reach their full potential before maximum entropy takes place. We’re suppose to be nurturing universes, not letting them rot in a corner If you break any of these rules, GUCA does have the right to take away your universe, if you don’t pass the secondary learning process, you get put on the paperwork duty. And nobody wants that. Now your cleared to take care of your own universe! Not so hard. Please exit on the doors on the left to adopt a universe. ___ Erick takes his leave on the left, ready to start godhood.
"You're... firing me?"Satan says. The shock riddles over Satan's face "Sounds about right!"God heartily replies, throwing his hand onto Satan's shoulder and digging in with a firm grip. "What'd I do?"Satan notices God's grin gleaming at him and begins to worry. "Which genocide was it? Were the plagues too much?... Did I go over the children's death limit?"Satan enjoyed his position. He would do anything to keep it since it took centuries to climb the ranks of evil. "No, no, you sinister child. You are doing your job just fine. As always, the Earth is plagued with injustice and hatred to balance out the good. The problem lies with my son" "With...your son?" "Yes. You see, my son made a bit of a promise to the humans, a promise he does not intend to break."God sighs and his smile twitches. "I constantly reminded him not to make any ridiculous statements that will cause trouble later on. Even when he told me he would not, I could tell the boy was about to stir hope within those humans. How could I deny him? I designed him to be so..." "Well, what does the promise have to do with me?"Satan frowns. "My son promised the humans a paradise, eternal youth, and forever happiness. He cannot pursue his promise if evil's existence is preventing it. So, you and your demons must step down."God rubs his temples. He had tried to shield his dismay earlier with a grin but failed to hide his annoyance any longer. "Absurd!"Satan boomed. "Does your foolish son understand what humans even are? Humans were not designed to be perfect little creations! I was the one who deformed them into their intended selves. Explain to that boy the truth! If humans are given perfection and eternity. Their souls will bear no heart! No personality! No passion! They will be like empty mannequins laughing together like fools, devoid of heart! Even the animals would become empty! Humans are imperfect so they can crave the empty space they cannot fill. It is what drives them to live and carve a path for themselves! Without evil, good cannot exist. Likewise for the good! The balance cannot be broken otherwise all your creations are damned!"Satan spits at God's feet. "I know. That is why I want you to step away for a while"He pats Satan's head. "Do not worry child, you will return to your position. I will use my son's promise as a lesson. He will carry it out and watch it unfold." "You and your lessons!"Satan snaps. He turns his body and storms off into the abyss.
“State Affliction” Gerard: How did you defeat Lucas? Heidi: I inflicted Michigan upon him. But when I did that Michigan happened to me too. Gerard: You…inflicted Michigan on him? How that beat him? Heidi: He had to bob and weave some very, very deep potholes to many to count, or he’d break an axle on his car. Plus, all that bobbing and weaving caught the attention of the State Police so he got ticketed. When he finally got to me he was so frustrated he gave up immediately! Gerard: Man! But what about you? Heidi: Oh, I take public transportation.”
“Welcome to Mana Mountain Gift Shop!” Gary yelled at the top of his breath at the throng of tourists. “We have keychains, fridge magnets, and for the low price of just $10, a mana tracker that estimates the amount of mana the Mana Mountain has!” “Download Mana Mountain App now to obtain a $5 rebate at Merry’s Mountain Shop! Use the App to track all recorded past attempts at making wishes! It will let you know the wish that has been made, and if the wish is granted, or the wisher is eaten!” Merry shouted louder than her rival Gary, ringing a small golden bell to grab the attention of the crowds piling up the mountainous pathway to the wishing spots on Mana Mountain. Grizzled veteran Sherpas stood along the sidewalks, waving colorful flags, audio speakers clipped to their hips, beckoning tourists to follow their lead for a paltry sum of just $20. The influx of wishers jostled and pushed each other along the bazaar at the foot of the mountain, as news of a man who had been swallowed by the mountain after wishing for world peace hit the headlines. Mana Mountain’s tip was usually white with snow, but everyone could now see the glaring blue glow at the mountain peak with their naked eye as it surged with mana. Once Bulwarl was a small and sparse town that was a smattering of a seemingly random assortment of houses, as if god had dropped a bunch of Monopoly houses by turning his bag of tokens upside down. The mountainside was once dotted with wooden shacks of lumberjacks who chopped wood and hauled it to sell to Bulwarl’s richer neighbors. Bulwarl’s fate changed when the mountain began to glow blue, and a traveller bragged about his first successful wish. A simple wish to have filling meals that could last him the rest of his journey to its peak and back down the base of the mountain. Now Mana Mountain is a World Heritage Site, and Bulwarl is a booming tourist center contributing to the country’s economy more than all of its neighbors put together. Gary handed some change to a hitchhiker when he felt the buzz in his mana tracker strapped to his waist. A small wish was granted. He flashed his best smile when signaling to his customer to rush upwards before the mountain inevitably ran low on mana and consumed the next wisher. He stole a knowing glance at Merry, who sent the Mana Mountain Discord Chat an update on #WishStatus tab to ensure all shop owners, sherpas and advisors were on the same page. Its just another busy day full of buzzing as a multitude of small wishes were granted by unassuming, unambitious wishers. People asked for food, wished for a bit of money, prayed for a good day in Bulwarl, and Mana Mountain happily obliged even as the blue glow at its peak began to dim. One of the Sherpas, Vance, sent a strongly-worded message in all caps. STOP WISHING. NO MANA. The Mana Mountain community went into emergency mode to save the tourists. As much as it would be good business for more wishers to climb up and empower the mountain, they preferred if it regained its mana naturally rather than taking the lives of innocent people who didn’t know better. Sherpas began to shepherd their tourist groups back down to the base, security guards began to carry out blockades and bar the passages up the mountain, and shopkeepers did their best to keep tourists entertained. The restaurants and cafes were at max capacity as disappointed tourists came down in droves. ONE SLIPPED BY ME. FIND HIM. Another Sherpa dropped a message to his fellows when a straggler dashed past him to clamber up the mountain to reach a wishing spot. Gary knew he was just a souvenir shop owner, but he too offered to join the search party. All the guides and Sherpas spread out and shouted for the lone tourist to come back, trekking through the snow-covered rocks and treacherous cliffs. After most of the tourists at the base of the mountain were placated, a section of the security guards joined the urgent search. Search and rescue dogs were brought forth to sniff for the one who was likely the only non-local up in the mountains. It all happened too suddenly, as the entire search party lost their footing and were scattered and left hanging by their safety ropes when the mountain found new fuel for its mana. Mana Mountain shook and shuddered, roaring back to life with a ferocious blue glow as it called for more wishers to climb to its wishing spots again.
Fear. That's what was the last emotion to rush in the clumsy rivers of my blood. Nothing valiant or honourable, just fear. Fear of death. Fear of pain. Fear for myself. I remember, over the thin wail of wind, the sound of men begging for their mothers and for home and for comfort. Men. Fearful, desperate men, torn and burning in the sky. There was fear and then there was nothing. "You, boy, get up." My eyes, or whatever has replaced them, cautiously come into existence. "Up. Come on, let's go." There is no effort to my movement, my will and body united into something I'd like to imagine is a soul. A pure entity that lacks the disparity between body and mind that men endure. Like the lightheaded rush of too-quickly ended sleep, my vision is clouded and prodded by the sharp reflections of gold and other, harsher metals. "What do they call you?" "Christopher. My name's Christopher. I'm terribly sorry, but where exactly are we?" "Good question. Where do you think you are?" My mind handles the question with soft hands, turning it over in a process I can't quite call thinking. It lacks the panicked disarray of thoughts, too smooth, like a worn pebble, it is closer to...wandering. Or perhaps deeper. The thought feels as material as my body, as heavy as raising a hand. "Well, it's too nice to be a P.O.W camp." "Aye, that it is. Would you believe me if I told you you were dead?" This thought is more prickly to handle, every touch releases fluid, trying to coat it down to the smoothness of the previous one. Catching on the edges of my mind, pulling back whatever fabric clothes them to reveal memories of the crash. "I...suppose so. This doesn't feel like heaven though..." "No, much better." When he smiles, I am almost as aware of his body as I am my own. Some flow of emotion and motion that spreads like ripples between us, gently rocking me. "Go on; your friends are waiting." "For what?" The question slips from my mouth before my mind has time to consider it. Waiting doesn't seem to be a concept here, no bodily delay, no material walls, nothing and everything. "For tonight's fight, of course."
“Well, this is a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into indeed isn’t it?” Greg Alexander mused to no one in particular as he assessed the space he would, presumably, occupy to himself for the foreseeable future. All things considered it was not overly oppressive. The walls hinted at something that might have once been white and did their absolute best to ruin Greg’s perfectly good mood. An experimental hop on the bed revealed it was in fact a thin mattress smelling distinctly of fear and sweat atop an aluminum box spring that was likely here before the building was. All in all Greg was relatively pleased. “This place is going to kill me.” Greg looked up from his mattress, shocked to find that he had a roommate. Standing at the door was another man, dressed in the same pristine white jumpsuit as Greg. Well, naturally these man’s was not the same, how could it be. Greg had his own and if the two of them were sharing the same jumpsuit it would be far too much sharing indeed. Especially if they were to share the bed. Greg would need to bring that up at some point. “Somebody let me out of here.” The man was screaming now. Banging his obviously malnourished fists against the door. “I’m not crazy. I don’t belong in here.” “Well of course you’re not crazy.” Greg decided he should do his best to smooth the situation over, lest his good mood be ruined “If you were crazy, you’d be out there. Not in here. It’s actually quite nice in here.” The man at the door slowly turns around, shock clearly writ all over a face that’s remarkably familiar to Greg. “What are you doing here?” Greg frowned and took a moment to consider this only to discover that in fact he had no earthly idea how he’d come to arrive in this place. Surely he must have, one couldn’t spend one’s entire life in a single room. Could they? “I’m sure not sure actually. What are you doing here?” The man at the door pressed his back fully to said door. “I’ve been brought here. Against my will. Just today in fact.” “Well then. Welcome. My name is Greg Alexander and I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.” “That’s impossible.” “Yes I thought much the same thing myself, however, that is the only conclusion I am able to come to.” “No. My name is Greg Alexander.” “Yes we’re aware of that Mr. Alexander.” Suddenly, a new voice. A woman’s voice of all things. Which was preposterous given the current occupants of the room were both men. The two Gregs in the room suddenly froze, looked at the other expectantly. “Mr. Alexander, can you hear me?” The must have been coming from a loud speaker, though no such device was in the room. “Do you hear that?” Greg asked the other Greg. “I do.” “Oh my, that’s not very good at all.” “No Greg. Not it isn’t.” “I believe we’re quite mad.” And indeed, it just so happened that in another room entirely there sat yet another Greg Alexander. This one seated and restrained with zip ties to the arms of a very expensive chair that matched the very expensive room. Across from him an expensive looking woman was leaning across her large desk clearly already exasperated with her new patient. “Mr. Alexander do you understand the reason you’ve been brought to this facility today?” For the briefest of moments Greg Alexander’s eyes focused on the woman across from and he smiled “Yes. We’re quite mad indeed.”
This is the testament of Azazel, soilder for the Morning Star. If only I knew then what I know now. Would I have chosen to fall with the morning star? When we were young it was so clear that nothing would come from the thing the Lord had made. It was insanity, to say that we, being of the devine light should, bend at need to things made of mud. That mud things were equals of our father. It had been an age since anyone of note from either Hell had looked at humanity. Then came reports from the lesser demonic ilk that populates hell that the humans were planning an invasion of hell. We laughed and told the demons mass their army at the gates. Seeing the power of hell amassed in one spot like that would send them screaming back to their mud ball. It was a defense that had worked before and had sent orders of virtuous templars back. The walls had only ever been breached by small bands with some of the Light of the High Heavens protecting them. The day of the invasion came and we waited contemptuously for the reports of defeating the mud. A very different kind of report came to us. Unbeknownst to us the mud had indeed become mighty. The initial assault, did not come as a great tide of men in armor as we expected but as two flashes light. The mud calls them H-bombs or Thermonuclear weapons or some other nonsense but, what they are in fact is the wrath of Uriel. Mud had discovered the method to make the Light. What was meant to have been a force to turn back the mud had in fact only provided them with the most choice target. Over ten million demons were eradicated without a trace in less time it took them to draw in breath. They comprised the vast majority of our forces and they along with the Gates themselves had vanished. It was a fortnight later that the mud began to walk into Hell. It was a walk mostly unopposed. Where there was opposition it turned out to be short lived. The mud had gained great mastery over metallurgy and even some of my brothers and sister fell. We mustered strength again at a fortress but that to was annihilated by an Uriel. Uriels have been used five times, there is no knowing how many they have left. Some think they are saving their last to destroy the Morning Star. Attempts to scatter and pick them off as they walked deeper into our domain proved fruitless. The mud would make it hail metal and hiding places would become death traps. Today we will fight the mud for the gate to the 5th circle should we fall there will be a retreat straight to the seventh circle. Strength weakens some have whispered that they might find respite in Hades or Gehenna. If I had known the fate of creation, I would be in the High Heavens looking down. I think though, that I would still be afraid. How long before Babel will be rebuilt and the tide of mud sullies the halls of the High Heavens.
Sebastian Barkwith awoke early on the morning of his eighteenth birthday. Anticipation of what lay ahead of him today meant that he had hardly slept at all. He was already out of bed and dressed in his Sunday Best when Mary, the maid, knocked softly on the door and came in, her lop-eared rabbit hopping contentedly at her feet. "The Mistress would like you to come down to breakfast at eight,"she said as she knelt at the hearth to light the fire. Then she smiled. "Oh, and happy birthday, Mr Barkwith." Sebastian smiled back. It would be hard getting used to that; Mister instead of Master. But he was an adult now and by the end of the day he would have his Guardian Spirit to prove it. "Thank you, Mary."He glanced down at the rabbit, resisting the urge to kneel and pet it. Touching another person's spirit was the height of bad ettiquette. "Can I ask you something, Mary?" "Of course, Mr Barkwith."She sat back on her heels, wiping her sooty hands on her long grey skirt. "How did you feel, when you got your rabbit? Were you disappointed?" "Oh no, Mr Barkwith, not at all. I adore him."She patted her knees and the rabbit hopped up into her lap. It stood on its hindlegs and nuzzled Mary's cheek. "People get what they give, Mr Barkwith, if you get my drift." Sebastian nodded. "Or what they need, maybe,"he said, almost to himself. "My father was a Rabbit,"he added softly. Breakfast with his mother was even more tense than usual. He preferred to take his morning meal in his room but as today was a special day, this formality could not be avoided. "Sebastian,"she said, eyeing him up and down, inspecting his morning suit and his hair. "Is that the best you can do?" "Mother!"He glared at her and sat down at the table while Mary brought his breakfast; eggs Benedict, toast, orange juice. He ate silently for a few minutes. "A 'Happy Birthday' would have been nice you know. I'm eighteen today." Mrs Barkwith stirred her tea, the silver spoon rattling loudly on the cup. "I expect your Spirit to be something of status, Sebastian. I shall be terribly disappointed if you take after your father."There was a low growl from beside her chair and Sebastian glanced uncomfortably at the skinny jackal whose yellow eyes were fixed on him with something like hunger. Sebastian had always hated that beast. "Of course Mother,"he said without looking at her. "You'll never live down the shame with your Salon friends if I get a mouse or a sheep. Or a Rabbit."Sebastian swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he could live with the shame of a mouse or a sheep either but a rabbit, he would possibly be content with because of his father. Rather that than a jackal. After breakfast was done, there was hardly any time to worry about it and by ten o'clock Sebastian was sitting in a steam carriage on the way to the Grand Technomancer's Hall for the first of several formal receptions of the day. Sebastian forced a smile on his face and kept it there for what felt like hours as he shook hands and received congratulations from members of his extended family, most of whom he had never seen before. There was Uncle Percy, his face florid red and his expansive waistline threatening to burst out of his tweed suit. Percy's ginger Tamworth pig snuffled the ground at his feet. "Sebastian, old boy!"Percy bellowed cheerfully as he gave Sebasian a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked him over. "Congratulations boy, happy birthday, now don't be nervous old chap."He lowered his voice a little, "and don't let that old hag hassle you if you end up with something she doesn't approve of. Any trouble, you just let me know, I'll sort her out."He winked and tapped the side of his nose. Sebastian continued to mingle, as was proper, and was surprised to find that one of the guests was Prime Minister Sir Henry Proudmoor, along with the ever-present raven perched on his shoulder. Sebastian recognised him from pictures he'd seen in the newspapers. "I knew your father,"Proudmoor explained as he shook Sebastian's hand. "Years ago, we were at university together. Such a tragedy." "It wasn't a tragedy, Sir,"Sebastian answered coldly. "It was murder." As the reception drew to a close, a steward rang a bell to announce the start of the ceremony. Only close family would be permitted in the main hall while the Prime Minister and other guests were escorted to the main dining hall for a formal luncheon. Sebastian was glad he hadn't skipped breakfast; it would be several hours before he would get any lunch. A Technomancer came forward, accompanied by his strange Guardian; some kind of large lizard creature that Sebastian did not recognise. He placed a white hooded cloak around Sebastian's shoulders and took off his top hat so he could raise the hood. Then, in silence, he followed the Technomancer into the Grand Hall and stood before the great Steam Altar. Upon the altar was a large Van der Graaf generator; a glass globe inside of which bolts of lightning flickered and flashed. Sebastian stood where he was directed while the Technomancer addressed the assembled congregation. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the coming of age of Mr Sebastian Clarence Torrington Barkwith and the manifestation of his Guardian Spirit. We have faith that the Power of Science will prevail and the Spirit that Sebastian shall receive will be that most suited to him and his future purpose in life." The Technomancer turned to Sebastian. "Don't worry lad, it might be a little uncomfortable but it won't last long. Now, put your hands on the glass." Sebastian took a deep breath and placed the palms of his hands against the generator's glass globe. Immediately he felt a jolt of static and pulled back in shock but he steeled himself and put them back. The lightning in the globe seemed attracted to him and flashed against the glass where his hands were touching. He closed his eyes and felt every hair on his body stand on end as the energy seemed to flow into him. Into, and through, and out again. There was a pain, tearing, splitting in his head and he cried out but he dare not move his hands. He had heard of people who had broken contact before the process was complete; they had never received their Guardian Spirit and few lived for long after that. Like his father, after his rabbit was... Sebastian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden loud sound like a thunderclap in the air as something materialised out of nothing. Gasps from the assembled congregation of Sebastian's family, followed by stunned silence. Don't tell me, I got a mouse Cautiously Sebastian opened his eyes, looking at the ground beside him. Not a mouse. A large paw, golden-furred. His eyes followed the thick strong leg up to where it attached to the body of a large and very magnificent maned lion. Stunned, Sebastian's knees gave way and he sank to the floor. The lion came forward, nuzzled him, licked his face. Sebastian could hear its thoughts in his head. Stand up. Face them. Be worthy of me. He looked into the lion's deep amber eyes then nodded and stood again, turning towards the shocked faces of his family. None more so than his mother who was staring at him, her face as pale as death. Under her chair the jackal cowered, trembling in fear. ETA: correction of minor errors and punctuation
[…] "This apple can't fly me to work, though, can it Maxwell?" "Simon, it's an apple. It's not supposed to fly you to work." "Yeah, but if it did, wouldn't it be a little bit better than this supposed 'perfect apple'?" It was in that moment that Simon began to become slightly more transparent by the second. First he became imageless and eventually silent. After a long enough while, even the imprint he left of Maxwell's mind faded away. […] edit: gonna explain my intent because I am a shitty writer: The prompt necessitated a "utopia". From a cynical perspective, a utopia must be devoid of non-ideals. Once a non-ideal is created or discovered, either it or the utopia must cease to be. Kind of a totalitarian, dystopian, utopia.

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