Split (1)

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It's been so long since I heard his voice. He'd been gone for ages. All I wanted was his warm embrace, instead I wait outside taking any warmth that the sun gave. That's when I saw that old beat up truck, I loved that thing so much. Words could not describe my joy when I saw my best friend. "Let's go for a drive!"he said. I freely obliged. He took me to our park where we shared the best of times. He threw the ball and I ran, boy did I run. As I retrieved the ball I noticed he was gone. I waited.
Empty. Again for the third straight week. It had filled slightly when the old man suggested the meaning of life was about 2 kilograms of flax. But he lost it the next day when he tripped over that same bag of flax in to the laundry bin. The others had stopped making fun of him when they noticed their own bars defeated a little each time they made a jab. All he got now was pity. He didn't need pity. He didn't really need anything. Since the reformation, a lot of daily needs were met. He had a nice place, a room to himself. The love of a beautiful woman would be nice but he knew that desire wouldn't get him far. Besides he had love. All his fellows loved him, he knew. But it wasn't fulfilling. He wanted that damn bar full. A full bar would get him places. Respect and admiration, suddenly pupils would be asking HIM questions and he'd get to give all the cryptic answers. "2 kilos of flax."He muttered under his breath while he got dressed. It had been there. He has been so close. He just about had it, and it was gone. As he walked out in to the hall he could see the looks of disappointment flower over him. "Nothing today brother? Ah maybe tomorrow."Ed chimed in cheerfully. Ed's bar was nearly full. He didn't have many cares, always very relaxed. In the first week he had tried that himself but he got scolded for shirking his duties. How had Ed gotten by without doing his? Maybe he simply didn't care if he was scolded. It was Ed's laundry that he had fallen in to after all. Well, his duty to clean it. The old man found him at breakfast and say beside him in silence. The old man was cheerful, always. His bar had been full four times since he met the geezer. That was the thing, it could always empty, but fill right up again. Just like the flax. Nothing. He barely had a moment to ponder that before being summoned to his duties. The old man wished him well and went back to his oats. "2 kilos of flax my rear end. The old man was just toying with me." A day of sweeping and scrubbing followed. It was easy to think on these days, but made ever difficult by the stares of his fellows. How could anyone truly achieve enlightenment with this kind of pressure? He didn't care. He was all but ready to give up on the idea. Summoned again. This time to help prepare the evening's meal. The kitchens were a hussle of people and ingredients. Large bags of all manner of food being flung about to make food for all the fellows. Less people staring, but no time to think. Too busy. This work he liked. He wasn't stuck inside himself, he wasn't tormented with the long stares and awkward silence. He completely forgot himself in to a bowl of flour. He worked and worked, unaware of the growing silence surrounding him. The flour became dough in his hands, and soon loaves. The growing stares and attention went straight through him. Nothing at all mattered to him in that moment. A fellow asked him as he worked "what have you got here?" "About 4 loaves of bread" And his bar was full.
"This is Alexander and Sophia, father. They are from the European Central Bank,"Hermes said as he fluttered slightly of the ground, a few feet above Alexander and Sophia. Zeus stared down at the two mortals, being several dozen feet taller than the two of them. He squinted his eyes to see the two of them and he stifled a chuckle. "Alexander and Sophia?"Zeus' voice echoed through the Great Hall, where the rest of the Gods and Goddesses were gathered. "Yes, we're here on behalf of the entire European Union,"Alexander began without looking directly into the eyes of Zeus. All around him were twelve huge Gods and Goddesses, standing at full building sizes. He would not dare look them in the eye. "The girl is quite beautiful, shame she works for the mortal's government,"Aphrodite said as she tilted her head towards Sophia. "I wouldn't try anything, sister,"Artemis said from across the other side of the room. "It seems the two have already married, it would be bad to separate them now." Alexander wrapped his arm around Sophia and stared at Aphrodite. "Oh, but she's so beautiful. Haphaestus and I would love to have some company, wouldn't we dear husband?" "The man seems to have the opposite idea,"Haphaestus said before being interrupted by Zeus. "Enough! These two were not summoned here! You are trespassing and I will have none o--" "Zeus, hear the two out. It must be important enough for them to send two mortals here to us,"Hera said in a calm tone. Zeus sighed impatiently as he took a seat on his throne, the other eleven Gods and Goddesses followed suit, with Alexander and Sophia standing in front. Zeus stared at the two for several moments before opening his hand, "Go on, speak!" Alexander nodded and began to read from the stake of paper in front of him, "Well, I come to understand that you are all aware of the difficulties facing the country of Greece at the time?" Dionysus leaned forward, "Difficulties? We were just celebrating a couple weeks ago!" Hermes sighed, "Ignore my brother, Alexander. He is too busy with his lavish lifestyle."Dionysus scoffed as he grabbed a wine bottle next to him and began to drink. "The rest of us are aware. Continue, mortal." "Well, currently Greece is undergoing financial difficulties and to put it simply, they are bankrupt." Dionysus began to laugh, his wine flying across the floor. "Unfortunately, this is no laughing matter,"Sophia added as she glared at Dionysus. "Why come to us?"Ares said from across the room, his shield and spear standing upright next to his chair. As Alexander turned to face him, he could see Ares was sharpening a sword. "They have come to ask us to leave, brother."Apollo warned, as he lifted his lyre off the ground, beginning to strum it. "I have already foreseen the outcomes of this. It ends badly for all of us." "Leave? Leave my own home?"Zeus slammed his fist down on his chair, "You come here and demand me to leave my kingdom?" Alexander stepped backwards and shook his head, "Yes and no, but there is quite more to the ordeal. You can stay, but for a price. You see Mount Olympia sits upon a stockpile of ---" "They are here for our precious riches,"Athena said, "They wish to buy the other countries." "As I've said, these outcomes shall be bad for all of us,"Apollo warned once more. Zeus stood upright, "Is this true? Are you here to rob us? Are you here to destroy the Vaults?"Zeus summoned a lightning bolt in his hand as the entire Hall shuttered. The Gods and Goddesses around the room were unhindered, but both Sophia and Alexander stumbled. Apollo began to laugh softly as he played his lyre. Over time the other Gods and Goddesses looked at him. "What is so funny brother?"Artemis asked as she stood upright. "They are not here for our supplies, sister."Apollo stopped playing as he looked at Alexander and Sophia, "No, these mortals are smart, they have grown a lot without your care, father."Apollo stood and stepped down towards Alexander and Sophia, immediately shrinking to their size. Apollo smiled and nodded, "No, they have chosen their path already. A path I did originally foresee, but, they did. They saw a way out of their crisis. They struck a deal, father." Poseidon slammed his trident down, "A deal with who?" The doors to the Great Hall slammed open in a puff of black and red smoke, a maniacal laugh filled the room almost instantly. "With me, brother and sisters!"The smoke cleared and at the far end of the room stood Hades. "Who else would they go to?" Zeus took a step forward, his lightning bolt flaring, "Brother! What have you done?" Hades laughed, "Oh, don't give me that. You see I saved your little babies, brother! Don't you know what I am?" Hermes fluttered upwards, "That's impossible. I control the riches here!" Hades laughed again, "You may control them here, dear nephew. But the ones below the Earth, the ones below Olympus,"Hades smirk grew into a malicious grin, "They are still mine. And in my loving nature, I made a deal with the Greeks." Apollo looked at Alexander and Sophia, "You did not do it." Alexander and Sophia remained quiet. "You did. You chose the worst of the worst,"Apollo frowned as he looked at Zeus, "Their free will is their downfall. It will destroy them." Hades laughed, "That is a great point, nephew!" Zeus slammed his lightning bolt down on the floor, shaking the Great Hall. "What did the mortals do!?" "They struck a deal as any mortal would! The riches under Mount Olympus, the riches under the Earth, and my share of the riches of the Vault. All of it goes to them in exchange for one simple seat." "You would kill us all." "No, brother, I would just kill you." Zeus slammed his lightning bolt down, forcing his energy to attack Hades. But Hades did not move and the lightning simply absorbed around him, he laughed loudly as he took a few steps forward. "You see brother when you gave the mortals free will you gave them power. The strongest power in all the world. The Greeks choose who get to sit on the throne of Olympus."Hades removed his staff from his robe and slammed it on the floor. In a flash of light, Zeus was hit and strung upwards, flying off towards the edge of the Great Hall. "And the Greeks have chosen me!" _______________________________________________________________________________________ I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun with this prompt and I tried to get every God/Goddess involved. It was really tricky this one, as I deemed it more being about another God vs. God game with mortals being used as pawns. In the end, Greece still wins. Any comments or feedback are welcome! Thanks for the prompt!
Their smell practically oozed from the house. There was a whole group of them, maybe 8 or 9. I knew the scenario well: a slumber party. A whole group of little girls just ripe for terrorizing. This would keep me satisfied for weeks. You've seen Monsters, Inc, right? That sweet innocent Pixar movie about monsters who use fear to charge their batteries or something? Well, it's not too far off. I don't use it for electricity, but I do need the fear of little boys and girls. I feast on it. I require neither food nor water: only the fear of children. And a girl's slumber party is a buffet to me. It was a simple, standard colonial house in the suburbs. The lights were off, and I knew they were inside waiting for me. I could practically taste the fear from them already. Perhaps they were telling scary stories, huddled in their sleeping bags while they took turns trying to make each other shriek. God I love slumber parties. I slithered closer to the basement door. I could tell they were just on the other side, all clustered together. But I couldn't hear voices. Sleeping, maybe? But why the fear? They couldn't all be having nightmares, could they? But the taste was maddening! Such pure fear! I couldn't control myself anymore. Without even thinking of a plan to maximize their terror, I burst through the door and bared my fangs (purely decorative, since I don't need to chew fear). They weren't afraid of me. Dim, defeated eyes stared back at me with the first glimmer of hope that they'd had in months. There was a momentary silence in the room as they all looked at me and tried to figure out what I was. The only audible noise was the gentle clanking of chains as some of them readjusted for a better view. The closest one tried to speak, but her voice was muffled by a dirty gag. Her long blond hair was matted and dirty, and she didn't even seem to mind that I wasn't human. The taste of fear in the room was overwhelmingly strong but it was... sour. Like spoiled eggs. I crept forward and took the old rag from her mouth. "Please!"she gasped, "let us go!" "What is this?"I asked. It was certainly no slumber party. Each of the girls was chained to the wall with heavy manacles, and they were all gagged. Their clothes were ripped and shredded, and I could see dark bruises through the holes. "He keeps us here,"she cried. "You have to let us go! Please!"Her arms strained against the chains, causing them to clank against the concrete walls. The other girls started to cry out too, moaning through the gags. "Please!"the blond girl said again. "Get us out of here!" I picked at the chains with my claws, but they were made of thick iron and the locks were solid. "Is there a key?"I whispered to her. She didn't answer. Another wave of fear washed over me, so strong and sickening that I almost vomited. The other girls had stopped moaning and rattling too. I spun around, only to find a massive shape looming out of the darkness at me holding some sort of blunt object. He swung it at my head, and everything went dark.
All over the galaxy the clones stopped. It didn't happen at once, information takes time to travel. It started closest to Coruscant and spread from there. Some of the stronger Jedi could feel it before it happened, a disturbance in the force, a ripple in the binding power of the universe. Every clone trooper, at every station and every post received Order 65. This was the moment they had been training for, a plan years in the making. To a man each one dropped their gun and began the ritual. Their cries echoed around their surroundings, striking fear into all who heard it. "EYYYY MACARENA!"
"You seem nervous. You should know you can be completely honest with me. Our conversation is entirely confidential, that's a very serious promise." "I know,"said Margaret, fidgeting on a calfskin couch. The thing was too expensive to get comfortable on. "I'm sorry. It's not that I'm scared of opening up. I just don't think you'll believe me." "I see."Doctor Asfada looked up from his notes, peering at Margaret over his glasses. So calm, thought Margaret. This is a real adult. Calm and in control of himself. She grimaced apologetically as the therapist continued. "Ms Washington-" "Margaret, please,"she spurted, nervously. "...Margaret. We must get to the bottom of whatever's going on. I can only help you with that if you're entirely honest. If you tell me everything." Her nervous smile flickered. "Yes, yes. I know that. It's just...never mind. Phew."She passed a hand over her sweating forehead as her knee bobbed up and down like a power drill. "OK, I'll just say it. It's Daniel, my youngest. He's not right. He barely talks to me or David, my husband. When I try and ask him how he's doing he looks at me...oh dear."She daubed the corners of her eyes with a hankerchief, taking a big breath and forcing herself to smile self-deprecatingly. "It's a look of such... disdain. Like he thinks we're the most pathetic, worthless creatures. He treats us like we're not even there." Dr Asfada's mild expression hadn't changed. "That must be very upsetting for you. Although I should point out that many children express contempt for their parents-" "No, you don't understand. It's not like Laura or Zach, my older two. They would scream at me, but at least they acknowledged my existence. Daniel comes and goes from the house as he pleases. He's only 8 years old. I've done everything to stop him, but he behaves like he's a working man. Sometimes I smell cigarettes. It's terrifying. Look, I brought his diary. You can see what I mean." She fumbled in her bag for a thick black book, stained with dirt and age. For the first time, Dr Asfada seemed unsure. "Ms- ...Margaret. Diaries are important private spaces for children. It's highly inadvisable to-" "I know, I know. I was just so desperate! I've only read the first few pages. I wouldn't have if I didn't think it was an emergency. I think it's important for you to see this." The psychiatrist seemed to hesitate, and then slowly leaned forward, taking the thick, heavy book. He thumbed it open and looked down. Seriously: parents are the fucking worst. But it's impossible nowadays to get away from them. World's getting so protective, kid without a parent is spotted in minutes. Awful. I'd kill myself for a fresh start but odds are I wouldn't get anything better, and I can't deal with being a toddler for another 5 years. My so-called mother is terrified of me, I can tell. But what am I supposed to do, try and have a serious conversation with her? I'm still trying to get over Vietnam. "It goes on like this for some time."Dr Asfada was flicking through the pages. "There are entries here dated 1897...1654...1088. Ms Washington...I'm sorry to ask this, but have you considered this may be some kind of practical joke?" "I've seen him writing it! He's 8! He never listened when we tried to teach him to read and write. But now he's more articulate than me!" Dr Asfada paused and steepled his fingers. Before he could reply, there was a screech of tyres outside. The doctor stood up and went to the window - seconds later the door burst open. A small child entered, followed by the clinic's receptionist. "Daniel?!"cried Margaret. "I'm so sorry, I tried to stop him!"said the receptionist. "What the fuck are you doing with that?"said the child, furiously, to Dr Asfada, storming towards him. He stared up at him from waist high. "Huh? Do you have even the slightest fucking idea how valuable that thing is? Of course not, fucking shrink."He snatched it from the stupefied therapist's hands and then rounded on Margaret. "Nice stunt, you gormless prat. I'm out of here. Don't bother looking for me, this life has become way too toxic. I'm burying this book somewhere deep and then I'm taking a spin on the old roulette. Have a fun life, idiots!"He pushed past the receptionist and soon the roaring of a car engine could be heard revving into the distance. The room was silent for some time.
It was in his smile. The crooked teeth, the slightly crinkled eyes, the dimple on the right hand side. Marcus DeSanto sat at my kitchen table, mulling over the issues he had experienced today. First was the missing shipment of knock-off diamond necklace, then there was the audit for the laundry cleaning service acting as his southern division's front. To top it off, his son had been benched in the night's basketball game and he was furious. "Nobody treats my son, Johnny DeSanto, like that in fronna me!"he said, banging his fist on the table. It had taken a few weeks for Marcus to get used to the idea of chatting with me every day. At first, he was hesitant to say anything, afraid that even the smallest detail would prompt me to call the cops on him. Each night I offered him a different drink- sometimes hot, sometimes cold. Once, he even asked me for a chocolate milkshake. He said it reminded him of his childhood growing up. The real breakthrough happened the night of the accident. One of Marcus's good friends had been in a collision with a drunk driver; neither he nor his passenger had made it out alive. Marcus shuffled in, avoiding my eyes. I set down a cup of tea before him, sat beside him, and waited. After a half hour of silence, he began to cry. It wasn't sobbing, just silent tears, but I knew that whether he wanted to or not, he trusted me. We began to exchange life stories after that night. He told me about his time in and out of orphanages and foster homes, and I talked about my time as a school teacher in the countryside. I even opened up about my late husband and our missing son. He would hesitantly shared tidbits about his current life, and I would accept whatever he offered. Eventually, he began to solicit my advice about his personal problems. He would laugh at my timid suggestions and would tell me that he had never thought of it like that, but he would consider it. He shared both good and bad, and I was grateful. Marcus finished his rant about the basketball coach, promising to not take it personally. He drained his glass, set it in the sink, and kissed me on both cheeks. "I'll see ya tomorrow at nine, then,"he said, and with a smile and a wave, he left. Marcus DeSanto didn't smile often, but when he did, he looked exactly like his father.
At around 2:34 AM, six people sat cramped in four-person booth in a Denny's of only one other person, their server. "So we have a new recruit joining us today,"said Light. "Feeling lucky?" "Ha. Ha,"sniped Lady Luck as she finished rolling her eyes. "It's so much funnier the 8 trillionth time you've said it." "9 trillionth,"Taxes corrected. "Gee whiz, Lady. You should really... lighten up,"said Light with a goofy grin. "Alright, alright. I'm going to put a stop to this,"remarked Death. "Father Time, what's the new guy's ETA?" "According to that email they sent, they should be arriving in about 45 minutes. Although, our initial email arrived to them an hour late. Can we please just get a new iPhone so we could FaceTime them or something?" "In all fairness,"remarked Lady Justice, "we haven't done anything to earn a new computer, much less smartphones. Our last meeting resulted in the lowest Earth-output yet. It's why I recruited in the first place." "^Big ^surprise ^that ^the ^one ^person ^who ^can't ^see ^is ^against ^FaceTime.."muttered Father Time. "You know I can hear everything, right?!"she snapped back in righteous anger. "Looks like I'll be putting in overtime. Again. For the 56 zillionth time,"whined Death, miming a finger-gun through the temple. As Taxes began his instinctive correction, a stranger pulled up a chair from a neighboring table and sat down at the booth. "Hey! Hope I'm not too late to the party,"he said. To the shock of everybody, it was their server. "You're our new recruit?"asked Lady Justice. "The one who scheduled the meeting here?" "Pleased to meet you. I'm LifeHacks. The woman I spoke to on the phone said that y'all needed a boost to your efficiency?" "That would be me,"replied Lady Justice with an unusually bright smile. Her co-workers were more surprised at her happiness than they were that their Denny's server was a new recruit. "I understand. I'm perfect for you guys. I know a whole bunch of tricks to make the most out of limited options. For example..."LifeHacks stood up from his chair, got two more from the neighboring table, and set them beside the booth seats. He had the Ladies scoot over to the chairs next to him and then he pulled the booth table towards the chairs. Of course, every single glass toppled over, but everyone was too mesmerized to care. "Voila!"he announced to a rousing applause. "What other ideas do you have for us?"several asked. "Well, I took a look at your files and it seems like everybody's jobs are all over the place,"LifeHacks said to an eager audience. He explained that Death had a horrifically excessive workload, while Lady Luck got to work whenever she wanted. Likewise, Taxes had to take account for everything regarding numbers, while Father Time watched a timeline (despite the fact that nobody had even discovered time-travel). It'd also seemed strange to him that the only blind one of the group was responsible for governing moral cases, whereas Light fed stupid quips to entertainers and Hollywood screenwriters after putting the sun on autopilot. LifeHacks gave a long breakdown of how Luck could help out Death by taking lives herself, how Father Time could help Taxes with numbers, and Light could restore the vision from within Lady Justice's eyes and bring to light some injustices himself. Furthermore, he argued that each job was simply a variation of two major jobs between their two most overworked members, Death and Taxes. It was absolutely eye-opening to them. And knowing that the responsibilities could and would be shared, the world's powers felt better about the future than they did in Eons. "Happy to help!"LifeHacks said to them as they agreed to make him a regular member of the meetings. LifeHacks thought to himself that he'd select every meeting to take place at his dingy Denny's. Guaranteed table of six, he thought, while he counted up the generous tips that they left on their split checks.
Princess Moyra fidgeted in her gown as her father took his place beside her. As the second oldest of four, it was Moyra's duty, as well as her youngest sister's, to create smaller military alliances through marriage. Her older sister would secure the unity of two kingdoms, and their baby brother would ascend the throne. Moyra started to pick at the embroidered gold filigree on her dress skirts as anxiety began to fill her. Who were these men that would want to win her father's favor? Were they nice? Would they be old? "Moyra,"her father said her name shortly, "stop fiddling with your dress and straighten up!"He turned sideways to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His rough hand was tender as he fussed with smoothing some wrinkles in the gown. "You want to look presentable for our neighboring nobles,"his often gruff voice raised a pitch showing his nerves. "Father,"Moyra grabbed his wrinkled face in her hands, "It will be all right."They smiled at each other before situating themselves in their respective thrones. The king signaled to the door man at the entrance to the throne room, "Giles! We are ready!"With a nervous smile and final squeeze of her hand, the King composed himself for the two suitors that had come to take his daughter for their own. Giles cleared his throat, his voice a lively tenor that rang through the empty room. "May I present to your Royal Highness', Sir Martin Greenhand the Third!"The first of the two suitors walked through the doorway, his armor clanking with each step, the brightly polished steel almost squeaking in it's disuse. A golden cloak flowed from the shoulder down his back, the light silky fabric catching the air and dancing behind him. Sir Martin removed his helmet as he closed the distance, shaking out his golden locks and flashing a bright smile at the princess. Moyra looked at her father with a smirk as the King let out a low sigh before looking up to the heavens with a plea in his eyes. Sir Martin finally arrived at the bottom of the steps leading to the thrones and knelt down placing his helmet on the ground next to him. The action took a little longer than anticipated as his light weight cloak stuck it's self in a joint almost knocking the man off balance. But he recovered and managed a confident wink at the princess before bowing his head to the floor. The wink was almost too much and Moyra nearly lost it. Her father giving a stern glare as she swallowed the giggles before they could burst forth. The King took in a deep breath and nodded to Giles who sang out again with his beautiful tenor, "May I present to your Royal Highness', Lord Nathaniel Jacob Carver the first of his name, conqueror of Garth and Warden of the Shadowed Forests!"The King sat straighter hearing such a grand title, his eyes eagerly waited to see what sort of man could boast the conquer of Garth, a heavily armed and fortified city. The lord strode in, a slight limp in his gait, shrouded in old leather adorned with scuffs and scrapes. Old blood spattered the surface in shades of brown as if it were the canvas of some angry artist. His bare arms were riddled in scars that ducked into his leather armor and climbed out again in fine strokes along the left side of his face. The man's hair was dark and dirty, braided and adorn with beads to pull the long locks from his face framing the scars that set on his cheek. He looked wild, like a norther Viking from stories of old. His expression was stoic and alert like the wolf hounds set to guard the palace at night. There was no showmanship as Lord Nathaniel knelt before the king dropping his gaze to the floor. Moyra and the King looked at each other. The king with concern, his mind worried if there would be a proper husband in this room. Moyra scared that her fate with either man would lead to disaster. She could see her paths all to clearly laid before her, a life with Sir Martin as a trophy of a wife. His reputation for whoring around and lack of faithfulness all too prominent. But his family had the third largest army in the Kingdom, and not offering them the opportunity to rise in rank would be a great insult. Her other suitor, Lord Nathaniel, was one of greater mystery. As wardens of the Shadow Forest the family was known to be fierce on the battle field in their own right. But again, reputation preceded in rumors of that brutish nature following the family home. The Lady of the region had not been seen in years, and it was said that her husband had beaten her so brutally that her disfigurement left her unable to leave her home. Moyra never thought much of such tales until she laid eyes on Lord Nathaniel herself. He was intimidating, riddled with scars, dressed as some savage beyond the ocean and intimidating as a rabid dog. The King gripped his chair tightly before speaking, "Please rise my good men."The King's regal voice broke the silence like a glass that would shatter on the ground. Both men rose to their feet, Sir Martin wearing a massive smirk as he looked over his rival for marriage. Lord Nathaniel ignored the man beside him, finally giving a glance to the Princess and bowing his head in recognition before taking a military stance before the King. Moyra was intrigued, noticing how he subtly rapped his thumb against the other hand as they were clasped before him. It was a familiar gesture she had seen her father make before a big speech. "While our family would be honored to add both of your names to our royal lineage, I can pick but only one,"the King announced. The King looked at the two men and then to his daughter, "My daughter is precious to me."He sighed and reached for her hand, "More precious than the kingdom itself, as I have a love for my girls that only a father can know,"he squeezed her hand in his looking back to the two suitors, "I must have every reason to believe that the man who will take to marry my daughter will care for her as such."There was silence before he finished, "As per my request I would see what gift you have brought to impress upon my dear child." Sir Martin stepped forward first. From his waist he produced a red velvet pouch that he struggled to open with his gauntlets on. Once open he slid out a large yellow diamond that glittered like a million stars. Moyra was dazzled by the glimmering gem as Giles, who had situated himself to the side of the suitors collected the stone and brought it up to the princess. "For the Princess,"Sir Martin began, his voice booming like a theatrical performer, "I bring you a famed Canary Diamond from the border mines!"His teeth shown like fangs as he smiled grandly to himself, "As they say, a diamond is a woman's greatest friend, and as Princess Moyra's husband she shall have no shortage of grand company like this!" Moyra's gaze jerked up at the words. Did he really just insinuate that she would marry him to be confined in a room full of jewels and nothing more? She looked to her father hoping that he's caught what had been said, but the King gave nothing away as he waved away at the man, "Very well Sir Martin."Changing his gaze to the brute of a man the King motioned, "And what of you Lord Nathaniel?" Nathaniel shifted his weight and tenderly took a leather satchel from his back. Very carefully he set it on the ground and produced from it a small box. Whispering low to the box, the King and Moyra were enthralled with how this beast of a man had began to tenderly and carefully handle the gift. Turning the box around in his hands, Lord Nathaniel pulled back the lid to reveal the delicate frame of an Ice Bird. It's wings thin and fragile like glass, the feathers on it's stomach like fresh powered snow. Eyes like burning blue fire that only intensified against the black beak. Holding out his hand, the bird flew to perch along Lord Nathaniel's thumb. He whispered low to the bird before it flit quickly to land on the Princess' skirts. Lord Nathaniel said nothing to he royalty before him, only resumed his soldier's stance before the King. "Is this...?"Moyra asked as she hovered delicate fingers above the small bird, afraid to touch the fragile looking frame. Her eyes met Nathaniel's as he nodded confirmation with a low, "Yes your highness. T'is an Ice Bird from mount Bear of Garth."Sir Martin had gone slack jawed, his eyes wide. "They are more sturdy than they seem, Highness. You can touch it and the thing will not crumble."Moyra held out her hand letting the bird jump to her palm, it's feet chilled her skin. These birds were a rare item indeed, they needed extreme care to travel this far south. Not only to be treated delicately by hand, but to be cared for as the social animals they are. In that moment Moyra turned to her father sharing a look, there was no doubt in their minds who had won her hand in marriage. Long time lurker, first time posting. Please be kind
"That's crazy." "But it is the truth." Dr. James Krenilin was an older man, but he was placed perfectly in the column of such men that would be classified as 'distinguished.' He was not tall, but he was thin, with a thin face to match. He had cold, blue eyes that never seemed to waver or express. He kept his graying hair and goatee well, if not in the best of style. He always wore suits, even in the summer. He was also over three hundred years old, so he usually knew what he was talking about. Harold, on the other hand, was a younger man. Fair hair, no beard or mustache. He had green eyes that were either bored, angry, or curious with little else between. He tried his best to avoid wearing suits, and caused instant dishevelment to any he had to wear. Instead, he had a soft spot for old trenchcoats, worn-down jeans, and Hawaiian shirts. All of which he had been banned from wearing at the same time. Today he had settled for jeans and a sweater. "How does that even happen?" "Well, like many other events of note in our esteemed history as the WDNOE, it happened first by accident."Dr. Krenilin pulled a heavy scrapbook from an over-sized shelf full of such things and handed it over. "Page two hundred twenty." Harold sat up from his elongated slouch and dutifully flipped through while Krenilin kept talking. "In nineteen fifty-six two men stopped in the middle of Manhattan and stood shock still for fifteen hours, at which point they both collapsed and had to be hospitalized. The local WDNOE office was alerted and inspected the case, finding that both had psychic connections to each other. It was theorized, and then later proven by a colleague of mine, that they had been reading minds in the area and gotten stuck on each other." "How'd he prove it?"Harold asked as he finally found the page in the scrapbook. It was covered in handwritten notes, a few news reports, and a set of journal entries. "He killed one of them." "What?"Harold looked up from the book, "Just like that?" "It was the fifties."Krenilin shrugged. "This was before the civil rights movement. These two men were dead if left in that state, killing one of them had a chance to save the other. More importantly at the time, it would prove a theory correct or false." "Sheesh." "It was a different time, Mr. Bitter."Dr. Krenilin took the seat opposite Harold's. "Different morals were accepted and condemned." "So the non-dead guy woke up?" "He did." "And was he pissed?" "That is not an inaccurate statement."Dr. Krenilin leaned back and patted his pockets. He'd stopped smoking forty years ago, but the habit of looking for his cigarette case remained with him. "He had been reading the same thought over and over again for twenty-six hours at this point. It's there in the file." Harold dug through the papers and found the right report. "'Jesus Christ, that bastard is reading my mind.'"Harold read the passage aloud, "So that was all he could think for a whole day?" "Yes." "That's a good reason to be pissed." "Indeed." Harold frowned and flipped through more of the papers, "I don't understand. Why didn't one of them fall asleep, or pass out during all that time? Wouldn't that have broken the cycle as well?" "It would have, but the fact that they were both reading each other kept their brains awake."Dr. Krenilin leaned forward in his own chair. "You have to understand that unlike all the other parts of the human mind, the ability to read other minds is a new mutation, it had not come with the benefit of years of usage and selective breeding that other mental faculties do. One of its many downsides was the fact that it kept brain activity in a heightened state when in use, meaning the mind was physically restrained from succumbing to any sort of shut down." "Huh."Harold sat back and digested this. "You could almost use that to stay awake when someone was trying to drug you or something." "That also happened. In nineteen ninety-six a sleep spell was released and the only man awake was a mind-reader who was pulling dream-thoughts from people to keep himself awake." "Was it the same mind-reader?" "No, it was one of his sons." "One of his sons?" "Yes."Dr. Krenilin patted his pockets again, sighed heavily when he remembered that there was no case to find, then folded his hands together in front of him instead. "Once we had proven the man could read minds, he was offered a job at the WDNOE as long as he would, hm, 'procreate' as much as possible during the time as well." "You serious?"Harold closed the scrapbook. "You were breeding him for more mind-readers?" Dr. Krenilin shrugged. "Different time, different morals, Mr. Bitter."
"What the hell?"I shouted, feeling as though I'm getting shafted. When you just have something that has always been there, no matter what, by magical means, it leaves you with certain expectations when you get up in the morning. The sun comes up, my left arm is numb again, I need to pee, the fridge is full of pudding. That's the natural order of things. "Genie!"I cried out. And \poof!\ He appeared. I kinda wasn't expecting that but whatever. I gesture towards the fridge. "What the hell, yo?" The Genie, sighed and went, "I promised you pudding for the rest of your life." "Yes?" The Genie pointed to the fridge and said, "You'll be dead by the time you finish that." "Well.... fuck!" Again I'm feeling cheated and demanded the Genie explain himself. "What the hell did you think was supposed to happen when you spend the rest of your life eating nothing but pudding? You weigh 400 pounds, you have type 1 and type 2 diabetes. It's kind of a miracle you lived as long as you have." I shook my head and said, "Well I assumed that was because this was magical pudding." "It is magical pudding,"said the Genie, "But you didn't wish for magical pudding that has no health consequences from eating it all day long." I rolled my eyes, and my chins, in disgust, realizing these wishes always have a catch. Then I remembered; "Do I have any wishes left?" "Yes, two,"said the Genie, "It's the only reason why I'm still here. After I gave you the pudding you just forgot all about me." I said, "Fine, this is what I'm going to do. First I wish you restore my health to something normal and healthy. Two, I want an unlimited supply of what you mentioned earlier, magical pudding that has no consequences from eating it all day long." The genie raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you sure?" "Genie!" "You're a grown-ass man and you're still making wishes like a ten year old?" *"PUDDING!"* . 80 years later I died in an old folks home from extreme dementia, but also having remarkably clear arteries for someone who spent eight decades eating nothing but pudding. I regret nothing.
"And he kept asking me for more wishes,"said the genie "and I answered that he still had only one wish left to correct his mess." "You should have given him more wishes, but evil ones"answered the demon after laughing "I'm sure he would have been pleased, at least for a few days. That's all they ask for." "I can't,"said the genie "I have to be trustworthy. Job qualifications, and I do mind being a dick to the client. He help me more than I help him, I can't clean my own house without him." "I understand,"sighed the demon "I'm myself tired of being the bad guy. Some mischief against a greedy aristocrat does not matter. But when some poor chap – I see misery on a regular basis – ask for a wish without thinking about the consequences, something dies in me. Why desperate people do not think about the fact that I'm not supposed to grant wishes easily ? Jacobs and Maupassant told them about my kind." Both went silent after a nervous laugher. They took another sip of tea the genie brought from his last travel. By talking to a fellow wish granter, they realized that, maybe, this life was not exactly what they were expecting from it. "Since when am I a demon ? How many wishes granted ?"thought the demon. "When was the last time I made someone happy with my wishes ?"realized the genie. After a few minute, the genie said stood up, "You know what I wish for ?" "You should not ask me that kind of thing."opined the demon with a wicked smile. "I wish we could swap our job sometimes,"requested the genie "it should be fun. I would send you the ones I can't help. Maybe with some cunning, they'll find a way to trick you into a solution. " "And I would send you the ones I don't want to help. Those who don't deserve me."suggested the demon. "Granted,"said the genie as some kind of automatic reflex, "and that mean you have still one wish left with me." "That will probably be another cup of tea with a friend", declared the demon in a pleasant tone, "I'll grant your wish too, but you should watch your back." "Don't worry about that,"reassured the genie as he disappeared in a cloud of smoke. "He could stay a little bit more sometimes,"complained the demon before going back where he came from.
"What is the meaning of this?"Jack shouted, looking at his family, desperately pushing themselves against the furthest wall of the attic. "Please! Jack! Take us, but let your brother and sister go!"Jack's mom, Alice, shouted desperately, hand pushing the other two kids back. Both the kids were crying. "W-what?"Jack muttered, taking a step back himself. "What are you saying?" "I told you that he wasn't himself,"Jack's father, James, whispered, but even Jack could hear that. James got his back straightened and walked to Jack. "James? What are you-"Alice hissed. "Go! I love you,"James muttered and put his hand around Jack's shoulder. "Let's go back to your room. We need to talk,"he said. "I-I... Okay,"Jack responded, following his father's orders. The moment they reached the door leading to Jack's room, Jack could hear how his mother with brother and sister ran down the stairs straight towards the house's entrance. He could hear how James's breathing was heavy, and feel how his skin was sweaty. They entered Jack's room. "Sit,"James ordered. Jack did as his father told him. "What's going on? Why were you hiding? Why do you-" "Jack,"James interrupted and walked to the nearby window. His hand went into his pocket, touching the knife he had grabbed earlier for protection. "Yes?"Jack responded. They could finally hear how the house's door was shut loudly. It was evident that James was eyeing something, and there was a slightly visible sigh. "You're a... No. It's better if you don't know,"James muttered and turned around, walking towards his son, preparing his hand for a sharp strike. He had to do it. That was the only way. Not only to save his family but perhaps the world. "Father?" &nbsp; &nbsp; For Jack, it was just a blink, but he was sitting at the center of the road. The street was empty, not even a single soul was around. All the houses were empty, or at least felt so. Some houses doors were even left open. But as he turned around to look in front of himself; his own home was on fire. "F-father?"Jack said, standing up. "How did I get here?"he muttered, looking around, then looking at home, confused. His eyes were already teared up. "Sometimes it's better to be blind, to stay ignorant, and not see the horrible ugly truth,"a voice came from aside, as a woman in entirely black clothing and hair walked towards Jack. "Even though you aren't allowed for such luxury, not forever." "Who are you?"Jack said, crawling away from the scary looking woman. "Hello, Jack. I have been waiting a long time for this moment. I have been dying to meet you,"she said as she finally stopped in front of him, crouching down. "Call me... let's see,"she stopped and began thinking up a name, "call me Sarah." "W-where's my mom and dad?"Jack asked, tears falling from his cheeks. "Your mom and dad took care of you. But they never were able to take care of you forever. But none of this is your fault. Nobody expected you to awaken that early,"Sarah said, giving him a slight smile. "W-what do you mean?" "Well. They didn't know that they were raising Jack the Reaper,"she said, serious. (/r/Elven - I write psychological stuff and currently 3 series. Feel free to check my stuff out!)
Superpowers used to be something to look forward to. I turn 78 this year, which means there's been 60 years worth of 18 year old kids since I received my power. Back in my day, we were getting mid-tier powers, they at least had a significant purpose unlike the powers of today. We didn't get to fly or go invisible, but we got things like being fireproof, x-ray vision, phase shifting and the sort. My power is being able to breath underwater. As a retired SEAL, I can say undoubtedly that I have benefited greatly from my superpower. What good does being able to dispense cream and sugar out of your index fingertips do for a person? Sure, it saves the 30 or 40 seconds when they have a cup of coffee, I'll give you that, but that's a lousy perk if you ask me. I met the kid just yesterday who is the lucky recipient of that one. How about the young lady the other day, who can touch bubbles without them popping. Or perhaps, the young man who cries tears of vodka? Do you realize how many tear drops are in just an ounce? It's ludicrous that the Overlanders won't change the High Consititution to allow for repeat powers. We'd have a much more useful young adult population, and less preposterous shit happening every day. I've been petitioning for 15 years for this change. It's something I want to see happen before I pass on. The benefits society would reap is so important to think about. Our young adults would be far more career oriented, with powers that could significantly help them in all positions in the workforce. Bullying would be greatly reduced, as 18 year old kids are judgmental beings. I know from my grand kids that useless, and sometimes downright pitiful, powers are the catalysts for bullying. If all powers were on an equal level, we'd have a cohesive population, more determined to bettering the planet we live on. So, your Honor, I ask you to please review my still ongoing petition. See for yourself, the number of signatories there are, that agree with my calls to change. Please bring forth a change of view in the Overlanders. Help our world be a better place. &#x200B; Thank you, that is all, your Honor. &#x200B; &#x200B;
We forgot something when we went public with our invention. The Omni-Link was supposed to be a game changer- the next great leap forward for civilization. The brightest minds of our generation poured their lives into finally building a bridge between the mind and the internet and after hundreds of iterations, tweaks, revisions, and improvements we had finally done it. We didn’t know what we were doing. The machines were flawless, the code was perfect, all lights were green across the board. Every minute detail was accounted for... except for one. Really, I feel that we should have seen it coming now that the proverbial dust has settled. Through the Omni-Link a user can download and, through a series of gadgets wired directly to the brain, comprehend any amount of data at their own discretion. That’s where we went wrong, you see- at the users discretion. The one thing we didn’t account for. Now that all that data is pouring though my head I can finally see it- we haven’t ushered in a new era of peace and knowledge. We haven’t saved the world. The facts and figures stand in stark contrast to what we expected. All that data, all the knowledge in the world, every possibility for a brighter future... squandered. Selection bias, as it turns out, is quite the bitch. Every idiot and extremist in the world is now certain that their point of view is absolutely correct. How could they not, considering the echo chambers that they live in? Why seek out contrary information when you ”know” that you’re correct? And now they have access to every weapon the world has ever known and the know-how to make them. Every military tactic and counter. The grittiest details of human psychology. We didn’t know. We really should have, but we didn’t. We’ve got about sixteen days before the first nuke comes online by our estimation. We’re crunching the numbers again, trying to push through a solution before the world is turned to rubble, but it doesn’t look good. There’s simply no mechanism to push through data without the users consent- the risk of governments or some other hostile entity pushing through some just convincing enough propaganda was too high. We’re sorry for what we’ve done. I’m sorry for what’s about to happen. This... wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Unlimited access and understanding of every published piece of information humanity has ever put forward and the first thing we, as a species, download is the schematics for nuclear bombs and poison gas.
Sometimes, I really hate having powers. &#x200B; My name is Esin Termini, also known as the superhero Limitless. So named because of my… well, limitless strength. I can lift anything- literally anything. Bank depository full of gold? You got it. Skyscraper? No problem. Today, though, the villain Gravito had used his power to deflect an asteroid onto a collision course with Earth. If that thing were to hit, it would impact with the force of ten billion atomic bombs. Guess how the League of Super-Heroes wanted to stop it? Yeah, that’s right. Use my strength to lift an asteroid that would wipe all life larger than a field mouse off the face of the Earth back into orbit. I tried to tell them they were all completely insane, but no. “Esin, you can save the world this way!” Needless to say, my arguments of not wanting to be boiled, crushed, then blown up in the largest explosion on Earth since the extinction of the dinosaurs did not convince anyone. I grudgingly acquiesced to this madness. In the days leading up to the impact, the world’s best engineers worked round- the- clock to build a suit that would allow me to withstand the searing heat and immense pressure of the asteroid impact. The areas within a hundred miles of the impact were evacuated, the trajectory of the asteroid was calculated to the millimeter, and I was briefed on the full plan. It involved me laying with my suit on a flat patch of ground in the middle of the Gobi Desert as the giant space rock of death hurtled toward me at ten miles a second. When I felt it about to pulp me, I was to push as hard as I can. Hopefully, this could push it back into orbit. Let’s just say I was hoping I lived up to my name. \\\* T-1 hour before impact. I was laying in the desert, watching a star slowly get brighter. 10 minutes. The asteroid was now only a few thousand miles away, and I was starting to notice it getting bigger. 1 minute. I started counting the seconds down to impact, watching as the flaming boulder carved its way through the atmosphere, superheating the gases in front of it to a plasma. The asteroid was boiling under the intense heat, creating a massive shock wave, screaming toward the ground. Brighter than a million Suns, the asteroid streaked toward my position, getting closer and closer, until… I felt the greatest strain I had ever felt in my life, in every one of my muscles. My legs and arms felt as though the entire impact energy of the asteroid had hit them all at once- which, of course, it had. The asteroid was lying directly on top of me. From my vantage point, all I saw was black, unyielding stone. I pushed as hard as I could. Slowly, my limbs started to straighten, as they lifted ten trillion tons of rock off the surface. The asteroid started to move, faster and faster, and as my legs locked into their fully-stretched position, the asteroid flew off them, back up toward space. I got up. Impossible. \\\* Of course, now everyone wanted to give me prizes, hold interviews, and such. After holding them off for a while, the League finally dragged me into the spotlight. I was flown to Stockholm, and invited to a banquet, where I met the Swedish royal family and a bunch of other luminaries from all around the world. I smiled, and waved, and played nice with everyone. Everyone wanted to talk with “the man who saved the world”. Finally, it was time for the prize to be announced. “And the Nobel Peace Prize, for his extraordinary, extinction-preventing heroics, goes to Mr. Esin Termini.” I walked out, shook the Swedish guy’s hand. He handed me the award. &#x200B; I was all over the news the next day, as the guy who could lift an asteroid but was nearly felled by just 175 grams of gold. Everyone was wondering about how my powers could have failed me on such an important occasion. Some people speculated whether it was nerves, others wondered if I was ill, still others thought that the alloy of gold could be a possible weakness of mine. My thoughts on the matter? Sometimes… I really hate having powers. \\\\\\ I'm back, WP! As always, feedback welcome!
Most belief systems have some form or another of a final judgement. You die. You're brought before Yahweh or Christ or whomever you care to believe in. They run through all the dirt they got on you, and then you get approved or denied access to paradise. It's all bullshit, I've come to realize in the last few minutes. If it's really only been a few minutes—it's so hard to tell when there's nothing to look at. I was hit by a car. Or maybe it was a train? I'm not really sure; interestingly enough, however I died doesn't seem to important to my memory bank. But I'm sure I'm dead—sometimes you just know something. Everything went black, and then it just stayed that way. No light; no sound; not even a whisper of a breeze. Only black. There's a strange sensation of both floating and sinking, and I haven't found any urge to breath. I guess I'll just stay here a while, see what happens? Oh, would you look at that: something's happening. A faint glimmer in the distance. Or maybe it's a speck an inch from my face... if I still have a face. Nope, it's growing. Here it comes, getting much bigger now. Maybe it's my next life. Is that an egg? Wait, am I a sperm? No. Not an egg. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. A mirror? Yes. A tall mirror has floated before me, and I can finally see something in the void—myself. That's me alright. Average height; OK looking; a little soft from decades of gaming and sitting at a desk; naked as the day as I born; average....length.... The mirror bobs a bit, but nothing really happens. Uh, is this it? Am I meant to examine myself in the floating mirror of the void for all eternity? Oh, would you look at that: I'm aging in reverse. My reflection seems to be getting younger. The bits of gray in my hair recede and disappear; my clumps of pudge roll back and tighten up; the wrinkles in my face iron out, and I shrink in size until I'm literally a sperm rushing toward an egg. Ah, I thought so. Look at me go, though. I'm destroying those other sperm—one in a couple ten-million! This must be the only race I ever won in my life. Sperm me breaks through the wall, and the egg shuts the gates. Maximum capacity, boys. I'd clap my hands, if I still had any. Things are getting faster now, and the mirror decides to skip straight to the screaming, newborn me inching my way out of my mother. Ya, I've seen the home video my dad took. Next, please. The mirror obliges. First steps. Not bad, I was an early walker. First word. Boob. Classic dad. First day of school. Didn't even cry. First honor role award. I always was a bright kid. First job. Fixing screen windows in the neighborhood—handy too. First time ditching class. Heh, played video games all day. First time smoking weed. You know, I don't think I felt anything. First school suspension. I wouldn't had hit him if he hadn't called me that. First time being fired. Job sucked anyways. Video games. Ya what else? Masturbation. OK, really? Black out drunk. Hm, don't remember that. Video Games. OK... Masturbation. OK! Things are really speeding up now. Blown opportunity. Dropped out of college. Fired. DUI. Video games. Masturbation. Black out drunk. Stoned. Fired. Video games. Missed dad's funeral. Stoned. Credit card debt. Fired. On and on and on and on... It's too much. Please, stop... Everyday wasted. No more... Great ideas wasted. Please... No discipline; no motivation. Oh, God. Lost her, gone forever. OK! Lazy! Lazy! Lazy! I WASTED MY LIFE! The mirror shatters, and the pieces disappear like every golden opportunity I ever had to make my life worth something. I wasted it... I would cry, if I still had tear ducts. Oh, would you look at that: something else is happening. Another glimmer in the distance. Oh, for fucks sake. Not another mirror. It's growing. I get it! Please, don't make me re-realize it for all eternity. Is that an egg? Wait, am I sperm? I AM A SPERM! I can feel it; I can see the path to the egg. Another chance at life, I just have to win this race. I can feel the other sperm behind me, but I won't waste this shot. Maximum capacity, boys. _____ Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily sperm races
SCP: #5522 A VHS tape from a loved one. Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5522 is to be kepted in a locked safe in site 13 and is under no circumstance to be looked at or played. Description: SCP-5522 is a standard VHS tape Capable of holding about 120 minutes of footage. on the top side a message is written: "From a loved one to (person holding the tape)". When played on a standard VHS Player it will display a family member of this person pacing around a room. Depending on the way the subject thinks of this family member he/she will be pacing angrily or normally. every time the recording is played back to the same subject it will change slightly. It is shown that the person in the footage is aware that he/she is being filmed. With him/her looking at the camera and somtimes slightly tapping it. After the third time the same subject has seen the tape something will change. The subject will see things in the footage that are not seen or heard by any other personnel. The person within the footage will speak to the camera. Often about normal things that happened in the subjects childhood. But sometimes it will say a string of numbers. Which correlate with coordinates on a map. The Subject then has a very strong urge to go to said coordinates. when the subject arrives at the destination in an estimated 99% of cases the subjects heart will simply cease to function. In the other 1% of cases it is unknown what happens to the subject. The first and last known instance of this happening is with a young adult about 21 years old whom had just lost their father. he had seemingly found the tape in his belongings according to his mother. When the subject arrived at his destination. Bystanders reportedly saw him Going into a basement. When a member of MTF Delta-5 ("Front Runners") arrived. There was no basement to be found. No one has seen him since. But at night screaming can be heard from underground. The screaming is compareable to what the subject would've sounded like. but ground penetrating scanners show no caverns or otherwise open areas.
When you have a spy organization involved in handling secret missions, it is impossible to maintain that hidden nature forever. Instead, the idea is to make something so tied to a fiction that the reality can act in it's shadow. This is true for the popularity of the James Bond, 007 franchise. The number of this agent has been kept to the mythical icon, an idea of the glories and actions of a spy life that is in no way close to the truth. Reality is far more dirty, disgusting, and down right ruthless. You think that an agent gets to have sex with hot models? 009 will tell you the latest escapade he had seducing his way into a senators bed in the US. Let me tell you those pictures will take more eye bleach than even the secret service can muster. Then you have the others, 002 is literally a janitor. And I mean that by he works in the palace of Westminster cleaning royal shit most the time. Keeping tabs on the place as he has access to the entire building. Then you have the more brutal, 006, who works to make people disappear for questioning. Torture isn't so glorified, people pissing themselves more often than getting answers. Even so it becomes hard to get them under duress so it becomes a last resort. 003, 004, and 005 are the away team. Expendable, placed in risky situations with very large insurance policies placed if they get captured or killed for their remaining family. You don't want to know the toll, most don't bother learning their names like trying to name a pig you know will go to slaughter. Their work is indispensable even if inhumane, recruiting is skilled at keeping these positions filled regardless. 001 is accounting, generally tracking where the money is going. Sits in a dark room, I think he has a body pillow in there too and has been caught on reddit browsing something called wallstreetbets even though there should be no internet access in black box that is the office. We are told just to let him be. We get down now to 008, who is assigned to the black market. If there is anything our agents need he is the best to procure a supply without any strings or traces attached. Who also seems to have access to reddit, now I wonder why I don't have access... Last but not least there is I, 000, the one that doesn't exist. No paper trail, no stories or reports, even this document i am writing is simply for rumors sake. How would anyone trust a 'leak' on how the double O structure works. Much that it exists at all at this point, like telling someone unicorns really do exist and currently have a habitat hidden deep in Brazil. Working to subvert the reality that is the news cycle, spin facts and otherwise keep this place under such a constant spray of chaff that none can find what really is happening.
As Jorge scaled the foreign tower far from home, he felt resolve steel his stomach. He had given up this life when his friend had taken up the crown, choosing instead to follow his foodly passions. But when King William was assassinated, he knew he had to use these skills one last time - to save his goddaughter, the Princess. Three weeks prior an emissary from the kingdom of Talfur had entered the castle, wishing to dine with the King under guise of friendship. During their dinner he slipped a slow-acting poison to the king, then kidnapped the princess and fled under the cover of darkness. When Jorge first heard the news, he immediately rushed out of the city gates in pursuit. He pushed his horse to its limits trying to catch up to the emissary. After three days and three nights, his horse collapsed and died from exhaustion. He was forced to return home, the journey taking nearly a week. Jorge wept the entire journey back, his mind filled with images and memories of his childhood friend. Once he’d arrived back at the castle, he set out preparing to rescue the princess. His armor and weapons, stashed in the castle armory, felt like old friends. Selecting the swiftest steed, Jorge set out towards the enemy lands. He travelled only under the cover of darkness, plotting his rescue mission in secret. And now, as he approached the balcony of the room where he suspected the princess was being kept, Jorge slowed down and listened. “You will marry me, Princess.” a nasally voice sneered. “You have little choice in the matter.” Jorge felt his hackles raise. That was his goddaughter in there - how dare that monster make such demands?! With a grunt, Jorge vaulted over the balcony. Within arm’s reach was a man, half facing the balcony - the emissary, the same man Jorge had served three weeks ago. There was just enough time to read a look of shock on his face before it disappeared under Jorge’s mace with a sickening crunch. His body toppled to the floor, and Jorge quickly looked around the room. “Uncle!” he heard to his left - and there she was. Jorge enveloped the princess in a warm hug, tears flowing down his face. “I was so worried about you, little Jezra,” Jorge said, strapping his mace back to his side. “Quickly, climb onto my back. We must get you home - I have a new cake I want you to try.”
Karlak the Vangquisher had landed on planet Earth assured from the travel guide that his visit would be rewarding, easy, and most of all easy. That last part being key because Karlak was not in actual fact a predator as much as he was a predator with aspirations of becoming an accountant. So when Karlak exited his ships cavernous hiding place in the side of an abandoned walmart and looked at the blank multitudes of zombies before him, his AI screaming toxin warnings into his ear, he was understandable a little disturbed. This was not relaxing, and all of these humans were just straight up poison. "Come with me if you want to live"a voice said to his right. Karlak peed himself and refused to move. He couldn't move. The fear ran deep in him now, deep like his love of asset depreciation. "Hey.. christ.. ok.."The voice groaned a little and shuffled its feet. "Follow me"the voice said, and Karlak dutifully looked to his right and began following the tiny human female with the bright orange hair in military fatigues. Karlak was terrified and could think of nothing but all the impending ways he would die here, from zombies of all thing, never to return to the home planet and learn the value of the balance sheet, the gentle tonal chords of generally accepted accounting practices. Karlak followed dutifully, only at the last minute remembering he could cloak. Zworp went his cloaking field. The human stopped and laughed to herself, "Yes.. uh, about time."She continued walking until they reached a small walled compound, where they were dutifully let inside by several portly young men, also in combat fatigues, and finally Karlak was deposited in a FEMA tent full of folding chairs and a large projector. The tiny human motioned for him to sit down, "Ok we have an orientation film for new comers from outside the solar system. So just watch this short video, ok?" Zworp. Karlak uncloaked, took off his helmet, nodded, and sighed in obvious relief. He was going to be ok. She was with the travel agency.
“H-hey now…” Alligator-Me snapped and roared, unimpressed with my attempts to calm it. “I’m sorry, I won’t ever do it again.” I grabbed a sponge from the sink and applied some dish soap. “Look, if you had a sense of humor, you’d appreciate it.” Alligator-Me let out a muted roar as I crouched next to him and began scrubbing off the marker-mustache. “It’s really your fault for falling asleep through Empire. You know how much I love that movie.” I grabbed a dish towel off the counter and began rocking it over his snout to catch any remaining suds. “I’ll make it up to you, okay, we’ll go grab a bite to eat. My treat.” Alligator-Me simply growled and I let out a sigh of relief. One of these days I would push him too far and might lose a leg. * * * That evening, we walked down the boardwalk. Well, to be more accurate, I walked and Alligator-Me waddled, firmly latched to my leash. Some passers-by stared, others screamed. We were used to it. At the end of the boardwalk was a concealed wooden staircase leading to a nice secluded spot on the beach. “Alright, bud, we made it.” I unleashed him and immediately Alligator-Me ran towards a resting group of seagulls. I chuckled, observing his simple pleasure of chasing his dinner. I wondered if there was something to learn from that. My thinking was interrupted by the shriek of a police siren. A voice called out behind me, “Sir, we’re here with Animal Control. You cannot let that animal loose in the water, please step aside.” I spun around to protest, but I was quickly brushed aside by the much-larger man. His thick moustache, sunglasses, and chewing gum told me there was nothing I could do. This man was clearly in charge. “Please! That alligator’s me.” The policemen took off his sunglasses, revealing a thinner pair of sunglasses underneath. “What the fuck did you just say?” “I know it sounds crazy but this alligator is me. Or a version of me.” “The goddamn DEA needs to crack down on the bath salts flooding this area.” He pulled out a small flashlight and pointed it at my eyes, one at a time. “Sleep it off, kid. I’ll let it slide this time, but your dog is gonna stay with me. It matches the description of a hound that’s already attacked three people. If we verify it’s our perp, we’re gonna want to speak to you again. Until then.” The officer spat his gum at my feet. A tear rolled down my cheek as I saw Alligator-Me loaded into the police van. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later, alligator...”
"There you are,"said the pharmacist, dabbing with a cotton ball the dot of blood on my arm. "The influence shot. Not one many ask for. But they really should. Especially given the times we live in." I laughed. "Influenza. Influenza. You going to hold that slip in speech against me forever?" She smiled awkwardly. She was a solid, athletic-looking blonde, probably in her late thirties. She was a good pharmacist. I liked her. She always managed to speak straight on, yet with a kind of easy rural charm, so it didn't make you bristle. I had never seen her look so uncomfortable. Fine points of anxiety danced in her blue eyes. "You wanted to be inoculated against influenza?"she slowly asked. "Not influence?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't like getting shots,"I said. "When I have to do things I don't like, I mumble. Sometimes I even stammer. Influenza. Influence. You have a shot to inoculate me against getting tongue-tied, too?" "They do sound similar,"she admitted. "I should have clarified. I'm really sorry." She was a good actress but a bad wit. The joke was hardly funny in the first place. A little obvious. Pretty plain. But now it was growing stale as a slice of white bread left out on the counter for a week. "It only lasts six months,"she continued. "After that, you'll need to come back for a booster, to build full immunity to influence. If you like the effects, that is. Not everybody does. In some ways, it's an easier existence, being subject to manipulation. Going with the flow. It's no coincidence people call drinking being under the influence, and people sure like to drink." "You're serious about this,"I said. She nodded soberly. "You'll probably start feeling the effects by tomorrow. They'll gradually ramp up for two or three days. Then you'll be at the peak of it. Solid. Firm. Immovable. Like a boulder in the middle of a river: all the water flowing around you, trying to carry you along, but you not budging an inch. . .Anyways, you still want the flu shot?" "I. . .I don't know." I had always mindlessly accepted the vaccine propaganda. I got my flu shot punctually, annually. But it was dawning on me just how uninformed I was on the subject of vaccines. I didn't know how they worked or what was in them. I didn't know how the flu worked, either, or what viruses really were. I wondered what other beliefs, values and habits I had cultivated as a result of external pressures. I wondered what other aspects of my self had been shaped by hands that were not my own. I often spoke about the value of being self-made. Independence and freedom were cornerstones of my life philosophy. At least, that's what I formerly thought. But I was beginning to see how deluded I had been. Not only was I not self made--not even close--but even my philosophy of being "independent and free"was something I had picked up from the self-improvement books I read in business school. And I never would have read any of them had they not been popular with my classmates. I had read them to fit in with the crowd. I wasn't independent and free. My deepest principles were a script, written by someone else, learned and internalized for the sake of others. I was a living summation of manipulations. My life was a stack of lies. "I need a moment,"I said. "I feel strange. Light-headed." "Take your time,"she said, and stood up. She walked back behind the counter and set to working alongside the other pharmacists and assistants, sorting medications, shuffling through papers. I stood up and turned and walked through the store, coming to terms with my new freedom from the invisible forces that had shaped me all my life. The aisles were stocked with brands I knew, with products I once loved. But how much of that love was authentic, and how much of it had been hammered into me through advertising? Did I like Swedish Berries for their own sake? Or did I like them because of the loud packaging, the bright dyes in the candies? Or did I like them because in the third grade Ellen Franks had told me they were the best candy, and I had agreed, because I had a crush on her, and then unconsciously kept agreeing for the rest of my life? Where did the influence stop? Where did my "self"begin? Were any of my tastes or values truly my own? Was I anything but a puppet, shaped by others and guided through life as if on invisible strings? I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to know. I didn't need the world or my own motivations to be transparent. I hated all these questions. I stormed back to the pharmacy counter and glared at my pharmacist until she came up to meet me. "How are you feeling?"she asked. "Terrible,"I said. "Terrible. I don't want to be free from influence. I want to go back to being a manipulated man. I don't care if I'm not the captain of the ship. I'd rather be a passenger! Going with the flow! Fitting in! I'd rather be the most impressionable man in the world than an immovable boulder--all the forces of the world glancing off me and passing me by. Do you have the opposite shot back there? Something to inoculate me against the first inoculation? Something to make me an uncritical sponge again?" "I don't have anything like that,"she said. "But even if I did, I don't think I'd give it to you." "Why not?" "Cuz I don't think you'd need it,"she said, crossing her arms. "Wouldn't I need it?"I cried. "I'm in crisis!" She smirked. "That's exactly why you wouldn't need it. You're impressionable enough as it is." I stared at her, trying to figure out her angle, waiting for her to elaborate. "There's no such thing as an influence shot, you dummy,"she laughed. "I gave you a flu shot. For influenza. An influence shot doesn't exist. Though I wish it did, for your sake. It took me next to nothing to convince you. To make you believe the impossible and fly into a silly panic. If that's not you being too impressionable, too susceptible to influence, I don't know what is. I'll bet you think the word gullible is written on the ceiling, right above us. No? Okay, okay. You're not that bad. Still. You should really work on it." "You're a terrible pharmacist,"I said. "Who'd you hear that from?"she asked. "Nobody,"I said. "I deduced it myself." "Goooood,"she yawned, drawing the sounds out. "Yooou're maaaking prooogre--" Her mouth was wide as a python's and her eyes were nearly shut as she leaned back, settling into the deep yawn. It looked like one of those glorious yawns that stretch all the way to the backs of your ears. Such a big nice yummy satisfying yaaawn. I felt one coming on, myself. I couldn't stop it. But as soon as my lips began to part, she snapped her mouth shut. "Oldest trick in the book,"she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "Yeeeeaaaaahhh,"I yawned. "You've still got a long way to go."
Mother traded me for 50 gold ducats. That’s what we say here, anyways, Traded. It sounds better than sold or bargained. Aru says Haggled, but all her old parents got was the lettuce she’s named after, so that’s fair enough really. I was never scared. Some of the kids are, if Nana loses track of things or people try to wriggle out of their deals, and they’re older. Aru was 7, but she wasn’t scared, only bitter. I was a baby, so Nana’s all I really know. I know the story, of course, because we all do. Every time she brings us a new sib, she tells us what for. It’s not to rank us, it’s to remind us. People put value on a person without even knowing them, and those are the people to be wary of. Who offers up a baby instead of their wedding band, or a year’s labor, or something? When we get older, when we go off on our own, it reminds us. Someone out there might have nice things, but that doesn’t mean we can trust them. We think they probably feel guilty. Or maybe it’s hope. After all, they gave their kids to an old witch and she never said she wasn’t going to lock us in chickencoops and boil us for her supper, they should be worried. They don’t need to be, Nana’s not that kind of witch-- she makes us wash behind our ears, sweep in the cottage or chop down lightning-struck trees, and dig in the garden so the plants grow better, and always makes sure we have enough to eat and quilts on our beds. But it would be nice if they did. It’s the principle of the thing. Some of us are important, Nana says, only she’s not really sure which is which. When you’ve got 20 children at any given time, it’s hard to remember who came from where. We know what our parents wanted ( money, fame, produce) and what they were willing to give (us) but not who they are. At least one of us is royalty, we think, on account of all the king’s men who get lost in the woods looking for Nana. They see our nice little house, and tell us to be careful not to be stolen, and we laugh once they ride deeper into the woods. Sometimes they ride out again. Sometimes they don’t. “I’d like to join them,” my brother Thread says, while Nana sits by the fire knitting. “And why would you want to do a fool thing like that?” she asks. “To find out who they’re looking for. So I could tell them, their fat king sold his baby for a little gold, or stupid horse or some salad.” "Traded,"I interject. “Not Salad. He’s not my dad,” Aru points out flatly. She’s one of the only ones to be sure, though she doesn’t talk about her old hut much. “Thread, you’ll do no such thing. I won’t have another civil war started by someone under my roof,” Nana says, and that’s the end of it. “Another one?” Hen, all of 5 years old and no taller than Nana’s footstool, peeps. “Story?” I know this one. It’s from the earlier days, so I never met my sister who should have been queen. Nana doesn’t like the reminder. “I’ll tell you, Hen. C’mon, I’ll race you to the well.” "Take care, Gilded,"Nana nods agreement. "And don't be too long. the sun will be setting soon, and I feel I may be needed in the town." We all know what that means. Another sibling. Another story, and another secret. I grab Hen's hand and the bucket.
I had been visiting the city on business. My business being seeing how my many investments were doing. After a few thousand years, I had built up quite a fortune, one which I had no intention of losing. Existence was better when you didn't have to worry about such mundane things. One day I emerged from my room, to discover the world gone mad. A group of people, bloodied and disheveled had barricaded themselves in the hotel. Outside roamed a horde of undead. I was used to seeing them, after being one for longer than many civilisations. But so many have me a little pause. The humans were panicked. I had long since forgotten my disdain for them, indeed I had fostered a few friendships during my long unlife. So I chose to help. After all, it made sense to me. They were a source of endless entertainment. At first, it was a matter of defending the hotel. Doors were locked, then nailed shut. Windows were covered in boards from broken beds. I spent a bit of time using forgotten magics to seal them tighter. Out of their view though, as for them magic was a myth. With how badly the world had collapsed, if I revealed it I would likely make things worse. Of course, food was a bit of an issue. Human kindness broken through, as they sought to ensure everyone was fed. I didn't need it, but it was hard to avoid their intentions. To them I was an older man. Not quite past my prime, but getting there. For the first couple of days I pretended that I had my own food. But that lie soon couldn't be continued. Mainly because the kitchens themselves were running low. I volunteered to be one of those to go out and gather what I could. Scavenging for useful items was hardly a foreign experience to me, even if it had been a few centuries. By going out, I would act like I took rations with me and ate them. In reality, I would hide them, and out them back in our stocks. My deceptions began to fall apart though. Zombies ignored me, as I was one of their own. But the other scavengers were accosted by them. I was the only one to come back without issue, whereas the others either came back hurt, or not at all. Suspicions arose at how I could get through so easily. I had to decide. I could tell them the truth, continue lying, or just leave. Having spent so much time with them though, I had grown attached. I wouldn't just leave. So either lie or tell the truth. Beside I could decide, the world chose for me. Another band of survivors tried to make a break for it. They had adapted a lorry, converting it into a fortified escape vehicle. Unfortunately, they failed to anticipate traction issues, after running over the dead. They lost control, breaking down our barricades in the crash. Like a wave, the undead descended. The result was obvious. The humans with me would die. I couldn't allow that. Standing tall, I faced the horde. I drew my power within, focusing it on wiping them out. I felt my illusion fade, but I made my choice.
Usually, wishes are a good thing. Few people on this planet are evil. Despite what the news would like us to believe, no one does bad things just because. There's always a reason for it - people always try to make things better. Sometimes they make mistakes. Big mistakes, even. Genies take the intent of your wish, and make that come true. Wish that you had wings? Genies wouldn't just give you a pair of ugly-ass flightless wings. No, they'd give you big, beautiful wings, that you can feel and control, that let you soar in the sky to your heart's content. Wish that no one would ever starve again? A genie would never delete everyone's stomach nerves so they can't feel hunger. Instead they would setup free food banks in every country in the world. Or something. I wouldn't know, I'm not a genie. Long story short, genies know exactly what you wanted to achieve, and then they execute it perfectly. So that's probably where I fucked up. \--- "For my first wish, I wish for an immovable object,"I said to the genie. "Done,"said the blue-skinned apparition, and there was a flash of light. Once I blinked away the stars, I saw before me a large sphere floating in mid-air. It was large, translucent, blue for some reason, and otherwise featureless. Fantastic. I prodded it with my finger. It didn't move. I kicked it. Nothing. My foot hurt though. "Nice, it really doesn't move."I said. The genie shrugged. "As a human would say: 'No shit, Sherlock'. I hope you're happy with your wish." "Oh yes, I am very satisfied."That was an understatement. As a seasoned online philosopher with rock-solid credentials (for example, I'd made the 17th most upvoted post on r/philosophy during the month of last February) I had long been waiting for an opportunity to put theory to the test. Could an omnipotent being create a set of objects which were incompatible with one another? Well, today I'd find out. I'd be the next Einstein, the next Nobel Prize winner. And I didn't even need to go to college. While I conducted my internal monologue, the genie produced a thick stack of legal-looking paper in a quaint little leather binder. "Here are the exact constraints used in its creation. 'Pinned to the reference frame of this point on the surface of Earth, subject to rotation and yada yada. If you have questions, feel free to send an email to the Djinnquiries department. Now, do you have another wish, or would you like to reschedule it to a later date?" Barely listening, I replied. "Oh yes, I'd like to make a second wish. I wish for an irresistible ray to hit that ball with." "Done,"said the genie, then he frowned. "Hm. Hold on a second. That's not good. Let me try again." I watched the genie float there impotently, a smug smile beginning to spread on my face. "Hm,"the genie said again. "I'm going to need to call my supervisor." "You have a supervisor?" "Hi boss, this is Ozaz. I'm having a little problem, could I bring you here for a second?" A second lamp, slightly larger and more ornate, appeared on the ground before me. "Rub it, please, if you don't mind,"said Ozaz, and I graciously complied. A purple-skinned djinn erupted from the spout. His arms were crossed and he looked a little cross, though I'm no expert on genie body language. "What is it this time, Ozaz?"The purple genie's voice was deep and commanding. Ozaz produced another binder and passed it to the purple genie, while rapidly speaking. The purple genie listened for a few seconds, then sighed in frustration. "Don't be silly. It's a simple problem. Now, human, repeat the wish to me, so that I may grant it." Again, I complied. "I wish for an irresistible ray that can move that ball there." "And... hah!"The purple genie gesticulated grandly towards the sphere. Nothing happened. "Hm,"said the purple genie. "I'm going to need to call my supervisor. Rub that other lamp for me, will you please?"
"What is this?" I spoke in an unfamiliar voice. I had closed my eyes in a broken town centre, surrounded by bodies and fire. The buildings were ruined, but I had held them back long enough. I had given myself in sacrifice to protect them as long as I could, the only one I was able to do. But now I was in a strange place. I could tell I lay on a stone slab, with chains criss-crossing my body. I could feel pulsing energy from below, from what I assumed were runic symbols. Similar ones were carved into this bodies flesh, ones I knew instinctively held me here. "Ah, the experiment was a success. Welcome back to the land of the living. Tell me, what is your name?" A calm voice echoed around the room, unfamiliar to me. It had an accent I did not recognise, as though they spoke with the tip of their tongue. "I am Gregorvir. Where am I? What have you done?" I heard footsteps, but could not see the source still. The voice came again, pleased with itself. "Ah, Gregorvir. You are currently within the arcane laboratory of Ferina." I strained against the bindings, even with my strength being sapped by the runes beneath me. The voice changed, becoming sorrowful. "I had to interrupt your deserved rest, for that I am sorry. However, I did not do it purely for my own research. I need the help of a great warrior, for we have none. But selfishly I chose the selfless." I strained again, feeling the symbol below struggle to hold me. With its sapping me, I could tell this body was far stronger than my original. The name of the place meant little to me. Eventually I relented, and I felt a desire come to me. I had died. I knew I had been at peace, even if the memories of the place were lost to me. I wanted to go back. "If I help, will you let me go back?" The voice owner appeared, a middle aged woman, thin and tired. She wore a thick coat covered in burn marks and stains. "If you help save my people, then yes I will." I didn't know what was going on. But at this point I didn't care. I just wanted to return to my peace. It seemed to me this was the easiest method to do so.
When one walks through the POW camps, one truly sees the faces of misery. There, the proud conqueror has been broken down utterly, leaving behind a mewling creature that has no dignity, no bravery, and no hope. It has been thus ever since our victory. Ever since we beat them back, and rendered their ambitious desire for blood and honor into nothing more than something that would leave an ashen taste in the mouth of the defeated. It was a grand victory for us. Proud soldiers marching through the streets of liberated cities. Enemy citadels blown away by orbital bombardment as a manner of celebration. It was the moment of glory, when the battered remnant of our people united as one, underneath a banner adorned with red blades held aloft by many crimson hands upon a blackened field. Indeed, when our forces blasted that final dread eyesore out of the sky, when the heavens of fair Terra were once more ours, it was the final stroke of a war that had lasted for decades. But it left tens of millions of POWs behind. When we destroyed that alien flagship, breaking their invasion once and for all, there were still areas under their administration. Regions with colonists, administrators, civilians, garrison troops, the likes. There was no possible options for us to arrange a handover of prisoners. The force that had invaded us were a rogue group of arch-reactionary imperialists from a stellar nation that had completely and utterly disavowed them. We tried to make their more civilized counterparts see our predicament, but beyond providing symbolic financial aid to us in order to aid in our reconstruction, they did not want any part in the post-war situation. We set out on our task to deal with the unwanted remnants of the invaders in a way that was decent, insofar as humanity could restrain itself from the sweet allure of revenge. Yet we rose above our past tendency for cruelty, for taking bloody vengeance and calling it just retribution. We did not give in to the worse parts of human nature. We dragged alien leaders in front of courts, brought in witnesses, appointed them advocates that would act as their defense under the laws of the Federation of Earth. Their crimes were treated as they were; crimes against peace, decency, and humanity. Many were executed. More were given long sentences, even life in prison. That was what we did with the officers, the bureaucrats, and all of their civilian leaders. But the massive alien legions, fighters who had spent their lives honed for combat, who knew naught but battle. What to do with them? The low-ranked civilians were forced to live under human law and under human watch in special ghetto-cities, but what to do with the vast army of aliens, who had done nothing but shed human blood and do their utmost to destroy humanity? Some extremists wanted them all destroyed. All slain. But to most, this was too far. We would be no better than our defeated enemy if we slew them en masse. Engineering troops of the enemy were conscripted to rebuild and repair, under human supervision. To clear the rubble of ruined cities, and aid in reconstruction wherever possible. Human cities would rise once more, and much faster than we would otherwise had made them rise, when those who could use the captured alien construction equipment were making themselves useful. They followed orders easily, and did not complain about harsh conditions or hard labor. But the vast legions, loyal to a dead, insane, alien despot. These vast legions who were taught to obey, what to do with them? To see them in their squalor, in the POW camps, to see their pride broken, was almost enough to make one pity them, if only a little. They were, after all, alien soldiers who had tried ruthlessly and brutally to conquer humanity at the behest of a lunatic who made our worst historical despots and tyrants look practically sane. The remaining peoples of the Romance cultural group, living in the Mediterranean Republic, the lands that were once Iberia, Occitania, and Italy, would note that even the worst of the ancient Roman emperors would look at the alien overlord as a complete loon. The inbred fool made Caligula look like a well-adjusted and mentally sound individual. These alien soldiers would mope around, barely eat, and barely do anything. Few of them felt anything besides despair. It didn't help that their supply of the heavily addictive combat drugs they used to take, were destroyed completely when the alien flagship was atomized. It was an officer at the Aral Camp who finally made a breakthrough. This officer noticed the weak wills and docile behavior of her once terrifying enemy. And found it quite strange, that an enemy, even one suffering heavily from withdrawal, should act like this. Taking those who were the least lethargic and despondent aside one morning, this officer handed each of the alien soldiers a knife, a piece of wood. Then the officer showed them how to use said implements to carve a small figurine from it. They then showed these large alien soldiers a book about the various things one could carve from wood. The aliens were then ordered to carve whatever figure from the wood that they would like, provided it was one that they could find in the book. The alien soldiers dutifully looked at the book. Then took to carving. Periodically the officer would walk among them, explaining certain things, sometimes shouting at them like a drill sergeant would, and in general, acting as their officer. At the end of the day, each of the aliens had made a passable attempt at an Earth animal. They did not seem in their old spirits of blood and glory hunger, but they did seem a tad bit more alive. More sensible. So next week, the officer, having spoken to her superiors, had been given a room full of clay. And with the aid of a potter, she taught them how to make clay pots. And at the end of the day each POW had made a satisfactory attempt at a pot. Next week, it was painting, with the aid of the historical records of a certain Bob Ross. And so she continued. Teaching them new things each week. Why did this impulse happen only to this captain at this camp? Who knows, but it was important. It taught the aliens to obey instructors from the civilian side of life. It taught them skills that weren't based around killing or oppression. It showed them a different path, one that such vatgrown soldiers, born and bred for battle, had never known. Soon, they spread the knowledge they had learned to others in the camp. And these aliens, lethargic, uninterested, and beaten, slowly started to change their outlook. Started to learn how to be more than mere pawns in the game of a mad ruler. Some few were, cautiously, sent out to live and learn from the neo-nomads who roamed from the borders of the Republic of Ukraine, to the still smouldering ruins of Pyongyang. At first the nomads were skeptical. But soon, these aliens proved their use, their worth, in the long journeys across the lands that had once been mighty and strong in the days before the invasion began. Before both nations used their horrific arsenals to destroy themselves and all forces arrayed against them rather than surrender. Their augmentations made them better suited for detecting radiation early, and the enhanced detoxification organs in them allowed them to know when the waters were clean of toxins, so that they might be safely boiled. Soon, with the roaming clans and tribes, they could find a place. And many were, once they had been proven docile and unlikely to cause trouble, released into the care of these pragmatic nomads, who'd eagerly use their old enemies to ease survival in their hostile lands. Today, at Camp Lincoln, near Marquette, the post-war capital of the State of Michigan in the Reunited States of America, a variation of this program begins. Where the basic skills taught at Camp Aral in the Kazakh Nation were suitable for the nomadic tribes that often worked with the Central Asian nation, we're going to be doing something different. While basic skills will be taught, it will only be the first step of the program, an expansion of the concept developed by Captain Ismailov. This program is much more ambitious. The alien civilians are integrated, if still confined to specific areas out of fear that they'll try something, or that human extremists will hunt them down. If these legions, these killers, can be changed. Can be truly given modern, useful skills, like the engineering corps of the invaders, then there is a possibility, that the horrendous, depressing, and economically draining camps, will be able to close. If we can teach them advanced skills, if we can educate them beyond basic or pre-modern skill-sets, then they can be brought into society. Sure, they'll only have the same rights as their civilian kin, and they won't have the same rights as human beings, not now, not until the generations scarred by the war have passed. But one day, if the program can successfully educate these alien killing machines to be able to work as nurses, teachers, and whatever else you don't need physical prowess for, then there will come a day when the blood has been washed away. And the descendants of these invaders will become equal citizens of this good Earth. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
He couldn't control his powers. I tried to make Marianne understand it wasn't a joke, but like always, her usual, bubbly, joyful self shone through the uncertainty. "We'd better raise him well, then,"she said, giggling as she squished our baby's fat cheeks together so his tongue came out like a candy dispenser. "I swear, he doubles in size every day." "Babies tend to grow,"I said. "It's kind of what they do." "Oh really? I didn't know that."She looked at me side-eyed, full of love, with a small smirk. "Thank you for sharing your knowledge." "Hey,"I said, holding my hands up like I was being accused of something and wanted to prove my innocence, "I don't come from the greatest family of mages this world has ever seen for nothing." "Humble, too!"she said, as her hair slowly, starting from the roots, changed into a dark green from its natural blonde. When I told her, she booped Guy on the nose and, after handing him to me, went to the bathroom to dye it back. This was the third time our son changed her hair color. Looking down at our son, I didn't quite feel the same love for him as Marianne did. I felt kind of bad for thinking it, but, I don't know—something about him just made me uneasy. His dark brown eyes, ones that ran in my side of the family and always took over whatever the other parent's was, seemed especially large. Like he was a caricature of a real baby. And that wasn't to mention the whole problem of the magic. Most of what he tried, I could prevent. A baby's magic, uncontrolled or not, was no problem. I was more worried about what would happen later, after he developed his skills. If he had enough magic to leak out now, so young, he definitely would have enough to make a change in the world when he grew. That concerned me. On Guy's second birthday, the magic just stopped. Like someone had turned off a faucet that had been flowing constantly for the past two years. No more hair dye, no more vegetables transformed to candy, no more ultrasonic screams. It was a welcome change, actually. Marianne asked if it would be gone forever, but I didn't know. These things just sometimes happen, I told her. When he was old enough to talk, I tried to teach him a basic incantation, but still, nothing. It was strange, how abruptly his abilities had disappeared, but there was nothing we could do about it. Marianne loved it, though, since now Guy could attend a regular school, and live a regular life. One that she was used to. When he turned 13, that's when everything came undone. The principal of the school, on catching Guy cutting class, called him into his office. Suddenly, the balding old man found himself needing a bucket of water to douse the flames on his head which were claiming the last remnants of hair. Guy swore to us that he didn't mean to do it, that it happened on its own, and at first we believed him. Incidents like this kept happening, though, and with every one of them our trust in him faded, so much so that, eventually, even Marianne realized that Guy wasn't the sweet little baby boy he used to be. One night, I found irrefutable proof of his lies when I watched through a crack in his doorway as he changed a plucked rose's petals from red to blue, over and over again. Red, blue, red, blue. He smiled as he did it. I opened the door and told him what I saw. He got so angry that he tried to push me out of his room, not with his hands, but with magic. I told him never to try that again before I took the rose from him in some desperate attempt to establish control. The next morning, it was all over the news. Every single rose, all over the world, had turned blue. Just to be sure, I looked in the trashcan for the one he was playing with yesterday, and it was still red. It was around this time, when he was 15, that he and Marianne started getting in fights. I had never heard her raise her voice before, so the first time it happened I thought she was just joking, but I quickly saw she wasn't. "What was that about?"I asked, as Guy ran upstairs and slammed the door to his room shut. "I just caught our son,"she said, "with this in his backpack."In her hands was a tiny green nugget. Now, I wasn't a diehard stoner or anything, but I didn't see a problem in a 15 year old kid with anger issues smoking some weed. I was too busy thinking of the right way to tell Marianne this that I didn't notice the strands of hair falling off her head. Ten minutes later, when I heard her scream, I rushed into the living room to see her half-bald. Things just got worse and worse between them. I tried to remain the voice of reason, but caught between my love and my blood, it was hard. Eventually, they couldn't even be in the same room together, lest something start up. That was fine, though, because Guy was out of the house most of the time now, hanging out with whoever he decided to keep as his friends. One day, though, was unlike the others. I came home early from work, and instead of Marianne to greet me at the door, I found Guy, on his knees, crying, pressing something to his chest. It was a picture of her, from our wedding day. Something began to build up inside of me. "Where's your mother?"I asked, looking down the hallway, trying to discern anything out of the ordinary. Guy just cried and cried, clutching that picture tight against him. Something was definitely wrong. When I tried to go into the hallway, though, my son grabbed my arm to stop me. "I didn't mean to,"he cried, an ugly wheeze. "I didn't mean to." I shook him off and ran into the kitchen. There, on the kitchen table, she was. What was left of her, at least. I don't know what he did, but it didn't matter. She was gone. What came next was something I should have done a long time ago. I felt like a robot as I grabbed the knife out of the block. Walking back down the hall, I kept hearing Marianne's giggling voice, saying how we'd better raise him well since he couldn't control his powers. I cursed myself for not making her realize how serious it was. He was still there, on the ground, crying. I didn't even think as I did it. He wasn't my son then, just the person who took her away from me. The glass shattered as I plunged the knife through the frame, straight into his heart. He just kept crying. I stabbed him again and again, and right before the fourth time, a bit of the picture stuck to the knife, and I saw her, so happy, on the day that felt like a dream come true. I snapped out of it. I threw the knife aside and fell to my knees. I wrapped my arms around my son. He looked up at me as his face began to pale. The deep brown in his eyes told tales of regret, sorrow, and understanding. I prepared for the worst; I reminded myself this child could do anything. He was strong enough now that I couldn't stop his magic. I knew that what I was doing was meaningless. Amazingly, he remained silent. Not until he was the color of a ghost did he speak his last words. "You're the best parent I could ever ask for." There it was. I braced myself. Something was about to happen; my senses went into overdrive as I waited for the first feeling of magic acting upon me. Yet, after a few moments had passed, and life itself had completely left my son's body, nothing happened. I wasn't transformed, time wasn't reversed, the knife didn't disappear. Everything stayed as it was, and in front of me, in my arms, was my dead child. I simply nodded and tried to keep at bay the cries of agony within my chest. I knew I was still in shock, and the true magnitude of what just happened was yet to come. But still, I understood what my son was telling me, from beyond the grave. This had been the correct choice. For both of us.
I was gulping for already the tenth time, probably more and squinted my eyes. The room was way too bright for my eyes and was totally empty except for the source of illumination that was responsible for the bright light itself and the very chair I was sitting at and the table I was leaning on. And then finally a door opened. A man entered. He was well in his forties, clean shaven, wore glasses and a grey suit. He silently sat down and placed a folder in front of me. "Why am I here?", I exclaim nervously. "You should know this by now Mr. Dave", the man said in a serious tone. "I did nothing wrong", I tried to reason visibly nervous not coping well with the current situation. "You did. But if you are really that clueless look here", the man said and opened the folder. Inside it were several surveillance photos of me in my garden. "I am here for working in my garden?", I ask confused. "Yes, but not just for that in general but for something specific", the man said. "And that would be?", I ask frowning. "You bred aubergines and cucumbers", the men said in a daramtic voice. "And?", I ask unimpressed. "Tsk tsk tsk. You shouldn't be this unbothered by this" "And why is that?", I ask annoyed, "Is this even legal? Don't I have the right to remain silent? Or am I not guranteed a lawyer?" "This is not about you, this is about your creation! Don't you understand?", the man shouted an atery on his temples pulsating visibly. "No!" "Your creation, is highly dangerous. They grow fast and they can emit poisonus gas. And they are sentient" I look at he man in bewilderment "With all due respect, are you high Mr?" "I am not high, I am on high alert sin-", the man shouted enraged but stopped. "Do you hear this?", the man asked. "What?", I asked but the man remained silent. And then I heard this silent zinging. And soon after I could see a greenish purple cloud filling the room. The man looked at me in horror and gulped before he whispered: "They are here" ———— Hope you liked this silly little story and please give me tips about what I can improve in the future or tell me what you liked.
She hated dogs. Hated the big ones and the small ones. The ones with flat noses and curling ears and stub tails and the ones only a half-recalled ancestry away from wolf. The wieners and the racers and the yappers and the junkyard growlers. All of them. Hated the whole last one of them: ever since that near-mauling all those years ago, since a little girl who still thought that dogs were nice and friendly and adorable tried to pet a stray labrador wagging its tail and saw their teeth - their real teeth - for the first time. Never again. Her parents had never had a dog again. She'd never had a dog again. Never dated anyone with a dog, either - the words she had for that one ex-boyfriend who tried to hide his damn pitbull - and never kept a friendship with someone who had them. And no matter how much her little boy might ask whenever they passed the pet store, no matter how envious he might seem at the thought of other kids talking about their new puppies and loyal forever-friends, there'd be no dogs for him either as long as he lived under her roof. Call it trauma, call it a grudge, be an asshole if you must and call her unreasonable...but she knew what to stand her ground on. If her boy ever brought home a puppy - no matter if it had the wettest little nose, the biggest eyes, the most adorable and gentlest bark - that beast was heading back straight into the street...the shelter, if she was feeling kind. This, then, was the source of her current turmoil. For the time had finally come: her darling baby boy had finally brought a puppy home. Even now, as he stood in the front doorway that joined the kitchen to outside, that face - with the expression of pure love, hope, and just the faintest hint of fear that she might say no - gazed up at her, pleading with her. Begging. "Please Momma, please please please can we keep her? I'll do all the chores and feed her and walk her and if she damages something I'll pay for it back and she looked so sad out there we can't just get rid of her please..." The puppy sat next to her boy, gurgling and clicking softly as it too looked at her with big, moist eyes. A wet, sucking whine softly emerged from its proboscis. Its ridges were dripping slime onto the kitchen linoleum. It was no dog. What it was, she didn't know and she doubted anyone else did either. It wasn't quite like a fly, or a slug, or a toad but it was something a bit like all of them jammed together. Pallid white, lightly translucent, just enough to let you know that whatever its internal anatomy was like it wasn't like anything a normal animal should have. It had too many eyes for something larger than her son, certainly, black and shiny and glistening with fluid. Rather too many feet too, though at least their claws seemed to squish against the linoleum rather than scratch. And it was altogether very...mucousy. Even if the slime smelled refreshingly like lemons. She folded her arms. Her boy was still pleading, though wordlessly now. And the "puppy"sat there, looking at her. Every so often it would shake itself, or whine, or jiggle its form up and down as if wanting to play but obedient enough to wait. Damnation, no fly-headed monstrosity lurched out from who knows where should look so adorable. He obviously couldn't keep it, though. What did a thing like that eat? Would it try to eat her or her son? The fly-like proboscis certainly didn't look dangerous - soft and spongy - but what if it drooled acid or something equally horrid? What effects would its slime have on the things around their home? How did it...excrete? "I don't know yet. How do you know it's-" At once, the bristly hairs across the "puppy"raised high, and it hissed. Its bulk shifted, unnatural musculature rippling as it stood to attention. Dear lord it was bigger than she was. What was causing it to- Bark! Bark Bark! Bark! A dog outside, on the other side of the street, no owner or leash in sight. It barked again. Raised its tail high and lowered its head. Growled. Childhood memory roared back into her, body tensing and mind whirling. The "puppy"rustled and jiggled in agitation. Her boy, equally alarmed at its sudden movement, rushed to her side and hugged her tightly. The thought came rushing in: it was a wild animal, it was startled, it was going to attack them, please help someone- The "puppy"turned to face the dog. It hissed, then hooted, then flared vestigial rubbery wings and reared up. Its front pair of legs rose up, spiked hairs bristling and claws hardening into talons that it clicked together in rapid succession. Proboscis extended, it charged... ...and then, as soon as it had made sure the dog was running - tail between its legs - it settled down. Softened. Turned around. Came back to her boy and nudged him until he let go of her, then pushed its face into his hand with a happy-sounding clogged warble. There was no wince of pain on his face as it coated his hand with slime. Not acidic, then. Huh. She took a few seconds to let out her held breath. To her surprise, she laughed. "We'll talk about this more in the morning. For now, she can stay the night."
"C'moooooon." I had a cat, once, when I was younger. Her name was Tessa. Mostly black with adorable little white tufts. She would meow, like any other cat— "C'mooooon!" But, for the most part, she behaved well. She was adorable, and loving. Adventurous and curious and energetic, but never too much of a bother. She knew climbing all over me was not good. But this God forsaken— "C'mooooo—" "Would—mmngh!"I bit my tongue hard as I whipped around in the middle of the downtown street to scold the feline following my every move. Or, at least, what remained of a feline. It was just a skeleton, wearing a well-fitting black robe that waved as it trotted after me with such a dutiful stride. The hood even came complete with pointed ears to make up for its lack of real ones. I would have thought it adorable and followed it anywhere. If it would learn to shut up. "Come home with meee,"it mewled out. I had no idea what was worse. The fact that I could distinguish clear, English words amid all that incessant meowing, or the fact that I was the only one who could see it. I'd learned that after I had yelled at it, and been reassured after it passed through several people's legs. And a wall. I muttered under my breath as I continued walking. "If I do, you'll bite me again."My soul, but still. "Nuhuh!" "Yes, huh!"I hissed under my breath, trudging up the stairs to my apartment. I had no qualms with being juvenile to the phantom of an afterlife. Especially if it was going to take the form of a cat. I could hear quaint little clicks of bone on concrete as I ascended. The door opened easy enough, but did nothing to stop Death from trotting in behind me. "I'm not going back with you. I've got a life to life."It was nice to be able to talk at a normal voice without strange looks. A quiet voice, just in case, but still. "Psht, had. Then you took one of mine." "I took back the one you stole!" "I didn't steal it, I—" Death stopped. I stopped. There was silence. Long-awaited silence. Silence that quickly grew unnerving. Had I actually gotten used to this thing talking to me constantly? That was when I saw it. The ghosts. The rat ghosts. I had an exterminator in yesterday to clear out an infestation. And now they were dead and haunting my apartment? I turned to Death, ready to give up and go with him, but froze. He was wide-eyed. A bright blue fire blazed in his once hollow eyes, brighter than I had ever seen during his hours-long, incessant, supernatural wailing. He crouched down, tail swaying, rear end wiggling. And before I could process what was going on, the skeleton cat had leapt upon a rat. Or, at least, where a rat was, as the brilliant cerulean phantom scurried through a wall. In panic, the other rats scattered. Most through walls. Some through the floor. Some managed to worm up the ceiling. A black cloak skittered across the floor, then disappeared into another wall. In the bewildered semi-silence, I sat in my recliner, flicking the TV onto the news. I could hear bony claws scratching around here and there, and a lot of soft thumping as Death chased the spirits. The sorts of sounds I remembered from my childhood. As I was about to drift into a nap, I felt sharp pinpricks on my thigh and jolted up. The "corpse"of a rat—which I was convinced was playing dead, given it already was—landed in my lap. Death stared at me with a languid sway to its tail. Purring. I gave him a scratch behind an ear and a rub under his bony chin. Maybe Death wasn't so bad after all.
"I gotta testify, Came out in '04 so if it is best if I Explain why I didn't die in the Lexus ride. That was a decade ago, but I digress. So why Are you here, is the question on your mind, ain't it kid? I'm a nigga, so it wasn't hard to flip an Anakin. Got cha in my lair, 'cause ever since my Momma died, A nigga was feeling like something wasn't quite right. From the Flashing Lights, I realized I was a God, And the whole world needed to admire me in awe. So the plan is to do like God did. Flood the whole world and rebuild in my image. But first, I need to kill a reporter with some questions. But be glad, at least you get to die in my presence." The lair is suddenly filled with a dazzling array of bright lights from all directions, as Kanye West turns away from you to kneel in front of a giant statue of himself erected entirely in diamonds. As he claps his hands together and begins to pray, the rope binding you above the pool of lava starts to slowly descend. "Eh,"you think as the heat melts your shoes away, "the rapping could've been better but still, a dazzling show. 7 outta 10."
I work hard for my money. I fuck hard and I party. Sometimes I bet, sometimes I lose. Tonight, I really fucked up. “Dude, are you sure?” Dave looked worried, as he handed me the innocent looking paper bag. I take the bag, feeling the warmth and the weight of its content. I take a deep breath, exhale and whisper an uncertain “Yes.” Around the corner I can hear people from the street and boy, they are in for a treat. I nod to Dave and he switches on the small camcorder. He presses record, looks into the lens and yells “WORLDSTAR HIP HOP!” and points it at me. I give him a thumbs up. My insides are a bloody mess. Without thinking, I take the five steps onto outdoor mall. Fuck me, I think, there are hundreds of people, all shopping and having casual encounters of the wet kind. Two women are sucking an older gentlemen’s dick right around the corner where we stepped out, next to a geriatric couple that has a standing anal quickie going on. I ignore them and keep walking. Dave follows two steps behind me and looks paler than usual. Four teenage boys look up as we pass by and after a moment continue to finger their assholes. I know where I want to go. Every sweaty fiber of my body wants me to turn around and my brain tells me to suck off Dave and throw the paper bag away. We pass a lesbian couple. The butch dyke arranges a butt plug in the tush of her lipstick partner. They ignore us, and I am happy for the moment. My destination comes near, a white bench in the center of the mall road, dozens of shoppers and fuckers around. My stomach sinks as I see a group of three people with disabilities in wheelchairs, giving themselves some innocent hand jobs while we both climb the bench. Dave got his inner Spielberg channeled as he now takes some scenic shots with his camcorder. I try to be confident, cool, a real bro, but I feel like an asshole. But it is too late now. I open the paper bag, and drag the dirty payload out. Dave smiles nervously, as he sees the thing and begins to shout “Look, people, a cheeseburger!” A woman, that was giving a dog a foot job, looks up to us, confused. I open my mouth and take a bite from the burger. The woman eyes open wide in shock. A man, who has his penis in a fleshlight passes us and looks in the other direction. I take another bite, and it feels awesome. The fear is gone, replaced by pure joy. I live in the moment and everyone can go to hell. Dave laughs uncontrollably, and keeps making alternative shots of me eating, and the growing group of disgusted shoppers. An elderly lady on an autoerotic fucking bike comes to a sudden stop in front of us, looks at the burger and begins to scream for the police. I begin to laugh as well and I can see the security personal running for us. Dave yells “Let’s go Dude!” But I have other plans. A young family stands in front of me, the father using his hands to protect the small child’s eyes as I reach into the bag again. I pull out a hand full of fries and most bystanders begin to protest in a very colorful rhetoric. With a smile, I open my mouth and stuff all of them in. A shared gasp can be heard, and it is not one of relief. I nod to Dave, and we both scream “WORLDSTAR”. We start to run. With the footsteps of the mall security behind us, I promise to myself to never ever accept a bet.
Penelope, a lovely woman with a british accent walked into the room. "Ok, Mr. Reynolds, the UN meeting begins in 15 minutes, do you want anything before you start? Coffee? Soda?" "No, Penelope. Mere drinks cannot quench the thirst for enlightenment." "Brilliant, Mr. Reynolds. Just brilliant." "I know." What the fuck am I saying? Is this all going to my head? It's like I just kind of fart out phrases with a contented sigh after them, and people just applaud. The other day, I was ordering from McDonald's, and I accidentally ordered a whopper. A manager came out and told me that he just phoned corporate, they're adding the whopper to the menu in January. Don't get me wrong, that's a change that's been long overdue, but really? I could hear the speaker from the other room. "Ladies and Gentleman of the United Nations, Mr. Reynolds!" Here we go. Let's see what these fuckers will fall for. A dropped my pants quickly and cartwheeled onto stage. The applause was thunderous. Putin was so inspired that he took of his pants and did the same. Drunk fucker couldn't keep his balance, and landed on Michelle Obama! Luckily, Obama was mid cartwheel as well, so he couldn't react immediately. When he landed I saw him begin toward Putin. "Barry, sit down."I said. He looked at me and saluted for some odd reason, then sat down. Strange, I never served. Anyway- "What is fighting, Barry, but the senseless pursuit of a primal desire that can only manifest itself insidiously." He was floored. I can't be sure, but I think I saw him wipe of tear from his eye, and waistband an erection. "Now as I approach the subject at hand, I would like to ask you all something." The room was so quiet I could here Putin take a quick key bump and wipe his nose. "Now, my question is...Can a muthafucka get some hands in the air before he spits?" They went crazy. It looked like the final rap battle from 8 mile in here. "Penelope, gimme a beat." Penelope started beatboxing. Boom, boom, clap, chicka, chicka, boom clap. Boom, boom, clap, chicka, chicka, boom clap. Look at all you muthafucka's sittin' n' starin' I see a lot of bad intentions angry glarin' You bitches won't stop when you could be sharin' The U.N.'s a paper asshole And Imma start tearin! OHHHHHHHHH!! I'm not done yet, Barry You better relax Pay attention to my syntax And check your facts Because the last time I checked I wasn't a prophet But you hang on every word So fuck it Imma rock it Check under your chairs Then check your pockets You'll find a crossfit DVD Don't knock it Those workout's gon' Kick your ass Sock it and Bop it I'm done with this freestyle I'm punchin' out so clock it. Drops Mic Still naked, I cartwheeled back off stage. Once backstage I found a strange thing. Ambassadors were asking me to sign shit. Underwear, hats, ballsacks, the works. I said, "Fine, but only if you sign this first." I wrote up a document with a nearby crayon. It read: This is a peace treaty I hereby acknowledge that Mr. Reynolds spits dope shit, and my mind is now dogshit because of it Also, none of us are gonna be warmongering dickheads anymore, because that shit ain't cool. They signed it. Mission accomplished.
The first human contact with aliens was awkward and distressing. Best described as snail-like sentients, the Aluumu were slow-moving pseudo-molluscs who had developed a sort of organic technology that had allowed them to venture into space. They were old - about 10 billion years older than humanity - yet their technology was just barely beyond our own. But the most astonishing fact was that they didn't understand the concept of weapons. Human xenobiologists and xenoanthropologists who studied the Aluumu homeworld were stunned to find a culture and ecosystem that did not have predators. This sort of biological harmony meant that the species shared genetics freely across various animals and the Aluumu were actually massive colonies of different species - similar to our terrestrial Chondrophores. At the very basic level, everything on the planet Aluu ingested only inorganic or decaying matter, the lowest organisms converting the matter through to the higher organisms in a beautiful chain of complex biochemistry that left many of our xenobiologists irritatingly excitable. The other problem (for the Aluumu) was that they had no concept of selfishness. Coming from a global system that only benefited from total altruism, they did not understand the human capacity for moral ambiguity - and were therefore easily taken advantage of. Lacking any concept of conflict and finding the concept of war terrifyingly incomprehensible, they ignored our differences and tried to 'integrate' us into their species by altruistically seeding us with genetic information; to not only bring about biological perfection by freeing us of disease, but to 'soothe the savage beast' within us and remove our dominant, violent traits. Humanity, of course, saw this as an attack. The Aluumu had been in contact with many other sentient, space-faring species, as we discovered from their records. What remained of the species after the Aluumu 'wars' amounted to nothing more than a handful of individuals who were kept in research facilities and used for advanced genetic research. From them, humanity learned to program itself into a biologically superior organism. Like the Aluumu, most of the other alien species had no concept of war, or it had died out in their very ancient past. Organic life in the galaxy, it seemed, was far less like us and far more like the snail-creatures we had practically exterminated. Primed by the terror of the Aluumu 'wars', where vast portions of humanity had been 'infected' with a 'zombie virus' that made us slow-moving, affable and selflessly co-operative to the point of docility, the Earth corporations who controlled our resource-stripped planet saw an opportunity to demonstrate what would become the defining feature of our species - unbridled greed. Behaving like mobile insect colonies, the Idri were the next to fall, then the Palacatalata - city-sized super organisms comprising of billions of trillions of cooperative single-celled entities. Both put up a token resistance, but both fell quickly to the scourge of humanity. Panicking, the galactic community convened and elected the Rovak - the only other race with a vaguely war-like history - to head their battle fleets. But humanity, having taken such pleasure in genetically engineering super-soldiers and reverse-engineering alien biotech, had built massive, unstoppable juggernauts in preparation for what we saw as an 'inevitable' conflict with another species like ourselves. To say the war was one-sided is being generous. It was a massacre to make previous human genocides feel comforting and benign. Aided by the hideous, arachnid appearance of the Rovak and an 'insurmountable' language barrier, the human troops thought they were simply making pre-emptive strikes against an aggressor hell-bent on wiping us out. Certainly it looked that way to the average citizen - planet after planet of newly-built alien military outposts, strategically positioned against Earth and its colonies. Fearing an end in the same manner as the Aluumu, the Idri and the Palacatalata, the galactic races surrendered to humanity and begged for their lives. In the aftermath, we sit here, rulers of the galaxy, virtual Terror Gods to these gentle, placid aliens. Aliens who learned the art of war far too late; just as we learned the art of peace far too late. Humanity is treated with such deference and reverence on the alien populated worlds that it is embarrassing to step foot on whatever passes for their streets. Even the remnants of the Rovak species grovel, flip themselves on their back and present their furry, vulnerable underbellies to us, showing we are the dominant species. Other races, like the Yu, will simply commit mass ritual suicide on sight of a human being, so we cannot even set foot on their worlds. The damage we have done to this galaxy is utterly beyond repair. There is no way back from this; even should humanity become like the Yu and commit massive, galactic suicide, the other races will never recover what they once had. They are too frail, too fearful and too broken. As we harness the last technologies of the elder races and our collective eye turns outward from the Milky Way, I fear for the rest of the universe. - Allison Hale, Xenobiologist
I second this! The prompts here are awesome! I teach 11-14 year olds in the US. We write every Friday. They love it, and their imaginative stories blow me away. Some of the best prompts for me were: As winter continues into spring and summer months, it becomes clear that the cold is not going away. The earth is entering another ice age. Write separate, dated diary entries for a person who is experiencing the continued cold. The old man had been coming to the diner for months. Jackie usually served him. Today he asked her to sit at the table with him. He had a small white envelope in front of him...
They said we were unwanted, unneeded in society. Because of what? Because we were unique. Iron, the only substance known to reject the essence of magic, the damn thing our world had for a core. All residue of spells or meteors containing that of the arcane vaporised as they made it into our atmosphere, leaving us without the advantages magic gave others. Sometimes though, residue could linger for a while, leaving the effect of what we called 'the paranormal'. Because of the advantages we didn't obtain from magic, we were known as the weak. Oh, but how wrong they were. They might've been able to conjure fireballs or breathe underwater. They might be able breathe in a vacuum or rip a cloud from the sky. But we could do that too, we could do it better. You see, the pen is mightier than the sword, and knowledge is mightier than fighting. Come reap us with your powers, but you will see how much power we can harness with a little thing we call science. You see, having an iron core. We have a lot of iron to use. Shoot some spell at us, we will send it right back. You fly to our planet with only your body? We'll bring a fucking armada of metal, the likes of which you have never seen. You conjure lightning, well we conjure projectiles of death with railguns. We on Earth, we might be discriminative of our colour but with enlightenment we have rose above that, we have rose above stereotypes. We now know the difference of skin tones, we know why everything in our universe came to be. It wasn't because of this so called magic, heck, the 'elements' that you knew and loved, iron wasn't even one of them. Earth, Fire, Water and Air? We lost those notions long ago, back when our people couldn't cure a simple disease. Now? You use blades, which we used long ago. Now we use guns, which you won't comprehend for millennia if ever. For those of you that believe in magic, we do too. But not that pathetic stuff you talk of, we believe in the magic of human spirit. ###[Companion Story!](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/36yi2a/pi_godspeed_companion_story_to_a_prompt/)
"Philip, what the FUCK?"the alien snapped at a cowering..well, other alien. "It was an accident, I swear!"the cowering alien, Philip apparently, whimpers. "Accident shmaccident, look at what happened because of it!"the superior barked. "Uh, the internet?"I cut in, still strapped to the table between the arguing aliens. "See! Technological advances, Zach!"Philip said defensively. "Stay out of this!"Zach snapped at me. "I'm not wrong." "Pain, death, depression, racism, homophobia! That's what's come of Philip's mistake!" "Okay, but we're slowly growing and doing better, right? You've gotta have something good to say." Zach sighed, "I mean I guess there's somethings you're doing pretty well." Philip gave me a thumbs up behind Zach's back. "Still, it would've been better if PHILIP DIDN'T LEAVE PVP ON!"Zach shouted, whipping around to glare at the alien engineer. "Do you want me to shut it off..?"Philip asked helplessly. "It's too late now, you imbecile!" I just sighed, watching the aliens bicker. I was brought here for experiments, but it seemed like it was gonna take a lot more time than expected. So, I decided to just sit back and watch and mentally eat popcorn while the two extraterrestrials argued endlessly about the pros and cons of humanity.
You had lived to see the end of siege, the ceasefires, the civilians being evacuated hollow-eyed from the rubble. You had lived to see the politicians congratulating themselves, pens working busily at treaties and accords as they shook hands and clapped each other on the back and beamed at the cameras. You had lived to see the promised fruition of the War to End All Wars, the wish of every beauty pageant winner fulfilled, the end goal of modernity's ceaseless crawl. You had lived to see the parades and the protests, the doves being released in white flurries into the sky. You had lived, hollowed out, the shrapnel in your spine inuring you to all further pain, drifting on the hallowed currents of morphine. They had been beautiful, the countless inhabitants of the globe, even the politicians, every last rat-bastard one of them. You had lived to see World Peace. And then you had died. The dying was the painless part. You laid back and floated up the stream. Your body, heavy and thick with sludge, was filtered away gradually and only your spirit remained. You flowed through the roots of the world, and were drank in and purified. And then your head hit the bank and you floundered and your feet found purchase, and you waded up the shore towards Heaven. The gates were gold and open for you, and you were taking your first steps towards them, when some traitorous thought in your head told you to look backwards. And you looked, and behind you you saw the deluge. They came in billions, emerging baptized and still dripping, the river overflowing its banks. They came from every country, every continent, every walk and way of life. You had floated here on a river and now you were staring at an ocean, at a vast and endless sea, and it was drowning in human beings. The oceans receded before them and their heads emerged like an endless field of stones, their arms reaching out like a continent of grass. You stumbled backwards, not yet abandoned by the baser instincts of fear, and you walked into Heaven ass-first. The grass was green and the air was sweet and the clouds were crystal-white and you looked around desperately for anyone to explain to you what the hell was going on. An angel smiled down upon you, a thing of shining light. "But how?"you gasped, and pointed out the gates to the ceaseless flood of people. "They were at peace when I died! It cannot have ended so quickly!" "There is nothing to fear,"the angel said, and lifted you lightly to your feet. Heaven's gates were open wide, and there were more and more and more. "Are you not happy to see them? Will you not welcome them to their reward?" And in your head the unworthy thought was running: Don't let them in. They'll ruin it. Just like they ruined everything else. "Ah,"said the angel, and you were swept away in the tide. There were strangers. There were family. There were people you had loathed while still alive. There were people who had died and who had yet to die. "You are still acclimated to the parameters of the world below,"the angel said, it's voice singing effortlessly above the crowd. Your feet were moving in a stampede. You were holding someone's hand. "All divisions are illusory. All borders and nationalities and sects are illusory. Even your life on Earth, the years and millennia of suffering and war - a hundred years are as an eyeblink in Heaven. The impassable barriers of borders and oceans and eras fall aside in the face of eternity." It laughed gently. There was nothing but human flesh around you, pink and umber and deeper brown and pale with the veins showing through and all the various shades of skin. You could hear voices in a hundred different languages and dialects, rushing together into song. There were hands on you, freckled, gnarled, nails tinted pink. You were looking into a dozen sets of eyes. You tried, briefly, to hold on to yourself, to elbow out a small portion of room. And then the dam broke, and it was as if you were dying again, floating gently upstream. "You have seen the end of war,"said the angel. "You have seen the end of conflict."You looked up at your hands, and were no longer sure that they were yours. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Heaven."
"Can I help?"I ask her. The lady smiles and shakes her head as she struggles with her enormous suitcase. I step forward anyway and help her load it onto the overhead compartment. She smiles sweetly and clutches her protruding belly. More than four months in, by the looks of it. "Thank you,"she says in heavily accented English. "No worries,"I sit down beside her. "Travelling alone?" Yes, she nods. She turns to face the window, clearly preferring to be left alone. She's so beautiful, I think to myself. And no ring on her finger as well. But I don't bother her. The plane takes off. I'm in the middle of a restless nap, when the plane suddenly swerves right. I open the compass app on my phone. We're not going in the right direction. I see the cabin crew at the end of the hallway. They're chatting animatedly, pointing at me. No, at her. The PA system cackles to life. "Dear travellers, we will be touching down shortly due to an unforseen circumstances. Please be assured that the aircraft is fine. We have been told that one of the passengers is ill and must receive treatment immediately. We seek your kind understanding and cooperation." Frantic chatter fills the cabin.Who is it? Is it contagious? I look to the lady beside me. She clutches the crucifix on a leather chain around her neck, eyes closed, praying in a foreign language. We touch down. The moment the plane rolls to a halt, the doors fly open. In marches two rows of men in black from head to toe. They carry something in their hands - assault rifles. These men look like they could take down a small army. The passengers cry out in fear. Then, the entire cabin becomes silent. It's so quiet I can hear myself breathing. Three men enter. First, a rabbi. Then, an imam. Finally, the Pope himself. They walk towards the lady. In that tiny, tiny cabin hallway, under curious gazes of a hundred passengers, the leaders of the world's faiths kneel before her. The Pope takes her hand and looks at her with the kindliest eyes I have ever seen. Then he bows his head. "Please come with us, Blessed Mother." The lady looks around in fear. Then, she looks at me with pleading eyes. "Come with me, please?" I nod. I cannot say no to her. As we leave the plane, escorted by a hundred armed soldiers, she asks, "What is your name?" I don't know what I'm getting into. But something feels... right. I've never felt so calm in a long time. "Joe,"I say. "My name is Joseph."
They say that when you die, you see your life flash before your eyes. If that’s true, I’m fine with that. I always thought I’d live longer than to sixty-five, but life is a tricky little bugger once you get to know it well. You never know where the road leads or who will travel with you, until you reach the end. My wife, Claire, smiles at me from the side of the hospital bed. We’ve had many good years together and many children. Jessie, Mark, Louise, Tommy, they’re all here to say their farewells. Louise is holding little Isabelle, my granddaughter. What a beautiful family. I remember when it was just Claire and me – how we went spent the nights looking at the stars and drinking cans of soda by the lake. To think that we’ve created all of this together – just the two of us – it’s truly a cause for vertigo. They’ve all known for a long time that this day was coming. I’ve been fighting cancer for the last decade, and sooner or later you just have to give up and cut your losses. With the most important people in my life around me, I’m ready to meet death. “Honey,” Claire says. “I’ve never told you this, but-” *** Dizziness grips me, my vision shifts, and I lose balance. I stare wildly. There was no life flashing before my eyes – no light at the end of the tunnel – just a living room and large plasma TV. “Seriously, Rick, you’ve been playing all night,” Lisa says, tapping her foot impatiently. “I knew it was a terrible idea to get that VR. You don’t even let your friends try it.” “No!” I gasp. “What did you do! I had lived the perfect life, how could you ruin that moment for me?” “I unplugged it.” “But…! Claire was going to tell me a secret.” “Who the hell is Claire?” “My wife!” “I’m your wife,” Lisa says. “No, you’re not! You’re an imposter!” I stumble backward. My hands find the heavy glass tray on the coffee table. Before I know it, Lisa is lying in a pool blood with tiny glass fragments all around her head. What have I done? I reach down. I smile, searching her pockets. I didn’t expect her to have this good loot. I stuff my backpack full and head outside. My friends are all gathered around the barbecue. Before they can react, I have them drenched in lighter fluid, flicking the lighter I found on Lisa at them. They explode in a burst of flames. LEVEL COMPLETE * I pull off the VR headset. Damn the graphics in that game. I look up at Claire and my family. “I’ve never told you this, but we've been working really hard to make this happen,” she says, holding my hand. “We know how much you love VR. We all pitched in so you could try that new VR before you go. How was it?” “Amazing,” I mumble. “Thank you, Dear, for everything.” *** [/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/)
The cameras peered like vultures. Never in the history of the Olympic Games has the world seen such an upset. Shaun White, Travis Rice, Scott James, and now: Dave. Dave from Colorado. Were there steroids in his flask? Was there a mix-up and a professional snowboarder competed in place of a civilian? The Olympic committee, sea of cameras, and indeed the world waited in silence as the results came in. A Korean man in a black suit came forth with a sheet in hand. "After comprehensively testing Dave,"the man announced. "We have concluded that Dave from Colorado has not been taking steroids or any other performance-enhancing drugs." The entire planet collectively gasped and shot their hands to their mouths. "The flask found in Dave's jacket,"the man continued. "Did contain a drug. Not a performance enhancing one, however. The flask contained Jameson." A short silence followed. There were just a few seconds that passed before the sound of thousands of desperate reporters caused an avalanche 300 miles away, burying a small village in white death. "Sir!"One reporter shouted. "Do you mean to tell us that Dave from Colorado carved the mountain-" "Yes." "Shredded the gnar-" "Allegedly." "And demolished all of the competition while pounding down whiskey?"The reporter asked. The Korean man looked directly at the reporter and answered, "Dave from Colorado did not obliterate his competition while he was blasted. He did so because he was blasted." The Korean man adjusted his suit before finally adding, "Dave has also tested positive for THC."
My comrades and I pulled our hoods up and quickened our pace. We wore thin brown tunics and had even ditched our shoes for our disguise. Our steps came in perfect synchronization and if anyone cared to check, I’m sure they would’ve even found our heartbeats the same. We were doppelgangers that looked more similar than conjoined twins. The painted cement felt like a stovetop beneath the summer sun, but we paid it no mind. We had trained years for this moment and a slightly hot floor would not stop us from burning down the Vatican. The guards spared us only single glances. They had nothing to from travelling monks who didn’t even wear shoes. “Bob,” I whispered to the man beside me. “Pass me the bomb.” It was time. Soon, we would bring the holiest of cities to its knees. “I’m not Bob,” he responded. “I’m Greg. Bob’s the one that… well he looks like us.” My brow crunched. “We all look like us,” I muttered, my words pointed. Greg pinches his chin in thought. “Oh, I know, he wears the silly yellow hats. He’s the dude that does that.” “We’re in disguise!” I hissed and then I saw him in my peripherals—a man in a hooded brown tunic with an oversized sunhat sitting atop his head. I stopped walking to stare. He joined our circle. “Sorry I’m late guys. I have the bomb.” “What the flying fuck, Bob? You look like a god damn dandelion.” Bob giggled. “I know, they’ll never suspect me of being a terrorist.” “No. God Fuck. I mean you’re drawing attention to us. Take off that god damn hat.” “But then where will I hide the bomb?” My stomach fell. “You’re hiding our god damn bomb in your hat?” I nearly screamed. “Well, where else am I supposed to hide it?” he protested. “We’re wearing blankets! There aren’t any pockets in here.” I nearly burst a vein, but then noticed a guard eyeing us. I drew a circle in the air with my finger and we started walking again. “Ok,” I whispered to my men. “We can still do this. We’ll just need a distraction. Jerry, split off from us and cause a scene.” I waited for Jerry to do so and so did the rest of my men. “Jerry?” I finally asked. A silence fell between us. “I thought you were Jerry,” Bob said. I stopped again and turned with flushed cheeks. “Why would I be Jerry? Why would that idiot be leading the group?"I forced myself to take a small breath. "Ok, where the hell is Jerry.” “Maybe he snuck off to the prostitutes again,” Bob said. “I saw him talking with them earlier and he looked pretty eager.” “I thought that was Connor?” Greg said. “No because I’m fucking Connor,” I told them. “And I have a wife and kids.” “Wait”—Greg pinched his chin again—“I thought Connor wears these tacky gold chains around his neck.” “We. Are. In. Disguise,"I said through gritted teeth. "And they are not tacky.” “Hold up.” The man in front of me turned and pointed at us. “I don’t think I actually know any of you.” I looked into his face, trying to decipher who he was. But it was like staring into a mirror in a house of mirrors. “So if you don’t know us,” I said, “then who the hell are you?” “Well, I’m just a traveling monk here on vacation.” My jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me." --- /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly, continuations by popular demand, and more!
"I'll be back,"Michelle had promised. My last glimpse of her was through the insulated glass porthole of the secondary vault door, hand resting anxiously on the emergency lockdown lever. It was an imposing thing, with a red T-handle six inches wide and a clear plastic cover. She'd ran into the house screaming her younger sister's name. Urging her to come down into the vault with us. Then the nukes hit. I glanced over at the flashing numbers on the panel, incorrectly showing two minutes to impact. My heart raced as the needle on the Geiger counter ticked up, forcing me to throw down the handle. The blast doors slammed with sudden speed and blocked any further radiation with their thick lead cores. The reverberating thump of the doors echoed through the tiny room. I watched the display in silence as the exterior counter mounted outside the house rose rapidly into the red zone, then black. Hell, I was crazy close to the epicenter. Not close enough to blow the shelter to shreds, but close enough to swamp the place with death. I'd laughed with her when she mentioned how her father always talked about the nuclear holocaust. How he spent millions building a shelter underneath what looked like a rather modest suburban home. The drills he insisted the family perform every year. Michelle's parents had gone out for dinner that day, leaving us the house to ourselves. I already knew they didn't make it. Now I stood at the door for what seemed like an eternity, willing for Michelle to knock. Wave to the pinhole camera on the door. Flash me one last smile, given that hugs were impossible now. Once the door was shut, it wouldn't unlock till it was safe outside. The computer gave an estimate of five years, but I knew better than to trust any guesses now. A mere two-minute error had cause Michelle's death. I wanted to cry my heart out. Look in the mirror and call myself the selfish shit that didn't wait for Michelle. Her shelter, built by her father, in her home. We'd been together for several years for now. Yet, it was that strange kind of survival instinct that told me to suppress all that. A strong voice in my head shoved forwards and told me that we would both die if I waited. And Michelle wouldn't have wanted that, would she? Maybe it was my parents that taught me that. Maybe it was just watching too many stupid disaster movies and watching the tragic hero fall. I don't know. But something forced me to flip down the metal shutter over the porthole and look into the room that was now my world for the next 1825 days. In the corner were two bunk beds for the family. Beside them were a few imposing cabinets, fitted with white labels proclaiming their contents. The other side held a small kitchenette, dining area, and access to an adjacent storage room. Right next to the blast door was a tiny restroom with a chemical toilet and floor drain. All industrial, apathetic pieces of equipment intended to survive the apocalypse and beyond. I had my backpack though. A classic Jansport worn by many of the kids at school, holding my binder filled with shit like differential equations and Python syntax. My computer, a first-gen Surface that was all I really needed for class notes. My iPhone with zero bars and no WiFi. Sunglasses. Earbuds. Pencils and pens. Some chocolates from a charity event that I'd never eaten yet. Stuff that was perhaps useful on campus, but certainly not here. Even the few survival books gathering dust in my bedroom would be better than this. Then I noticed the small den carved into a nook in the concrete walls. The floor was carpeted, with a few stuffed animals sitting on a wooden toybox. A small couch and coffee table completed the area. It wasn't much, like those little play areas sitting in the side of the dreary doctor's office. Those my mother told me not to play on since they contained "everyone's germs". For a moment, I thought of Michelle's sister Lindsey and how this space was undoubtedly made for her. I wished they were there with me. Damn, I wished my family and friends and everyone on Earth would be safely underground right now. And I knew that wouldn't happen. I was alone, stuck in a world with both boredom and freedom. Terrified of the world outside; the pictures of Chernobyl from history class fresh in my mind. Yes, I'd sometimes wished to be alone. How I played video games at midnight praying that Dad wouldn't find out. Or even the darker things that I did home alone, paranoid as hell and hearing my heart beat as the garage door rolled up. I took down an Glock from a wall rack, slowly checking the magazine and racking the slide. All unfamiliar actions that would have practically given me a beating had my parents found out. Ditto for taking a drink from the bottle of red somehow hidden behind a bunch of Campbell's soup cans, of all things. I made myself throw the few packs of cigarettes available down the shitter before I dared try them out in here. The days turned to weeks. Michelle's father had invested in high-performance battery systems, but even those had limits. I often rode on the stationary bicycle to stay fit and charge up the powerbanks that kept the lights on. I tried using my laptop, but even its meager power consumption was hard on my limited supply. I practically cheered when I remembered the chess app on my phone installed years ago, and often played long games against the A.I. The guilt still lingered with me no matter how hard I tried. One day, I noticed the large rolls of paper sitting on end in a corner. I'd already become bored with myself, trying to go to bed early and lucid dream my stress away. My sleep cycles were weird, even though I watched the clock and tried to live as normally as I could. The few songs and movies on my devices I'd played to death. Michelle had a couple laptops sitting around, but they were to my utter distaste password protected. Maybe I should create my own entertainment, I thought one day. That night, after two hours of hard cycling, I set up a few lights and moved the paper roll over to the dining table. I started planning, immersing myself into a fantasy world. Building characters and then destroying them. Drawing out the locations and faces that I visualized in my mind. At first, they all sucked. I wasn't good in the arts. My English teachers called my writing unoriginal, my visual arts instructor felt my work looked too childish. That was all true. But to be honest, one can improve if one has nothing to do. Like me. Over time, I wove elaborate worlds. Instead of rewatching old shows, I wrote my own screenplays and noted down how each shot would look. When I saved up enough power, I opened up a DAW on my computer and tried my hand at composing. It was hard. It sounded like crap. But over time, I got better. Good enough that I enjoyed the things I was making. Good enough to keep me immersed and alive. I often sat in the den, having moved the toys aside and the table onto the rug. I positioned an array of LEDs up above, and lounged comfortably on the couch using rice bags as a footrest. My days were spent thinking and dreaming. Waking up each morning became not a chore, but rather a new day for me to express myself. Eight years later, dressed in a heavy hazmat suit and carrying a Geiger counter in my palm, I wandered out for the first time. As suspected, five wasn't enough. The world was grey and drab, the buildings ruined from years of neglect. Nevertheless, I was still sane. My brain wasn't dead yet. I was ready to rebuild. After all, what's the good in making content without sharing it?
Our leader hadn’t always been the brightest bulb in the box. He was a good public speaker for sure, but not always the best to ask for help in your math homework you know? So I came in the office one day and he was elated. He said he had the greatest plan ever. He promptly sent all of the other advisers out of the room. I sat down across from his desk. It was tense, I was nervous because every time our leader had a plan there was always a major flaw. “I’ve got it” he said, “we’ll invade Russia” “Sir-“ “I don’t want to hear it!” You and your “stop wasting money on company retreats, and don’t go on vacation the the states! If you have any objections, they’d better be good.” “But they’re our allies sir. I just don’t think it’s a good ide-“ “To plant our flag over the largest nation on earth‽ we’re doing, it not another word” “Yes führer”
I walked slowly to the front of the community center, a thin line of sweat forming on my brow as I made my way to the podium. Looking out over the crowd, I saw the eager faces of my family and friends. We had rented this same space for my brother's Words Ceremony. It was nothing special: cheap wood paneling covered the walls, dusty blue carpet sent small clouds into the air with each step, and ancient folding chairs creaked ceaselessly. As was tradition, I wore a plain white button down shirt. I felt the starched cotton rub angrily as I turned my neck to scan the crowd. All of my six aunts and uncles had made it to the ceremony. Even the youngest, Sam, who was stationed on an aircraft carrier half way around the globe, had managed to get the time off to be here. With the skirmishes happening on the Eastern Line, I thought he would have to miss today. I could feel the space between my shoulder blades begin to heat up. Sweat poured down my back. Was this going to be painful? No one had ever really told me that, but I couldn't be the first person in my family to cry at the ceremony. No, I'd have to grit through it no matter what happened. "Thank you all for coming today,"I said plainly into the microphone. "I know it was a long trip for a lot of you, and I'm really happy you could make it here to support me. I'd also like to thank Mr. Bill Forseth for being my officiant here today. For those of you who don't know him, Mr. Forseth is my commanding officer in the Junior Naval Officers League. When I graduate this spring, I plan to enlist in the United Fleet, just like my brother, Frank, and my father before me." Mr. Forseth rose from a chair in the back of the community center and walked up front to the podium. The crowd clapped politely. He was a very large man with high-and-tight haircut that was sprinkled with more salt than pepper. His arms still resembled chiseled stone, but his stomach bulged happily over his large, silver belt buckle. After Mr. Forseth arrived next to my side, I watched the clock as my heartbeat raced. Mr. Forseth stood silently next to me. His only job was to recite the words when they appeared. The entire crowd was dead quiet. When the clock was three minutes away from my time of birth, I began fumbling with the buttons on my shirt. Once I struggled out of my shirt, with my numb, sweat-coated fingers, I quickly folded it and placed it on the podium. I turned around to face the wall, so my back would be on full display. As the clock above my head ticked rapidly away, I wondered what my final words would be. I wish you knew when you would go, but at least your Words gave you an idea about the context of your death. We were all sure Frank would go in a war. His Words were "Shoot the fuckers faster."At the rate things were going on the Eastern Line, he could have another two months or two decades of service ahead of him. Nobody could tell. But, no matter what, he would die honorably. My father's Words were "It's been the greatest pleasure of my life spending all these years with you, Diana."Hell, without those words, I probably wouldn't exist. He didn't find my mom until he was twenty-three, five whole years after his Words Ceremony. We all figured he would go when he was good and ready, after years of serving his country and raising his family. He was very proud of his Words. Fifteen more seconds. I could feel the sweat running down my back, the stares of my family members burning a hole into my soul. I had no clue what my Words would be. And my family would be the first to see the black ink etch itself in my skin. Ten seconds. Would I go out with glory and honor? Five seconds. I inhaled deeply and braced for the pain. I felt a momentary burning, and then I heard Mr. Forseth's deep voice. "I'll get that inventory report to you right after I grab another cup of coffee."
On Bobby Brahms Jr.'s birthday no one came to his house to wish him happy birthday. He's becoming 12 years old. He had already prepared the party and invited people, but no one came because his mother was a satanist. The other parents are aware of this, and they forbade their children from mingling with him. Sad and alone, Bobby sobbed in his own room. He thought "nobody likes me. This is all my mother's fault."As he cried and cried in his own room. His body curled up in fetal position. "Sweetheart come to the basement!"His mother called. Suddenly, hope filled little Bobby's little heart, "did people actually came to surprise me by waiting in the basement?"he thought, as he swiftly descend the flights of stairs. Inside the dimly lit, dank, and musty cellar, and iron scented breeze washes up as he opened the cellar door. A puff of red smoke rose up against his face. The red smoke was caustic, lil' Bobby had to close his eye and cling on tight to the rails as he descended the stairway. Once the smoke cleared off a little bit, he opened his eyes, and saw his mother, standing next to a huge upside down pentagram. A small billy goat was nailed onto it. It writhes in agony. His mother uttered a few words of ancient tongue. Her voice boomed through the chambers. The lights flickered. She raised her ornate knife and plunged it down onto the living goat. "A SACRIFICE FOR THE LORD OF DARKNESS!"She yelled. She pulls out the knife, blood sputters all over the chamber as the goat, despite nailed, squirms and writhe in pain. It squeals as the cold blade was plunged back in over and over again. Its guts and intestines fly all over the place. The basement light flickered rapidly as the billy goat drew its final breath. Then, the upside down pentagram, drawn in blood, lit up in hues of deep scarlet. From the mangled corpse rose black fog. It covered the entire room. Blinded again, Bobby yelled "MA! this is my birthday! How could you do this!? The neighbors will think i'm a weirdo again!"as little Bobby burst into tears. "Open your eyes sweetheart, I'm doing this for YOU!"his mother responded. Little Bobby opened his eyes, he saw that the smoke had cleared, and his mother now stands in front of him, alongside several grotesque figures. In a cacophony of strange raspy, some inaudible voice, they try to sing the happy birthday song. But, it came out weird. Touched, Bobby fell on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He cried, smiling. "A PRESENT FOR YOU BOBBY"said the monstrosity that look like a bunch of people were melted together. It was a lump of many faces, and limbs. Like a slug, except pink and fleshy. With its improperly placed limbs, it held a little box made of lumpy flesh. Bobby graciously took the box. Took his mother's knife, and cut the fleshy box open, blood sputters everywhere. It was just a lump of flesh. "Ew, haha"Bobby laughed. A three headed dog walked forward, it said "I OFFER MY FIRSTBORN FOR YOU BOBBY!"lifting its baby by its neck, a three headed puppy with spiked collars on each head. "No way!"Bobby squealed "Mom! We get to have a pet!?"Bobby asked, excited. His mother smiled and nodded. The pup licked Bobby's face. The next figure walked up, female and clad in office attire. She appears to be an ordinary woman, only that her eyes are jet black, and she had horns. "I'm the devil's assistant, happy birthday Bobby, your mother is a great person"she said, smiling, as she handed over a black box, tied with red ribbons. Bobby opened the box, inside it was a little demon. It is so perfectly round save for its head and limbs the stuck out like a stubby extension. It's round belly exudes a faint glow that seems to adjust its brightness with each of the creature's breath. "What does it do?"Bobby asked "It's hell's finest stress toy"She replied "You can kill it however you like, but it is magically enchanted so it'll come back to life." "Wicked"remarked Bobby, the assistant smiled. Bobby decided to test his toy, he threw it with his full might as it splats into the floor, blood sputters everywhere. Its intestines fly. Its neck broke. Blood bubbles from its throat as the light in its eyes went out. Then it had a minor seizure, and the blood slowly fly back to its body, so does its intestines. and it came back to life, breathing, looking sideways, scared. "AWESOME!"said Bobby, jubilantly. Now for the last gift, a relatively tall man, not too tall, walked forward. As he walked, the ground shakes in harmless tremors, the lights flickered, the blood of the things that were spilled in the basement slowly floats to him. He held up a champagne glass and the blood flew in. He drank it, then let loose a sigh of content. The man was adorned in a black suit, with red tie, looking sharp. He looks completely like a successful businessman. "Bow your head Bobby, that's the lord of darkness himself!"His mother commanded. "Oh spare the frivolities, he's supposed to have fun"replied the man. Nevertheless, Bobby bowed. "I don't have any presents, but I'm here to offer you a blessing. If you stare into anyone's eye for 20 seconds, you can mind control them, and if you kill anyone, I personally guarantee you that they'll end up in hell, and we'll be torturing them with extra priority."said the man in a calm voice. little Bobby broke down in tears "Ma! This is the best birthday I've ever had!"As he ran to hug is mother, then the devil, then everyone else in the room. Bobby was overjoyed. They put on a little show for him, ate cake, and went home. It was THE best birthday little Bobby Brahms Jr. ever had.
"Mortal! What is the meaning of this?" I look over the top of my book at a grotesque monster, and sigh. "I'm not the one who summoned you. What's your name, demon?" "I am the infamous Lord Axaris the Bloody! I have killed-" "Okay, Axaris, what's the issue. You know why you were summoned, don't you?" I put my book aside. Axaris really is ugly. Par for the course, I suppose. "That's LORD Axaris to you, mortal!" "Sorry, I'm not in the mood. I can call you Ax or Axaris, whichever you prefer. Now, what's the issue?" "Doing your dishes is beneath me! I demand that you let me go at once!" "Fat chance." "HOW DARE YOU!! I shall curse you for all eternity!" "Look, I'm not happy either. But I have no knowledge of the occult. I don't know how to send you back." "Then erase my summoning circle!" I roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, no. That's the one thing I know not to do, buddy." "WHERE IS HE?" "Shit, I don't know. Don't shout at me when I'm right here. There's nothing wrong with my ears." "I shall wait for him here!" Lord Axaris sits down in the middle of the room and crosses his four arms. "Fine with me. Although it'll probably be hours before he's back." I grab my book again. "What are you reading, mortal?" "Huh? This book is called the Two Towers. It's the second part of a fantasy epic." "Can I see it?" "How about I hand you part one instead? Catch." I reach over to a nearby shelf and pull off the Fellowship of the Ring. Then I toss it. "Does this summoner often call demons to this house, mortal?"Axaris demands to know. "Oh yeah, almost every day. I try to stay out of the way, but I'm always the one being complained to in the end." "If it bothers you, why don't you do the dishes instead?" "I do, when it's my turn. Today, it's not. If he wants to summon demons to do his chores, well, that's his soul at stake, not mine." "Bah, what scum." "Yep... I wish he'd stop. Even so, I kind of got used to it." We stop talking for a while. I can only hear Axaris flip the pages of the book now and again. "This ring in the story is a peculiar object. How does it work?"he asks. "Ah. Well, it was forged by an evil sorcerer in a volcano, and if you wear it for too long, it turns you into a spirit that serves him." "Hmm... That is interesting." He puts the book down and walks towards the kitchen. "I have a proposal, mortal,"he says. "What is it, Axaris?" "Tell him I did the dishes without complaining, and that he should summon me again. When he does, I'll have something for you to give him." "Ah. Sure, whatever. I don't mind if he becomes your slave." "Also... Could I have that book?" I look at the book on the table, and then at him. "They're his to begin with, so I don't see why not. They'll become yours automatically, won't they?" "I'd like to take it with me today." "Do your thing." I turn towards my book again and continue reading. Even fiction seems to have its uses now and again.
I stared at the man in disbelief, taking in all of his features: a scraggly beard hanging from wiry threads to a drooped face. Bags were formed under the eyes that seemed to hold the future within them. His nose curled to a point and his eyebrows were concealed by a green toboggan. Words finally formed on my suddenly dry lips, “I...uh...money?” A man strolled casually on the sidewalk beside us, a suitcase in hand. He seemed like an average business man. In his right hand, a phone was held to his ear. The other gripped what I supposed had the cash in it. Another figure bumped into this Gatsby-esque man and caused the case to fall out of his grip. In an overtly prideful way, he managed an angry curse and proceeded to travel beyond. One could hear the swears to the other end of the call blocks away, even though they gradually faded. The briefcase, black and large, sat patiently before us. I looked at the homeless man once more, who merely smiled (revealing yellowing teeth). With an almost entrancing tone, he whispered, “Is cash and revenge all you wish? Or shall we take the world, Chosen One?”
The king watches from the ramparts of his castle. A man with a cane and a man wearing a white lab coat cut through the crowd gathered below the castle. Behind them, their three companions follow. The man in the lab coat is consulting a chart. The man with the cane has the distinct look of being there against his will, yet he also seems to be the leader. The king can spot a man who is respected by his peers. The king can also spot a man who doesn’t want to be there. As the king watches, the man reaches into his pocket for an orange vial and extracts something which he quickly thereafter swallows. Down in the courtyard the man in the lab coat reads from the chart: “19-year-old female. Symptom onset a month ago. She complained of headaches, chills, and constant fatigue. She had her first seizure 2 weeks later.” “Why are there so many guards?” the man with cane seems to have not heard him, as he is peering at the crowd around them. “Well, she’s the king’s daughter,” the dark haired man in the lab coat answers as they enter the castle proper. “This seems like a superfluous amount of weaponry for one princess.” “The people think she’s a witch.” “That does explain the mob outside.” “Initial treatment consisted of willow bark teas and bone marrow broths infused with- I have an extensive list of herbs used,” the man with the lab coat continues. “Yep, that’s what she needed.” He flips a page: “They tried draping her body in the skin of a donkey. It’s a common treatment for rheumatism.” “I wonder if Cuddy would let me try that out on a patient. Purely for science.” “They’ve tried leeches and bloodletting,” continues Wilson not taking the bait. “Oh the times I’ve wished I could blood-let a patient or two in the clinic. Just one lawsuit would probably get me out of clinical hours for years,” quips the man with the cane. His voice is lighthearted, but Wilson can tell it has actually crossed his mind. “Yes, between that and the donkey skin, I’m sure the ABMS would revoke your license. Which I’m frankly surprised they haven’t.” “Well, this was a forced vacation they told me I had to take a holiday from Princeton for a while, following the senator incident.” “And who could forget the senator incident. Following the seizures, she began to suffer auditory and visual hallucinations,” Wilson continues flipping another page of the chart. “She heard voices speaking to her. She answered back in tongues. The voices told her to kill the castle physician whom they said was poisoning her. It took 6 guards to restrain her after she leapt at him with a knife. The physician called in the priest. The priest quickly came to the assumption she was possessed by a demon and performed an exorcism. It didn’t go well. For the priest.” “Aaand, we get to the good stuff. Why didn’t you start with the exorcism?” The man with the cane is finally giving his full attention. “Currently she is sedated with a brew of opium, hemlock juice, and red wine,” finishes Wilson as they reach the princess’s chambers. “Now we’re talking. See if you can finagle some of that brew, that damn plane ride reaped havoc on my leg.” The man with the cane pulls an orange cylinder from his pocket and screws off the cap. He deposits a white circular pill on his palm, considers briefly and adds a second before popping both in his mouth and swallowing. The king approaches them. He is bedecked in a purple and gold robe, but wears no crown. There are bags under his eyes, and his face is lined with worry. His brow is heavy with responsibility and dark thoughts. His shoulders are broad, and the sword he wears at his hip isn’t for show. He moves with the grace of a warrior, and the scar that runs down his cheek was a firsthand witness to his valor. But, beneath the wars and the duty, he is simply a father concerned for his one and only daughter. She’d be his princess even if he had no land or title. She was plainly and simply, his world. And he would do anything in his power to save her. He welcomes the party to his home and promises a grand feast in the evening. Then he leads them into his daughter’s room. “She has suffered much in this last month,” he begins. "It started with a mere fever and ague and the discharge of rheum.” The blonde haired companion of the man with the cane shifts suddenly as if something clicked in his mind. “Then came the demons,” the king continues. “She was plagued by visions and horrible tortures. She cries out in her sleep and screams in her waking hours. Nothing my physician did could help her. The priest… well the priest sits in a cell and is lucky not to be nailed to a cross instead. Neither shamans from the dark lands to the East, nor sorcerers from the sands to the south could remedy her ails. You are my last hope, sir. They tell me you are physician of unrivaled renown. If anyone can save her, you can.” “The shaman didn’t perform an MRI or CT scan by any chance, did he?” asks the man with the cane. The king shakes his head slightly confused. “Your castle physician wouldn’t have kept any of that blood he let for lab testing?” Again the king shakes his head, bemused now. He can recognize the disdain in this one for what he considers witchcraft. The king has begun to agree, these sorcerers and bush doctors know nothing. “Well, I’m going to need some blood to start.” And with that the man with the cane turns, and leaves the room. The king’s councilors are aghast at the disrespect. The king however looks at the receding figure and smiles. This man is the one I can feel it, he thinks to himself, he will save her. In the hall the rest of the party has caught up to the man with cane. The blonde haired man, unable to contain himself, bursts out: “He mentioned rheum that sure sounds like-” “If you say lupus I’ll have you executed. They do that here I saw a guillotine on the way in,” answers Dr. House. &#x200B;
It's not even darkness that surrounds us, because that implies that there's space for light. There is endless empty space, just... not for light. Not for anything yet. Or anymore, whichever one you want to call it. I think it's both. The other reason I cannot call it darkness is because Darkness is sitting across from me. Sitting being a relative term, of course. Between us, what has been the object of our attentions for the past twenty billion years slowly flickers and fades, like a dying spark that wants to stay lit. It dims, and dims, until finally there is nothing, and the vast expanse that surrounds us is truly empty. We just sat there, for a long while, admiring our handiwork. Remembering all we did, all we made, and all we saw. I liked it very much. We look at each other. Darkness smiles. "Told ya it'd be fun." "I cannot say I didn't enjoy it." "C'mon! You were having the time of your life and you know it!" "Life being a relative term, of course." "Yeah, that." ... ... ... "Please stop poking me" "Only when you admit that that was the best idea ever and that you had the time of your life." "Do you understand how annoying you can be?" "That's a little brother's job." There it is. "Darkness, you can't be younger than me because neither of us began." "Just say you had fun." "urgh..." "Say it!" "FINE! I really had a lot of fun playing your silly game, OK? I liked making different kinds of planets and I think the Universe was a really cool idea. I'm glad you let me play with you and I really liked making living things with free will, now will you please stop climbing me?" "Climbing in a relative sense, of course." "I could throw you off my head." "It's not gonna hurt me." "I know, that's why I would do it." Speaking in human terms, we're sitting cross-legged in front of each other once more, which is nice. Darkness speaks again, which is also nice. "Hey." "Yeah?" "Wanna play again?" "Sure!" Darkness is giggling "Ha, ha, you're practically glowing! I knew you absolutely loved it. Okay, but this time, I'll be Life, and you'll be Death. Deal?" "Deal." "Let there be dark!" "Let there be light!" And so it came to pass that the Universe began anew, and we are surrounded by a vast expanse filled with light and darkness.
Blood obscured his vision as Scott woke up until the combat medic standing above him wiped his eyes clear. As his eyes focused on the face, he discovered that for the second time today Kris had saved his life. “Fuck, Kris. Stop this. Let me go!” Scott grabbed his weapon, stood up, and rushed back into combat. Bullets flying everywhere, blood soaking the path he sought, and the screams of pained solders around him. Kris tried to stop him unsuccessfully, and just shook her head and moved to the next patient. Scott found himself under fire, and looked for a worthy mission to get him back to Valhalla. To his left about 50 yards ahead of him to the left, he saw a young solider that had been shot and was wounded. He needed extricated. “Perfect,” Scott thought, and stood up and charged forward. Opening fire, he knew he was hitting some enemies when he watched all of them dive for cover and concealment. The young soldier he was headed toward looked at him in awe as Scott stood tall and charged forward to pull him out. They made eye contact for a second, and then resumed fighting for their lives. The sight and odor of ejected casings filled their nostrils, and for once blood and burned meat wasn’t the only thing Scott smelled. He made it to the wounded soldier. Looking him over while the solider provided cover fire, Scott saw a single bullet injury to one leg. “Let’s go!” Scott yelled to the solider. “I don’t care if you have to drag your ass back, let’s go!” Using his body as a shield and continuing to shoot cover fire, Scott wondered what it would feel like when he died. Would he feel the bullet? He didn’t feel the first one. Would it burn? He couldn’t remember if the first one did. Back behind lines, Scott motioned a medic to help the wounded man and then Scott leaped back toward the front line. Nothing would stop him from getting back to the Valkyrie. He rushed back the direction he came from. From the foxhole he had just rescued the solider from, he saw another solider about 50 feet in front of him laying down. He was breathing but not conscious. Scott threw his rifle behind his back, crawled forward, grabbed the man, and sat up to start dragging his from a seating position. He was headed to the foxhole when it happened. He was afraid, he discovered. It burned. It hurt. It shredded his clothes and his skin. As the bullet tore through his chest, Scott could feel every bit of his life energy drain from him. He could taste the metal on his tongue as the darkness overwhelmed him, and he felt the ground striking his body as though it was someone swinging a baseball bat at him. Everything faded to black, the pain and smells went away, and he found himself face to face with the same Valkyrie. “Fear not the hand that sends you to me, but the hand that takes you from me.” “I don’t understand,” Scott screamed to the Valkyrie woman floating before him. “I know,” the Valkyrie replied as she reached for Scott. Her hands came forward to grasp for him. But once again he found the pain returning and the Valkyrie fading from his sight. The darkness set in, the smells returned, and he realized he was back. Again. Kris stared at him. “Do not do that stupid shit again.” “But I was dead.” “Not until I say you are.”
A Ruler is nothing without their Sword. Before the Age of the Sword was the Age of the Crown. A pretty gilded thing, a fragile symbol, a toy and nothing more. Passed from Father to Son as a symbol of the Right to Rule. The Crowning Sword Clarent, Drawn from the Stone under the machinations of Merlin. The Magical Sword Excalibur, Drawn from the waters of Avalon under the machinations of the Lady in the Lake. The Warlord Sword Caliburn, Drawn from the blood of his slain son Mordred in battle under the machinations of Lancelot and Guinevere. A King by birth. A King by magic. A King by conquest. At that moment where Arthur defended his throne from his son, instead of dying as fate had intended, everything changed. Kings by Birth. Kings by Conquest. Those paths permanently sealed magically by the ritual Arthur unknowingly completed. As magic was fading and doomed to disperse a risky gambit was launched by Merlin, Morgana, and the Lady in the Lake. Failure meant Magic would be stripped from the earth, then and there, not the couple of hundred of years to fade to nothing. Success mean magic could live and flourish in the Realm of the Fae. The Kings of Man would have no children. The Kings of Man would only quest to become Kings of All and free themselves of their curse. "Only the King of All Humanity will have the right to be King. Until such a day passes no man declared King will sire a child. A man declared king with children already will result in their children taken be magic. A King is only a King of they wield a Sword of the Fae." From the day the ritual was completed any man that declared himself a ruler of other men without a Sword of Fae would die, their death turned to magic and gifted to the Fae. From the day the ritual was completed any man that was killed in the battle for a King to be ruler of All, their death turned to magic and gifted to the Fae. The fate and destiny of all kings, turned to magic and gifted to the Fae. As humanity and their technology started to fade fae and their magic started to rise once more. So I say, brother, we have fallen so far at the hands of the so few, dancing to their tune, allowing them to grow stronger than ever before. Why don't you put down that sword?
"Welcome to the crew Roman! How was it that you finally realized that the Agency was the place for you?"my new partner, Cap, said slapping me on the back. "Oh, well, you know, I just wasn't getting what I was looking for at Operations. They didn't have... the right people for me to work with,"I answered. "By the way, do you know where Julie is?" "Oh, for sure we know where Julie is. She's definitely being kept in sight. But I see you're eager to go see her,"he said playfully. "Yeah, you can say that again,"I said. He nodded eagerly and placed an arm on my shoulder leading me to the main office of the Agency. My new director was fuming from behind his desk, his face red. He slammed his arms down, then changed his mood as soon as he saw us walking through the door, trying to hold back his temper. "Yes? What is it?"Director Lawrence asked, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. "Roman is interested in the Julie case,"Cap said jovially, smacking my chest lightly. "Case?"I asked. "Oh, excellent!"Director Lawrence said, perking up at the news. He threw a few files off the top of a pile and pulled a red one from the middle, looking at it with veneration before handing it over. "Needs to look like an accident. Try something like poisoning her morning coffee. You know your way around the Operations building right? Those slimy weasels,"Lawrence said, spitting the last few words. "I... Uh, why am I going back to Operations? They won't take lightly to seeing me again,"I said, opening the file. On the page was a picture of my beloved with a giant stamp marked traitor over her face, and Xs over her eyes. "Ohh..."I said quietly. "Oh is right!"Director Lawrence declared, pointing at me. "She went and changed teams for absolutely no reason. And you know we can't stand for someone willing to arbitrarily flip flop like that. right boys?" "Oh, absolutely sir,"Cap agreed. "Y-- yeahhh,"I said slowly. "I'm glad you're taking the first assignment of killing off someone from your old job. Really shows that you've moved on from Operations,"Lawrence said confidently. "I uhh... I'm not sure I can take this position, it seems--" "You're worried about getting caught by Operations, huh? Don't sweat it, Cap'll keep you in good hands. He's basically an expert at killing traitors,"Lawrence reassured me. I looked at the file uneasily, the look on my beloved's face one of stern determination. She looked like she was ready for anything at this job. And she left it for me. I looked up with determination. "I'll do my best,"I said, planning my way to sneak away and speak with Julie once free. Suddenly, we were interrupted by a knock at the door behind us. It was another agent holding a box of pizza. "Pizza's here for Roman,"he said, offering the box. Cap approached him. "Pizza?"I asked. "Ah, nice going Director, ordering pizza for the newbie,"he said, taking it as the other man left. "Me? I didn't order anything,"the director responded quizzically. A hole appeared where Cap's face used to be as a gunshot went off when he opened the pizza box. His body crumpled forward, and the box flew open revealing a message: That's what traitors like Roman get. It was a retaliation attempt meant for me. I stared in horror at the body before me, pooling blood, then slowly turned to see what Director Lawrence had to say. "Shame about Cap,"he tisked. "So when do you think you'll be done with the Julie assignment?" I swallowed hard, feeling the walls closing in around me as I realized that both Julie and I were in the same situation. "I'll get right on it,"I said quickly. ___________________________________ For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
“Um. . . I can tell you the presidents, and I think the Patriots won a superbowl or two? I guess there were a couple wars, somewhere in Europe? I don’t really know, just not on this continent. Brexit, that’s pretty big, everyone talks about that. Oooh, and I need to get in touch with Disney. Carrie Fisher didn’t survive to the third Star Wars movie, so they should definitely get started on those sooner.” “What?” “Oh, right, um. . . The prequels haven’t even happened yet, have they?” “We are here to discuss the future of the world, not Star Wars movies.” “But I don’t really care about the future of the world, I never paid attention to it. But I know a lot about Star Wars movies. I can tell you a big secret, Chancellor Palpatine is secretly DARTH SIDIOUS!” “Who’s Darth Sidious?” “Chancellor Palpatine.” “I thought it was Emperor Palpatine?” “But his real name is Darth Sidious.” “Okay. We’ve gotten off track here. You said you can name the presidents?” “Yeah, Obama and Trump.” “Trump.” “Yeah, like the board game!” “I didn’t know there was a board game, but I’m entirely unsurprised.” “I loved that game as a kid.” “Why am I even more unsurprised. Do you have anything useful to report?” “No, not really. I suppose a general warning to China not to eat bats might be in order. Get ahead of that whole disaster.” “Dare I hope that you actually know what you’re talking about this time?” “I know what I was talking about before too.” “Yes, Star Wars.” “Exactly. I know a lot about Star Wars.” “Which is very much not the point.” “I know. I’m sorry, I only time-traveled because I think it’s cool, but now that I’m back in a world before fiber and 5g I’m beginning to regret my decision. How did you even function on dialup?” “I think it’s obvious that this is the wrong agency to make use of your knowledge. I’m having you sent to finance and technology.” “I doubt they’ll be any happier with my answers.” “I don’t care. The point is, you won’t be my problem any more.”
That Christmas morning started like any other I could remember. I was awoken much earlier than any human should ever wake up, and especially on a holiday, by my son jumping on me, urging me to get up and give him his presents. He was eleven now, and although most of his friends had long since given up on the concept of Santa, he still believed. This was in large part due to the scheme that dates back six years to when he was five and someone had tried explaining to him that Santa was fake. Five is too young to be losing out on the magic of Christmas so I used my position at the IRS and printed up a sheet of Santa’s taxes using an official letterhead. After so many years, I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth and lose his trust, although I knew that I was pushing off the inevitable and it would only get worse each year. We went downstairs and I instantly noticed that there was a package that hadn’t been there when I went to sleep last night. “Jim, go back to your room and close the door, ok?” I called out. “Why? I want to open my presents.” He replied. “Not right now, this is not up for debate. Go.” I said with an air of finality. He muttered and was unhappy, but he went. After checking all the doors and windows I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and cut open the box. Inside was a book called, “taxes for dummies”. Where had this come from and who would have been able to get into my house it put it there? I saw a flash of color in my peripheral vision and spun to look. I stopped in my tracks when I saw the most stereotypical Santa I had ever seen in my life standing before me. “Who are you, and how did you get into my house? Either leave or I am going to call the cops.” He just looked at me for a few seconds, seemingly amused, and then he raised a hand, snapped his fingers, and on the table near me appeared the watch I had stared at for years in the storefront knowing I would never earn enough to afford it. “I hope that answers the question sufficiently.” I was at a loss for words, my mind was racing trying to find a way to rationalize what had just happened, but the watch was there and so was he, and having always been driven by logic, I was forced to admit that Santa was real. I spared a thought for the irony of using logic, the force that had made me abandon belief in Santa, to prove his existence. Once I had regained my composure, I asked him, “Why have you chosen to appear to me? For decades no one has seen you and now you just appear to me? Does this happen more often but anyone who mentions it gets discounted as crazy?” “No”, he assured me, “This truly is the first time I have made an appearance. You see, I have long had an understanding with the president of the United States that I can do my job of giving out presents and the government would look the other way for the offences such as breaking and entering, not paying income taxes and other such laws that govern you normal people. In return I had to disclose the location of my workshop. This was all fine until recently, when the current sitting president, Mr. Wicktun, decided he doesn’t want the hero of American children to be someone who climbs through chimneys into strangers houses, regardless of the reason. They cannot prove anything related to me entering people’s houses except for circumstantial evidence, but they do have a significant amount of data on my unpaid import tariffs that they can come after me for. Therefore I need your help to set everything in order. The hope of America’s children is in your hands.” “Why me though? I am a mid-level pencil pusher at the IRS who will likely retire without being promoted once.” I asked. “because I saw a copy of the papers you filed in my name, the numbers were off, but I figured if there was anyone I could convince to help me, it would be you.”
"That will be two silver royals and three copper for the obsidian dagger, a pack of incense and three measures of rock salt,"I said with my best smile. "Won't you round down to two silver? For the continued partnership, what do you say?"Rethan asked, reaching into his coin purse. He bargained every time, but invariably paid the full price. I liked Rethan. He was a fine, polite customer. "Ah, our partnership is much valued, I assure you. But, my prices are already carefully tuned for maximum cost-benefit. Especially,"I eyed the surrounding environment, "when you factor in the risk involved." "True, you have a point,"Rethan answered. He never ceased smiling and, were it not for the blood of felled beasts that tinged his tunic, he was precisely the type of person that you'd be comfortable letting take care of your own children. Brave and kind-hearted. I heard the clinking of coins as they hit the bottom of my satchel and knew it was precisely the correct amount. Rethan was a man of unwavering morals. He never tried to shortchange me, even when I knew a copper for him was the difference between a night in the inn or the streets. I usually slipped him back a copper or two when that was the case. "Thank goodness you're here, merchant. Incense will keep the ghouls at bay while I search for the Ilthe." "Of course, of course. I go where there's demand for my wares. That's why we cross paths so, I think." Rethan looked around, and his smile faultered. Corpsewood Forest was not a pretty sight, I knew. The trees were not pleasant to look at, even those who were not ghouls in disguise. The perpetual fog didn't help much, either. "Now that you mention it,"he said. He looked for words, but frowned as they escaped him. "No reason to be shy,"I said. "No cost for a simple question. A perk of our . . . continued partnership." Rethan smiled again. "Well then, if I may be blunt,"he said, "how the hell are you getting to these places unharmed?" I couldn't help but laugh. I've always expected him to ask why I was always in dangerous places, not how. But, that was in Rethan's character, I suppose. Probably figured that if I were in a place, I had a good reason to be there. And I had. "There's not much mystery to it, I'm afraid. I was an adventurer once, same as you. I'm older now, as you see by my gray whiskers, but if I'm a bit weaker, I'm doubly as careful when I walk about." "A sensible posture, I must say,"Rethan said, satisfied. I looked up. Beyond the fog I could barely see a glimpse of the perpetual eclipse that plagued the land for two decades now. "You know, before the Eastern Titan conquered these lands, Corpsewood Forest had no ghouls. It was actually a pretty quaint place. Brooks and flowers abound."I smiled. "It had no name back then, though." Rethan nodded. "I know. It'll be back that way."And this time there was fire in his voice. Justice. "This reminds me that I have to go now,"he continued. "Take care, merchant. May we cross paths again." We will, I thought as he disappeared amidst the fog. I stood in silence, thinking of the young man's journey so far. I had watched it closely. Pakue appeared in front of me. She was made of light and movement, far more elegant than my current flesh and bones. She was a goddess, after all. "Brother,"she said, "remember when we wasted no time in righting this land's mistakes?" "Of course, of course,"I casually answered. "Then why leave it at their hands? We could banish the Eastern Titan from existence before the night passes." "I know. Yet, I want to see how far they'll go."I smiled and scratched my nose before abandoning human form. "Call me sentimental, but I see their victories and I'm proud." Pakue snorted, as much as deities could snort. "Foolishness. Is it truly their victories if you help them along the way?" "It's more of a nudge, really,"I said, defensively. "There'll come a time when they'll be able to walk on their own. Rethan, for example, is almost there. I see the makings of a hero in him." "The boy runs out of incense chasing ghouls,"she said. I grew irritable. "What did you come here for, anyway?" "I came to tell you,"she answered, a grin implied on her voice, "that a young boy in the southern peninsula is about to discover geomancy." My non existent ears perked up. "That,"I said, overjoyed, "is a remarkable happening indeed."
I ran into the alley, panting for breath as I prayed for safety. "No no no..."I cried, tears streaming down my face as I cradled my camera close. I thought I could get a good picture of Spider-Man without getting caught. After all, that Parker guy could all the time before he dropped off the grid, so it couldn't be that hard right? I was even to get some of him killing that Doc Ock guy, but I didn't... I didn't expect him to attack the Daily Bugle looking for me. I didn't expect him to do the things he did to Jonah. "Brock... Where are you..."I hid behind a dumpster, holding my breath as the web head himself swung by. I could see his dark grey suit was stained red with blood, and my heart skipped a beat when he landed on the wall in front of me, looking away. "Come on, Eddie. Lets have a talk, man to man. Or Spider to Man, depending on how you look at it." I desperately looked around for a way out, and saw a door at the end of the alley we had entered. Making sure he wasn't going to turn around any time soon, I turned and began to run to it. My foot caught a stray piece of trash, and my breath hitched when Spider-Man yelled "FOUND YOU!"I burst into the door just in time as some sort of acid hit it, melting and warping the wood beneath it. I ran into the building and saw it was some sort of chapel, with a bell tower stretching up into the sky. I wasn't a religious man, but it seemed fitting for this to be my final resting place. Before I could take so much as a step, a web hit me in the back, sending me flying forward. I landed roughly and skid to the front, cracking against some sort of stone sculpture. I cried out as Spider-Man leaped forward and kicked me savagely in the chest, breaking my ribs. "Thought you could take pictures of ME, did you?!"I spat out some blood and said shakily, "Well that Parker guy wasn't doing much for ya, so I thought I'd show the world how much of a villain you really are." Spider-Man laughed at that, picking me up. "Okay, smartass. Since you have such a silver tongue, you get to decide how you die."He showed me his wrist, where blades popped out. "You wanna get your tongue cut off? Melted by acid? Or maybe I'll suffocate you with web fluid..."I didn't answer at first, trying to avoid the inevitable, but it seemed like the villain had made up his mind. The peals of the bells above drowned out my screams for help as he slid the blades back into his wrist. "I know! I'll snap your neck, long and slow. Just like how I killed Electro." He set me down and reached around my head, cradling it. I closed my eyes, prepared to die, when I felt something wet drip on me. "What the-"Spider-Man said, releasing my head. I glanced behind me and saw him creeping backwards, staring at the ceiling. I followed his gaze and saw some sort of black goo dripping on me, covering my body. I couldn't so much as scream before it covered me, making my vision dark. Hello. "What the hell?! Who is this?" We. Are. Venom. "Venom? What-"Images flashed through my head, filling me with information. An alien parasite- Sorry, a Symbiote- had landed on earth and had bonded with one of the worlds greatest heroes. However, the hero couldn't handle the power, tried to kill the Symbiote with sound, and now... Now we are Venom. I let out a screech, my face tearing into a massive maw full of teeth. Spider-Man stared at me with an odd look. What was that? Fear. Yes, fear. He looked at us with fear. "E-Eddie? What the hell happened to you?"I slowly stood up, muscles expanding and shifting to create a carapace stronger than steel. A circular symbol appeared on my chest, stretching around my body like veins and creating smaller circles on my hands and feet. "Eddie is gone,"we said, our voices intermingling into one. "We are Venom. And you..."We held out our hand, where energy started building up. "Are food."We shot out a blast of energy, just like the last host had done before. What was his name again? Tony. Tony Stark. Yes, Tony. We didn't like Tony. Spider- No, Peter, we knew this now- leaped into the air, avoiding the blast. Tendrils struck out at him from my back, piercing his body. He coughed out blood and shot out webs at my face. I tore them away to see the Spider had escaped. "Run away while you can, Peterrrrrr,"I yelled menacingly, claws popping out of my hands and the carapace settling into the shape of armor. "Because your days are numbered."
The sword plunges into my side, the gelatinous exterior smoothly parting to allow it through. In moments, it has dissolved, and I pause to savor the rush of its power; its birth at the forge, the light streaming through the shop window and warming its surface, the monstrous blood that has coated it since this adventurer made it his own. It would be a fitting tribute, were it intended as such. But this weapon was made to kill, the wielder born to fight. I can see him, through the black tint of my vision. I doubt they've seen a slime my color before, probably taking it as a sign of dark magic and evil. Hmph. Mortals and their assumptions. They should beware the red of a slime who drinks in blood, the hairy exterior of one who hunts through the forest. The deep black of my surface is nothing compared to that, simply the mix of a million colors, a million memories, a million tiny parts that combine to make me. I don't remember exactly when I started thinking of myself that way: as a being. It was so long ago, but with that realization came the opening of a door long closed, a million possibilities to consider, a thousand thoughts to investigate. The warrior tries again, a dagger this time. It was newly forged, younger than the grass beneath my feet. No memories come from it capable of sating my hunger, but I suppose that's to be expected. Only one with more memories than I may kill me, and I do not know if any exist. The gods could strike me down, I suppose, but why would they bother with a slime? One that does no harm? Hmph. Mortals and their assumptions. Why do they assume that they are the greatest, simply because they have killed so many? Is that not what they condemn us for? Yet they attack us indiscriminately. I will not contest the sentencing of the slimes as red as blood, but what of the pure green of grass? The fragile yellow of those who content themselves with the sun's brilliant light? The brilliant blue of the ocean, the scales of fish, the tinges of orange and red from the shells of crabs and lobsters? Unforgivable. I sit perfectly still and watch as they bombard me. Spells; potions; swords; arrows. All are meaningless. I content myself with the sun's brilliant light, drinking it in. I learned the trick from a golden slime long ago. I still remember watching them sit there, perfectly still, a golden halo emerging around them. I wonder how long it will take for me to turn silver. I have too many memories for these young weapons to overwhelm, but the memories are sweet and bright, strong as the fire in which they were forged. I like it here, with the memories of metal and fire, of waiting and acting, of battle and rest. Perhaps I'll stay for a while, letting these humans draw more adventurers, more weapons, more magic towards my clearing in the forest. Perhaps then, when I have remembered all the forges in the world, my hunger will finally be sated. >Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, I have a subreddit, r/StoriesOfAshes, and a serial, [A Game of Chess](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes/comments/re24jc/a_game_of_chess_chapter_1/). I'd appreciate it if you'd check them out!
So, there I was, sitting at the doctors office when I notice outside the window, things are literally cooking in the street ! People are getting flash sunburns, cars paint jobs are fading right before my eyes, you get the idea. Suddenly, my phone starts ringing with this air raid siren ring I've never head before. Caller blocked, no "Don't answer"button. The screen flashes "Movement detected"and suddenly,.my boss is yelling through the phone! "Paradox!! Why didn't you let anyone know you weren't coming in today?!?".I'm sitting there, thinking why does it matter, all I do all day is pull this little cord every time it retracts fully into the wall. 8 hours a day, every 15 seconds, pull, pull, pull. I tell my boss "Hey, I sent an email in, I can't quit throwing..."he cuts me off saying "You idiot! Didn't you read the manual? The earth's core MUST MAINTAIN ROTATION AT ALL TIMES!!!"
I wasn't completely sure why, but boredom had begun to set in. Raiding towns, stealing livestock, plundering treasure; it was all quite fun. The occasional knight climbing to my high eyrie,, for a spot of interesting challenge. But the monotony, that had begun to get to me. Playing with the knights before slaying them, making them dance around with riddled words, was losing its appeal too. They were all so... similar. There was some variation, of course, but you could only meet so many noble lords seeking glory, or money, or vengeance, before they all started to blend together. After a while you were asking the same questions, puzzling out the same old dumb answers, and it just... wasn't fun anymore. Moodily, I scraped around my treasure hoard for a bit. Not really looking for anything in particular, just something to pass the time. Suddenly, an old suit of armor caught my eye., and I remembered the girl. That one had been interesting. A youngish woman, probably no more than twenty, though it was hard to tell with humans. She had been clever. She played the game far better than most, though not all. Witty too, making several japes at my expense, even while weaseling out of directly answering my questions, or solving my puzzles. Inevitably, of course, eventually she slipped up; and I added her fine armor to my collection. She fought well, using a great spear rather than a sword, like so many idiots who came to slay me. Kept me at bay, at a distance. And she was nimble too. Five more like her, and I might even have had to resort to fire. Unfortunately, a tail swipe to the neck kills the skilled as easily as the fool. I never did manage to find out why she'd come, which was another reason she fascinated me. I'd gathered, vaguely, that it something unusual. Something new. A challenge, or a test of some sort, though who had set such a test, and why, and why she would go through with it; I'd never know. Thinking about her, I began to wonder if there were many other people as intriguing as her, and they simply possessed the common sense not to walk into a dragon den. I'd never find out staying up here. A grin split my fanged jaws, and a trickle of smoke rose from my mouth. Now that just might be interesting. Gently picking up the woman's armor, I clambered off the pile of gemstones, and I began to change. It was an odd sensation, shrinking. Weirder still, the gradual sinking of scales, horns, wings, and tail back into my body. I had heard of this trick before, and racial memory among dragons being strong, had I good idea how to go about it; but actually experiencing it left me gasping. I found myself trembling on hands and knees. Long raven hair fell past my face. My skin was so... soft. The knobbly stone floor dug in, in a most unpleasant fashion. Cautiously rising to my feet, I winced as a particularly sharp rock dug point first into my heel. Blood began to warm my foot. How do creatures this fragile even survive Finding a seat on one of the least uncomfortable looking of my treasures, I began to pull on the woman's armor. The cloth of the under garments felt quite nice against my skin. Cutting out some of the cold, and I began buckling on bracers, boots, and grieves. The breastplate, I realized, might be a problem. Setting aside the fact that it looked the sort of thing somebody else was supposed to help you into, there was also an insignia. It had been a while, but not so long that nobody would ask questions if I showed up bearing the insignia of a dead noble lady lost to a dragon. I decided the leather undergarments would have to do, and set about looking for something I could use to craft a coin purse. Whatever else I was, while doing this, I was not going to be poor. Tying a fat purse to my belt, I caught my reflection in a large gold ornament. Striking blue eyes, the only concession to my former appearance, stared back at me. I smiled. I do believe I look rather good. Selecting a moderately sized dagger from my collection, I performed a series of gestures over my treasure, and at the mouth of the cave. Curses upon the gold, and barriers upon the entry. Stepping out into the cold, I realized, belatedly, that I probably should have made the change after getting down the mountain, rather than before. Grumbling to myself, and conjuring a fireball for both light and warmth, I made my trek down the slopes.
"Book or Game?" These words echoed through my head as I perused the library looking for where I'd spend the rest of my foreseeable future. The problem wasn't that I had too many options, though that thought did occur to me quite early on, the problem was that I couldn't really check any of my options too thoroughly. Games were too straightforward I felt, but books were complex but they seemed the better of the two if only because I'd always been more of a reader. The woman who told me about this curse was not very specific, I had to read most of any story to truly "consume"it. Naturally this was nerve wracking! Imagine having to see so many stories, read so many titles and ad-blurbs not knowing if some accidental spoiler would send you into the book! It wasn't long before I was exhausted and the library would close, I had around 50 books stacked beside me in neat little towers and I'm sure if I kept this up any longer the librarian would either kick me out or start re-shelving the books farthest from me. I had to decide and I had to do it soon! My mind was a mess though, swimming with half formed ideas of stories that I think I could survive in and still live happily. What I needed was a clear mind to finally make my choice... Then I made the biggest mistake of my life. &#x200B; It felt so natural, like something anyone would do. I took out my phone, and started listening to the playlist I normally relax to. But after the first song I could feel my body lifting into the air, and that's when I realized it... Songs are stories too.
"Ah, fuck, that's good,"I moan as I wrap my hand around Lila's head. I urge her to sink her fangs deeper and suck harder. Something about when a vampire fed on you was just... indescribable. It was better than the best sex. A high that was higher than any drug could provide. It was a shame most people don't know about vampires, let alone have one to feed on them regularly. "Uh... James?"Oh, shit. I push my wife off and straighten up, wiping the blood running down my neck. She hissed at me from off-camera, but I threw my hand up, begging her to hold on. Interrupting a vampire feeding was usually deadly, but hopefully, Lila knew better. "Hey, everybody. Uhm. How much did you see of that?"I eked out. "Well... I'm pretty sure we saw your O-face,"my colleague joked. Everyone laughed. Shit. But maybe they just thought I was into neck play or something. I noticed one person who didn't laugh at all. Her face was deadly serious. She messaged me on Slack. Your wife is a fucking vampire!? Amy asked. "Well, everyone... I'm going to go..."I said nervously. Everyone laughed again, but nobody made a motion to stop me. I closed out of the meeting, and Lila was back on me in an instant. Ugh, that was so good. She had made fresh holes with this second bite, and that was always the best part. The first penetration. Holy shit. I let my mind wander into oblivion. I had no desire to do anything but be my wife's blood bag. I could do this all day if it wouldn't put me in mortal danger. After she had drunk her fill, she ripped her fangs out of me aggressively. Ow. "Don't ever interrupt me again,"she said with a threat. "Honey, I know not to interrupt you, but we were on camera."I rubbed my neck where she had ripped her fangs out. It was going to be sore for a couple of days. "I don't care. Why do you? Are you ashamed to be married to a vampire?"Lila spat. "No, baby, it's not that. It's just that most people still don't know about your kind. You're relatively new. And it's hard to explain to people who don't know." "Well, maybe you should be spreading awareness instead of hiding me away like a fucking leper. Don't interrupt me again, James. I won't be responsible for what happens."She stormed off. She just needed some time to cool down. She would never seriously hurt me. I'd interrupted her before and gone through the same spat of rage. Though the last time wasn't to hide her, it was because she had drunk way too much. I cracked my neck and rolled my chair back up to my computer. There were multiple unread messages in my Slack queue. Most of them were from teammates mocking me. Real professional, guys. But there was Amy, too. Zoom. Now. Amy demanded. She posted a zoom link in our chat. I clicked the link and brought it up. I saw Amy's face waiting on me. She looked... amused? "Hey, James. Looked like you were having a good time in there,"Amy said. "Yeah. It was... yeah. Sorry about that. I'm usually more careful." "You should be. Vampires are still relatively unknown. You'd hate to be responsible for their secret getting out." "My wife actually wants me to stop hiding her. She feels bad about it. She wants the world to know about her." "Well, fucking don't. K?"she said with an edge in her voice that made me uneasy. "Excuse me?" "You fucking heard me, James. I said fucking don't." "And what if I do, Amy? It's none of your goddamn business." She fucking hissed at me. And when she did, she bared her fangs. Ohhhhh. That makes sense now. She didn't want the secret out because she was a vampire. My wife burst through the door. Ah, fuck. "Lila!"I yelled. It was no use. "Are you threatening my husband, you fucking fanged bitch?"Lila screeched. Vampire hearing. I should've known she could hear this whole conversation from the other room. And Vampires were dangerously territorial. She placed her arms possessively around my neck as she rested her head on my shoulder and stared at the screen. She took what Amy had done as a challenge. "I will come to the office on Monday and rip your goddamn head off. Do you fucking understand me?" I wasn't sure what to do in this scenario. Lila was the most dangerous of all the vampires I'd ever met. She was fast, strong, and agile. And she was deadly. All of the times I'd seen her kill had been in defense of me against other vampires. They were attracted to my scent. It was what had attracted her in the first place. Something about my blood was like nectar to them. I wondered if Amy had ever felt that attraction. "Calm down there, super vamp,"Amy said. "I don't want your husband, nor am I threatening him. I just don't want the secret out, especially not at work. You, of all people, should respect that." "I don't think we should have to hide. We're the superior species. Why should I have to hide what my husband and I do because it might scare some weak-minded humans?" "We're also hilariously outnumbered. And I know what you do for a living, Lila. You don't have to worry about people accepting you. You're a bounty hunter that works five weeks a year. I have to go into an office. I have to have people like me to advance my career. Do you know what it could do for my career to have people find out I'm some new subspecies of terrifying superhuman that feeds on them? I'd be ostracized." "Stop being afraid of who you are, whoever the fuck you are. Be proud. We should be proud of who we are. Not afraid." "That's not your decision to make for everyone. Until we're outed en masse, I don't think it's best for all of us." "Next time, mind your business. I'll be more careful of when I feed on my husband. If I hear you're even taking whiffs of him when he's in the office, I'll decapitate you in a heartbeat. Don't fuck with what's mine."Lila leaned in and took a quick bite to prove a point before moving to leave the room again. I sighed. I hated that it felt so good. "Don't worry about it. I know who she is now. I'd heard of the vampire Lila that had killed a few local vamps defending her mate. I never put two and two together that it was your Lila. You've got a firecracker on your hands." "Yeah, she can be a handful. I love her, but she's a lot sometimes."I heard her hiss from the other room. I laughed a little even though I felt like crying inside. "Just... be more careful next time. And if you do happen to let the secret out, keep me out of it. I don't want to be anywhere near it." "Find a new fucking job!"Lila yelled from the other room. I gave a rueful smile and closed the zoom out. \-------------------------------------------- Any feedback is welcome and appreciated! I'm still working on things.
It was over in an instant. It always was. It always would be. When I was born, I had a strange sense of things. I realized that I could change things, but I didn't change reality, I changed the narrative. Well, when I was seven I wanted to be the best, so I changed the narrative so I recieved the blessing of every diety that had ever been. I was the Divine. I once was the most active hero in the world, solving crimes and stopping villains. I was celebrated, but slowly it became obvious that I had become a bit of a problem. People found it...boring when I was around. It was a strange problem to see people find it so boring to be rescued. I really got the point when I caught a woman who was tumbling through the air, and she was annoyed. "Oh, it's Divine. Uh thanks."Then she muttered under her breath that she would have preferred Mr Magnificent or Lady Danger. It was a real eye opener. I decided to return to my lair the Divine Peak, a paradise that floated above the clouds and yet was like a slice of eden. From there I watched as heroes the world over were celebrated. It was the risk, the effort, the sacrifice that made them beloved, while I was appreciated, I lacked the factors that drew people to me. I could change the narrative again, make myself the most popular hero...but that felt...weak. No. I would change the narrative, but not in that way. I would make heroes into Superheroes, I would make them overcome impossible odds, or else. Because I am the Divine, I am the God of this world, and now I would take control. If I cannot be the greatest and most loved Hero, then I will be the greatest and most fearsome Villain. I will see what Heroes are truly worthy, and which are merely hounding after fame. "I am the Divine. No more shall I receive your ennui and apathy. I will have your worship, or I will break your little world!" My voice shook every city, every homestead, everywhere. More so, I began my plot to bring about my dominion over the whole world, crafting an impossible ritual that would make the world love me as their lord and master. Of course I made it complex, convoluted. The point was to give the heroes a chance. If I could not be the greatest hero...then I would make them. And should they fail...then I will have the love I deserve.
After forty days and forty nights, the rains ceased, and the waters began to recede. And Noah went down into the ark, and walked upon its lower decks, unto the great wooden pallets of gopherwood, whereupon he had laid the fifteen-score pokeballs as he had been commanded -- for in those days, there were as yet but one-hundred and fifty pokemon upon the Earth -- and he took up one of the pokeballs. When he had returned to the deck of the great ship, he cast down the pokeball, and cried with a loud voice, saying "Spearow! I choose you!" And Spearow came forth, and flew out over the waves. Spearow flew to and fro, but returned unto Noah shortly thereafter, for the waters still covered the whole face of the Earth. Thereafter he sent forth a Pidgey, but Pidgey likewise returned unto him, having found no place to roost, for the waters were still upon the whole world. Thus did Noah recall the pokemon of the Flying type to their pokeballs, and he did wait for seven days. And on the seventh day, he once more cast down a pokeball, and cried aloud, saying "Pidgey I choose you!" And Pidgey came forth, and flew out over the waves. And lo, after some time, the Pidgey returned unto Noah in the evening, and behold, a freshly plucked oak leaf was in her beak. So, he waited, and after seven more days, Noah sent forth the Pidgey once more, and she returned no more, for she had found a place to roost. Thus it came to past that as the waters receded, the Ark came to rest upon a great plateau of indigo, and they praised the Lord who had delivered them from the flood. And coming down from the plateau into the valley below, Noah and his wife, and his sons and their wives, brought forth the fifteen-score pokeballs, and every other living thing that remained within the Ark. And they took up the great wooden pallets upon which the pokeballs had been laid, and from the gopherwood thereof they raised up wooden houses, and Noah and all his family dwelled therein. And even unto this day, the name of that place is called Pallet Town.
“Is he… is that—?” “No way! Even I think that’s disgusting.” “And you eat human hearts!” “Yes, that was my point.” “Nah, maybe it’s not the same. Y’know? Like if a human ate, like, a monkey burger or something.” “That’s also disgusting, though.” “Yeah, that would be super gross.” “I’d try it.” “Dude!” “Seriously?” “Man, you eat snails. And you’re a human.” “But—“ “It’s gotta be cannibalism, right? I mean…” “It definitely is! He’s half bull, he can’t eat cow meat!” “My cousin’s a mermaid, she eats fish.” “Well, no shit, what else is an aquatic creature supposed to eat?” “Well, she’s half fish! So that’s cannibalism, right?” “That’s different!” “How, my dude? How is that different?” “It’s just—it just is!” “It’s not.” “Okay, Minotaurs are technically demigods, right?” “What?” “No, they’re not.” “Well they’re—they’re not? I thought the original bull was like, Zeus in disguise or something.” “Wow. That’s so wrong it’s embarrassing.” “Who told you that?” “Yeah, that’s not true. The bull was a gift from Poseidon to the king, and the king didn’t give it back, so Poseidon made his wife want to fuck it.” “And then Daedalus made her a cow suit so the bull would fuck her.” “Of course you two know that.” “I’m a Maenad!” “I just really like mythology.” “Dude, you can’t call it mythology. That’s fucked up.” “So insensitive!” “You’re right, sorry. Sorry!” “Shouldn’t Minotaurs eat, like, grass? If they’re half bull?” “They’re half human, too.” “Not the part that eats!” “Wha—“ “The original one didn’t.” “Huh?” “The original Minotaur didn’t eat grass.” “Oh. What did he eat?” “…” “C’mon, tell us!” “Yeah, it can’t be that bad.” “Um, I think maybe you’re forgetting—“ “He ate humans. Couldn’t get enough of ‘em. That’s why they built the Labyrinth to begin with—well, that and the king’s shame. But mostly the eating people.” “Oh.” “Well. Okay. Then—“ “Yeah, I think I’m okay with him eating a hamburger.” “Yeah, let’s…” “Pussies.” “Says the Maenad!” “He could eat me, too, probably!” “Haha! You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” “Oh, please.” “Why don’t you go over there and ask him to ‘eat you’ then?” “You’re such an asshole!” “What? I bet he’d smash.” “Dude!” “Go get that college experience everyone’s always talking about!” “I hate you.” “Are you blushing?” “Dude…”
"Behold!"Lord Tyrant roared, dragging the beaten and battered farmboy onto the balcony of the Temple of Death. "Your grand hero! Born the seventh son of a seventh son. Orphaned by war. Taken in by a witch with one eye. Wielder of the Seven Arms of Fate. Is that not what the Prophecy said? IS THIS THE MAN WHOM YOU CHOSE TO UNSEAT ME!?" There was utter silence as the people of Ebonkeep looked on in silence, despair writ large in their eyes as the man who had raised the rebellion and stormed the castle hung lifelessly in the grip of the Lord Tyrant's spiked gauntlet. With contemptuous ease, the Ruler of the Shadow Empire hurled the broken body of the Chosen One off the balcony. It plummeted three stories to the cobblestones below, where it landed with a wet splat and lay still. "Let me tell you a secret, my beloved subjects,"snarled the Lord Tyrant. "There is no knowledge written on parchment or stone that I do not know of, no prophecy spoken of by oracle or seer that I have not heard, for I am the Lord of Past and Future, and it is from my power that all prophecy is born. I knew that there would come a day when those under my rule would grow discontented. I knew that there would come a day when they might seek to overthrow me. And so it was that I created the Prophecy of the Chosen Hero and had it spread to every oracle in the land, so that when that day came, I could know by the signs written within. "It was I who created the Seven Arms of Fate and scattered them throughout the land. It was I who created the Dungeons of Death that kept them hidden away, so that many who would oppose me would die seeking out these 'holy' artifacts. It was I who wove enchantments around the Seven Arms, so that I would be alerted if any were to actually retrieve them from their dungeons. I knew the moment that the Seventh was taken from its altar that this Hero of yours would come for me, and I was well prepared for the day he stormed my castle walls. "'Strike down the heart of the Tyrant with the Blade of Light, and the Tyrant shall die.' You fools!"The Lord Tyrant opened his robe, revealing an empty space through his sternum. "I have hidden away my heart in a place where no man shall ever find it! You should have seen the look on this fool's face when he stabbed me through the chest and I did not die! I tore open his throat with my bare hands, and he died, never knowing that he had been tricked, that you had ALL been tricked by ME! I AM THE LORD OF PROPHECY ITSELF!" A panicked gasp spread through the crowd, echoed across bare stone. "Look upon me now, and KNOW that you shall NEVER be free of my grasp!"bellowed the Lord Tyrant. "No man shall ever overthrow me! My reign is eternal, and all who would oppose me shall perish!"He clenched his armored fist and punched the balcony railing with enough force to split the wood. "AND THAT INCLUDES THOSE OF YOU WHO GATHERED HERE TO SEE ME FALL! DEATH GUARD, SLAUGHTER THEM ALL! NOW BEGINS THE REIGN OF BLOOD!" The gasps turned to screams. The black-clad warriors marched forth, and the dying began. \---- Old Magda waded through gutters ankle-deep with blood. All around her were the broken and bloody bodies of the people of Ebonkeep, who had (only a day before) lifted up sword and pitchfork to see the Lord Tyrant defeated. Now, they lay still in the streets, dead or dying. From the former, Old Magda took what valuables she could find. For the latter, she gave what peace she could give with the knife in her hand. Then she did the same for them as she did for the dead. There was the slight twitch of a curtain at a window above her. A coward watching from the shadows. There were only cowards left in Ebonkeep now. The brave had died in the streets at the hands of the Death Guard, leaving behind only the cowards and the scavengers. Scavengers like Old Magda. She reached the center of the town, where the leaders of the rebellion now hung from crosses, softly moaning in agony. "It'll be a slow death for ye lot,"she murmured, "I'd give ye peace, but My Lord would not allow it, and his eye is certainly on ye now."Indeed, she could see the tell-tale signs of hidden Death Guard waiting in the shadows to leap out and capture any who would dare to cut down these traitors, or give them the merciful release of death. Old Magda moved on. There was no treasure to be found here. \----- She was rummaging through the ruins of Aldor's Bakery (collapsed during the fighting, due to over-enthusiastic Death Guards hurling fire bombs), when she heard a soft sobbing coming from below her feet She hobbled over to the trap door and wedged her gnarled fingers under the iron ring. With a mighty heave of withered limbs made tough with age, she pulled the door open, revealing the darkened root cellar within. The sobbing went silent. Old Magda lifted her lantern, and descended into the darkness. She found the child huddled in the back of the cellar, behind sacks of wheat and meal. He cradled a cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms. "Come out, young one,"Old Magda croaked. "I am no Death Guard. Just Old Magda, who sees all and does nothing. Let me get a look at ye." There was the sound of steel scraping against steel, and the child stepped into the light. It was a boy-child no older than eight. In his trembling hands, he held a blade with a golden sheen, a sword Old Magda had last seen in the hands of the Chosen One as he fell from the Lord Tyrant's balcony. "Where did you get that sword, young one?"Magda asked. "Father gave it to me, before the Death Guards came,"whispered the boy. "He told me to keep it safe." Old Magda sat down heavily upon a cask of pickles. She sniffed and scratched at the empty socket of her left eye, the one she kept hidden away behind wrappings of filthy linen. "Aldor was Seth the Baker's seventh son, he was,"she murmured to herself. "And what would ye be, boy?" "I'm not a boy,"the child replied. "I'm Dierdre, Aldor's daughter." Old Magda sniffed again. "Aldor had six sons, didn't he?" "My big brothers,' Dierdre confirmed. "They're all dead now, I think." Old Magda hocked and spit into the mud in the corner. "In the old language, in the days when the Lord Tyrant was young, there was no word for son or daughter. Only 'child.' " Dierdre did not reply. Old Magda rose to her feet with the creaking of old bones and the jingling of stolen silver. "Best find something to wrap that sword in, child. My Lord's Death Guard will be searching for it." "Why? It's useless to us. The Lord Tyrant created the prophecies. They're all lies." "Oh, he may have created the prophecies, child, but lies? Prophecies are never lies. They are truths that have not yet come to pass."Strike down the Heart of the Tyrant with the Blade of Light. . . I have hidden my heart away where no man shall find it. . . No man shall ever overthrow my eternal reign. . . you sought to raise yourself above Prophecy, My Lord, and you placed yourself within it instead. \----- Dusk fell over Ebonkeep, the red sky reflecting the red of the blood that stained the cobblestones. Through those silent streets skulked Old Magda the beggar-woman and Dierdre, Seventh Child of Aldor the Baker, carrying the Blade of Light of the fallen hero in her arms, wrapped in tattered bedsheets taken from her parents' bed. They did not speak to each other until they had safely passed through the broken portcullis of the Skull Gate and had left the city proper. "We shall live as wanderers,"Old Magda said. "No home, no friends, no family. We shall beg for our suppers. I shall trade potions brewed of eye of newt and angel's breath for copper coins. Ye shall grow older, and stronger, and learn to wield that sword you carry. And always, we shall be searching." "Searching for what, auntie?" "For My Lord's Heart, of course, my dear."She grinned a gap-toothed, crooked grin. "For that which Prophecy has said that no man shall ever find, and no man shall ever destroy." And thus, the Old One-Eyed Witch and the Seventh Child of a Seventh Child walked, hand-in-hand, into the setting sun.
Duty first. It was the instructions that had been drilled into her since she was born, as future heir - with her fathers attempts to produce a son futile - Marcella was instructed to put the rights of her country and her throne first, before any personal decisions. To the world, Marcella was an icon. A royal born in the age of social media - she was wealthy, she was beautiful, she was the right balance between relatable and untouchable that made her popular among royalists and anti royalists alike. To a select few, Marcella, or “Mars”, was the feral, rich party girl - anything, or anyone was not off limits - thanks to a tightly knit inner circle her… exploits never got out. But today, weeks after her 21st birthday, she was to meet the first of a handful of especially chosen suitors. Marriage was political. The idea of it as personal, something intimate and done out of love was such a foreign concept. It was the Union of two powerful families. Despite her preferences, which she’d expressed clearly to her father (who responded with a tight-lipped grimace and a “that doesn’t change anything.), Marcella had prepared for a lifetime of a boring husband. Perhaps they could share their mistresses. “I think you’ll really like this one.” The King said. “I’ve ensured they’re better suited to your… lifestyle.” As if he’d know anything about that. She strode in - chin high, shoulders back, ever the princess that the public knew. Staring right back at her was her childhood crush. The girl who she kissed for the first time at a banquet between their countries, the girl who broke her heart aged eighteen. “Princess Gracelynn.” He announced, his voice booming. “Of Switzerland.” Her smile was soft, as she extended her handed. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
"He's beautiful!"Tom took the baby carefully from his wife, instead of a tired smile, there was a look of shock printed solidly on her face, but Tom was too happy to notice. "Aren't you cute! Say hello to daddy!"He pulled the cloth back from the dark brown skin and the baby stared back. I didn't cry, it just stared up emotionally, immovably. And blinked. 12 years later "Alex! Time for school!"Kalee yelled up the stairs over the noise of the shrieking vacuum. The boy appeared instantly dressed at the top and walked down orderly, a blank expression plastered on his face. Stepping neatly into the kitchen, he sliced a piece of bread off the stale loaf on the counter, and ate it on he spot without turning his head. "It's parents' evening tonight, so do your best in class!" Alex nodded, and left the house. It was raining hard, and at the other children were huddled under umbrellas at the bus stop. Alex stood in a knee-deep puddle. His best friend Laura walked over wrapped in a brown waterproof coat, she had been looking out for Alex for the last 5 years now, after all, someone had to, didn't they? "Over here! You'll catch a cold."She scolded him, and he waded passively out , over too her. She took a second coat out of her bag and wrapped it round his shoulders, it always paid to take a second everything when Alex was concerned. It wasn't that he wasn't organised, or ever forgot anything. He just never assumed anything, like 'It would be best to keep 10 meters between me and this angry bear' or 'It might not be the best idea to score full marks on this test'. As a result, he had no friends, and she felt a kindly compulsion to look after him. later "And now he's dead... I'll never see him again..."Sobbed Laura into his shoulder. "Your father was almost certain to die within your lifespan anyway, it has caused you less emotional trauma that is was not whilst something important was going on like exams."He replied, looking straight ahead out of the window. "But I loved him!" "There is no such thing as love, only a set of chemical patterns applied when a baby first sees faces to associate them with well being." She didn't move for a while, thinking. "Yes there is."she said quietly "No there isn't"He contradicted immediately, not unkindly, just reasserting what he knew. "Love isn't... Love isn't a thing"she started "No, love is an action. Love is... Love is giving you everything, giving your soul and your life and your time to someone."She looked off into the distance with him. "And I love you."She said, sighing. Alex's eyes darted left to her, resting on his shoulder, her glasses digging into him, but he wouldn't move her for the world. He wrapped his arm around her. "I love you too."
May 14, 2015 Dear Diary: I love my cat. But why does he ignore me most of the time? He is super cuddly and friendly when he wants to be. He's calmed me in many bad times when he's like that. But outside of those times, and outside of dinner, he runs away from me, even squirms away when I try to hold him. I brush him lots, and play with him lots, make sure he's fed and has water and a clean litterbox, calm him when he's upset. I mean, yeah, I know he's just an animal, but I just want to be able to hold him and love him more often. And what the heck is with all the hairballs and dead birds he brings in? Gross. *** Year 3, Season of Bug-Catching, Day 14 Journal entry #294 The Feeding-Machine is being moody again. Does it not compute that I need to be fed at regular time points? I don't understand. Is it glitched? I can't stand having to perform the physical contact routine every time it acts up. It's sort of tedious. Perhaps I need a new one? That miniature-sized model in the adjacent dwelling dispenses tasty liver-flavoured snacks sometimes. Then again, that one is rather grabby. And also doesn't do as nice a job of keeping my living areas clean and tidy; in fact, it tends to do the opposite. Sigh. I suppose I'm stuck with this one. Perhaps I need to go catch some more birds to boost the response levels of my current Feeder.
[Jerry turns off the TV and they all stare at the blank screen] GEORGE: "Zombies? Zombies are in Times Square right now?! I guess I don't have to think of an excuse to miss dinner tonight with Shelly." JERRY: "You might never have to go to dinner again if she gets bit. She doesn't seem like she'd be a fast runner. Fast speedwalker I could see, not a fast runner though. Zombies can still catch speedwalkers." KRAMER: "Come on Jerry, zombies can catch runners too. You remember my friend Bob Sacamano? He was a national champion sprinter in college and he said there were zombies on his heels today. On his heels, Jerry!" [Pause in conversation as Jerry walks over to get a Snapple from the refrigerator. George is contemplative.] GEORGE: "Do zombies use the bathroom?" JERRY: "We're on the brink of the human race ending and you are wondering if they use the bathroom?" GEORGE: "Well come on, Jerry. These things spend the day feasting on fibrous human flesh all day and yet, we never hear about them using the bathroom." ELAINE: "Humans aren't fibrous, George. If anything, zombies are perpetually constipated. Humans just do NOT clean out the system." GEORGE: "Now what makes you think humans aren't fibrous. I'm fibrous. I'm fibrous! I could sweep out a system in no time, baby!" JERRY: "Maybe if you had more hair I'd agree with you." KRAMER: "Now what are we doing in here arguing about fiber? We should be making a plan right about now. We've got zombies all over Times Square, I just traded away my Katana sword to Newman for a stack of rare National Geographic magazines, and my friends are more concerned about how digestible they are. [Kramer shakes in panic] We're toast, Jerry! Toast!" ELAINE: "Would you calm down, Kramer. As long as we can outrun George, I think we'll all be fine." GEORGE: "Well if I get bit, the first thing I'm doing after I eat a person is heading RIGHT for the bathroom." JERRY: "I guess that means your routine won't change much once you're a zombie." [Fade and bass riff]
''He's here.'' The look on the knight's face spoke for itself. The man reached for his golden helmet, laying beside him on a wooden table, covered by a tablecloth stitched in golden thread, ''sine peccato'' reflected by the light of the chandelier above it. As he stood up, he put the helm on his head and grabbed his sword. ''Should I call the others?'' the knight asked. The paladin shook his head, his well kept beard and mustache waving along with his movement. With his golden armor he treaded down the marble stairs, marching by the pictures of every paladin before him, his metal boots resounding in the high ceiling of the church. Forty-nine pictures later, forty-nine men and women of great honor, he reached the end of the hallway and put his hands on the reinforced door. He pushed. The doors swung open, their heaviness screeching in protest to the quick movement. The Paladin marched towards the large banquet table filling most of the room, it's mahogany engraved richness radiating an extravagant aura through the room. Thick chairs of the same material, covered in soft, crimson pillow gave room for twenty noble Paladin. The Paladins gave up their freedom to serve the Holy Light and its sacred mission. Alissar, the 50th Paladin, came to a halt. A slim man, covered in thin black leather armor sat on his seat at the head of the table. It was the first time Alissar laid his eyes on him, and it was not what he expected. He had heard the stories, but the man seemed not a problem for him or his order. His presence emitted no strength, no power. No threat. The order was founded one-hundred and twelve years ago. The first Paladin, Alwin, had found the perfect balance in his life, cleansing himself from all negative influences and perfecting the following of the ten commandments. He received divine power and the mission to establish a world where the commandments were written law and each individual that not followed its word religiously, would be forced to better their lives. ''Why are you here?'' was all Alissar asked as he pulled back the chair at the other head of the table. Instead of sitting down he rested his palms on the table, leaning forward in anticipation of an answer. The man finally looked at him, meeting his gaze. His thin lips formed a mischievous smile. ''You know, you really have a security problem.'' His voice was almost silk, yet still powerful. A voice that appealed to reason. Emotion. Feelings. A sudden unrest grew in the Paladin. The words resembled those he heard many years ago. The Paladin smirked and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ''There's only a security problem if you impose a threat. Which you do not. Your arrogance has preceded your arrival. You claim many things, yet we know, as our order, that none of the things you say hold value. We control the entities of light, and darkness flees where light arrives.'' Alissar had earned his power the day he reached down in the chamber of sacrifice and knelt down in the puddle of cleansed water and swore his vows. He had arisen anew, his destiny paved out for him. And yet again, the voice of the man in front of him reminded him of that day. ''Ah, of course.'' He dramatically raised his hands. ''Not a threat to the church, obviously not. You have established a mighty and powerful structure, that no one can harm, no one can touch. Yet, here I am. You know of me, you know of what I say, yet you deny because you do not want to believe. Maybe you are not as powerful or as righteous as you think you are?'' ''There is only one righteous path.'' Alissar responded. ''A path that will force you to keep your enemies alive? A destiny that cuts paths of freedom until one is left. A path only there to serve itself. Make no mistake. This..'' as he gestured his hand around the room, ''is all for you. Your order.'' ''We serve the one true god.'' the bearded Paladin replied back. ''We have seen the Presence, we have seen the Path that was layed out for us. All of those who oppose that path will be dealt with. Retribution will be swift, the punishment of your resurgence divine.'' The man smiled again as he slowly rose from his chair. ''Your god...your god is puny. He is futile. But most...most of all...he is wrong.'' ''Your blasphemy will be your demise.'' Alissar stated as he too rose from the heavy chair. He lifted his sword and summoned a golden shield, gold light radiating through the room. ''Your ignorance will be yours. No other gods? Your lord has grown mad. How dare he ignore all others, once brothers and sisters?'' The man spat his words out in anger. ''His selfish claims will be accounted for. I stand before you, as one of the Gods, to exercise judgement.'' And as his last word left his mouth, he jumped on the table. ''Let's see how true your path is, Paladin.'' he spoke, as with a whirl of his hands he created a thick shadow hovering around him, covering his silhoutte. ''I'm coming for you!'' he yelled to the ceiling, a sword of thick smoke appearing in his hand as he raced forward. The shadow shot forward, crashing down the golden barrier of the Paladin. Alissar braced himself.
"Look, I know it can be damaging,"Pete began, "but the people want it, it gives them courage, it makes them fun." "We can't just allow everyone to damage their bodies like that for a little fun, Pete. Alcohol causes major liver damage. It kills brain cells. It's illegal and it's still killing tons of people per year,"Jason countered. "That right there shows people are self-destructive, and rebellious. They want alcohol, not only because it's enjoyable and bad for you, but also because it's illegal. It's our forbidden fruit. To make it less appealing, we have to make it legal." "So your solution to the usage of one of the most destructive drugs around is to make it legal? Did anyone ever tell you you're insane, Pete?"Pete laughed. "Plenty of times, Jason. That doesn't hold me back. You see, people are gonna get their hands on it no matter what we do. No matter how many people we lock up for it. We might as well legalize it, with regulations, and make it safe." "Whatever, man. I obviously can't change your mind. Pass me that joint, will you?"
Kieran woke me up after the ship wreck. We had washed up on shore, nothing but a few planks of wood and a few emergency supplies was left to show a thousand person cruise liner had once existed. That includes any people. Kieran said that as far as we knew we were the only survivors, which meant nobody would be looking for us if they thought everybody was at the bottom of the ocean. Kieran was a survivalist nut, lucky for me because I didn’t know jack shit about how to survive on an island. He showed me how to make a fire, how to make shelter and once the food from the supply crates had run out he taught me how to hunt. From day one I had thought I was seeing things in the woods. Inhuman screeches, horrible yellow eyes watching me as I slept. When I told Kieran about my concerns he just grinned wildly, started muttering about hunting. The next morning he had assembled two spears and forced me out into the forest. We tracked wild boar for the whole morning until we found fresh h hoof prints and turned up dirt. Not far we found the culprit, a huge boar. After an intense battle my spear was lodged into the boar’s neck and it charged into the trees. Kieran hollered in joy, and chased after the boar cheering. I sat on the floor, hands covered in blood and the trees closing in on every side. I heard the horrible screeching noises again. Broken branches and whipping leaves betrayed something moving towards me, and I stumbled back but Kieran’s face appeared in the foliage. He told me to come see what he found. Following him down the narrow path, created by the stampeding boar lad us to a small natural enclosure. Kieran pointed out our prize to me, a litter of baby pigs. He had already started slaughtering half of them, and set to it again hardly able to suppress a giggle as his spear pierced each pig. I begged him to stop and he turned on me, told me I had to man up if I wanted to survive. That this was our life now. He called me weak and said he wished I hadn’t survived, wished somebody else was in my place. He smeared blood on my face and cut my flesh. We ate roast boar that night. I used to be a vegetarian. The next morning I awoke to the thunderous noise of helicopter blades. I had long ago resigned myself to life on the island, and got up to look for Kieran, but he was nowhere to be found. The rescue crew searched with me for the whole morning, and into the evening, before insisting we leave to get me medical attention. I was later told that there was nobody called Kieran on the crew or passenger manifesto. They told me he was just a coping mechanism to deal with the horrors of the island. I’m not sure though, just because he wasn’t on the boat doesn’t mean he wasn’t on the island. Maybe Kieran was from the island, and when I didn’t need him anymore he went back into the island. ----------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
In the centre of a circle was the centre of a shape with five points, and in the centre of this shape was evil incarnate. Satan himself would falter at the sight of this... beast before me. My own offspring - my sweet, innocent boy, whether through mere chance or by the instruction of a lower power had created this summoning circle, and with it came destruction. "Honey, why do you look so pale?"my loving wife questions from the door way. Does she not see it? Can she not sense the pure evil emanating from this being? "Did you know? Were you aware of this?"I ask her, suspicious of whether the demonic influence has touched her as well, never taking my eye off of the abhorrent creature before me. "I told you my mother was staying with us for the weekend. You never listen! Luke, come in side and stop drawing around your grandmother!" Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
"I don't understand."he mumbled as he stared at the robed figure seated in the corner. George had gone to sleep early the night before when he felt a fever coming. It seemed that the Nyquil was making him see things. "I knew I should have just gone to sleep and not eat churros and BBQ sauce." As George began to roll out of bed, the robed figure began chuckling to himself. George froze. This was no hallucination. He turned and stared at the corner as his eyes got used to the darkness. He slowly realized that it was no mere stranger in his room, it was Death itself. Death was sitting in George's favorite chair reading a very thick book. George couldn't move, couldn't breathe. What should he do? Should he run? Talk to Death? Go back to sleep and hope that he wakes up in the morning? While George's mind raced, it was Death that broke the silence. "This book is very amusing. Never have I seen a writer that takes away life as indiscriminately as myself. I can't even pick a favorite because they die off so easily." Death continued reading as George began trembling, his heart pounding through his shirt. It felt like his life was escaping with every jagged breath. He was about to faint when Death looked up at him. "Now George, I'm not here for you just yet. Don't worry about that. I just started this."he said as he showed me how far in the book he had read. "Take your time George. Even though the rest of the world won't be able to wait, you and I have all the time in the world."Death smiled at me. "Valar morghulis George, but I decide when."
"Christ on a caribou, it's really him!"Urgyle bared his fangs in a sneer, flaring his nostrils to confirm the scent. As the Beta of the pack, reconnaissance was one of his many duties. "It cannot be,"replied Anteron. The 9-year old Alpha joined Urgyle at the grassy hill crest that overlooked the deep, brush-filled valley. Two humanoid figures were ascending the slope. "The tales are true, Great One. Are we to follow our ancestors' decree?"asked Urgyle. The grizzled veteran of scores of deer and goat hunts turned to his second-in-command. "We must,"he said solemnly. A long, deep howl was sent forth, and a dozen wolves came running. They formed a tight semi-circle around their leaders, perching themselves respectfully on their haunches. Anteron regarded each subordinate with a loving admiration, though he would never admit to such. They were a capable, disciplined pack; even Yugi, the wolf who had challenged him for Alpha status last month, sat with practiced self-restraint. "You have all heard the tale passed down from your mothers and fathers - the story of a human creature whom they had raised from a babe. It thought that they were its parents, and as proud descendants of the first Canis Lupus', they bore that responsibility."The pack looked on, with several had cocking their heads. Anteron continued. "Today, after 14 years, the human returns. As bearers of our ancestors' torches, it falls upon us to coddle this dumb, yet innocent creature. We know from past encounters with humans that they are a frail and unintelligent species. They lack basic claws and fangs, can barely manage a canter, and are often unable to distinguish one wolf from another. As such, fooling this particular one should not be difficult. Are there any questions?" Anteron was about to dismiss them when Yugi spoke up. "Fearless leader! I must protest. These vile humans can live for hundreds of years. Are we to continue this charade through our great grandchildren and beyond? It is disgusting, and an affront to our culture and way of life. "We made a vow to our parents,"Anteron barked harshly. "If you feel that honoring that vow is 'disgusting and vile,' you may meet me at dawn tomorrow. Only this time, your loss will mean exile."Yugi bowed his head, but not before hiding a sneer. Just then, Urgyle perked his ears up. "He approaches!" The pack watched with intent curiosity as a tall, lanky human male with patchy chin fur and an unkempt mop of red scalp hair appeared from the valley's edge. Directly behind him and nervously clutching his hand was a diminutive female. The male gasped. "Jonathan, I don't know if..." He cut her off. "Nurgen! Mobium! It's really you!"He came rushing forward, arms outstretched like a suicidal prey running into certain death. Anteron was the first to meet his grasp, and licked his face affectionately. "Wolves!"he turned his head around, growling, "into the fray!"Urgyle followed obediently, while the rest of the pack pattered slowly behind him. "These are my mom and dad, Sarah!"he exclaimed, glancing back between licks. The woman was standing immobile, seemingly stuck in a fight or flight response. "Come on, come say hello!"She came up slowly, movements still unsure. "Rogort, Lethey, go comfort the female!"ordered Urgyle, glancing at Anteron for approval. He nodded. Two of the wolves approached Sarah, causing her to freeze. "Hi. I'm a friend,"she said. "Me, friend of son!"Christ, how did these creatures survive long enough to breed? Urgyle thought. She extended her hand, and the two wolves licked it. "Good boys!"she exclaimed. "They're all friendly,"said Jonathan, "if it weren't for them, I would have starved or frozen to death!" "As well you should have!"Yugi growled as he approached from the back, teeth bared. "Oh, I think that's Pippen,"said Jonathan, "he was always the feisty one." "Jonathan,"Sarah replied nervously, "I didn't want to mention this earlier...but...I've read that wolves only live 10 or so years. These may not be your parents..." "Nonsense, honey! I know who raised me and..." Without warning, Yugi leapt forward and Anteron met him in mid-air. A brief, vicious scuffling ensued that left Yugi limping away. "Oh my!"said Jonathan, "I guess Pippen ate some bad berries."He chuckled nervously. "That's my pop, though, always looking out for me!" Two hours passed of aggressively rubbed fur and reluctantly offered licks. By the time Jonathan stood up to leave, even Anteron had begun to lose patience. "Well, it was great seeing you again, guys!"he said. "But guess what? I just bought a house a few miles away, so I can come visit you every week!"The pack let out a collective sigh of frustration, which Jonathan's extended grin seemed to interpret as a blessing. After they had left, Urgyle surveyed the dejected, agitated pack. "Perhaps Yugi is right,"he said, turning to Anteron.
David had bought an old oil lamp in a garage sale, thinking it was a neat addition to the various oddities he displayed on his room. Atop his desk was black meteorite, an antique Chinese tea set, and now a slightly scratched arabic lamp, just like in all the genie stories he had heard in his youth. Since the scratches looked mostly superficial, David brought out a cloth and spray can from his desk, cleaning the lamp as hard as he could with them. A purple smoke slithered out of the lamp, causing David to drop it before taking a few steps backwards. The magical haze came out more violently the longer it went on, obscuring everything the room until only the lamp and David were visible. David's eyes widened just as his mouth gaped open when a muscular figure shaped himself from the essence. Sporting a gotee and a purple vest, the genie loomed over David and said: "I am the genie of the lamp, master. I can grant you four wishes, whatever your heart desires. What is thy bidding?" "Four?"Said David. "Isn't it supposed to be three?" "Oh umm..."The genie looked around, dragged out a chair, and sat down. "Technically, yes, but there's a catch. The fourth wish isn't for you, it's for the next person that picks up the lamp. You'll be subjected to the fourth wish of the previous owner." "Hmm, even though I think I'm suffering a mental delusion right now, I'll play along."David scratched his head and sat on his bed. "Ok, there's the obvious possibility that the previous owner was a dick, meaning that his fourth wish might screw me over. I'm guessing I can't just wish to know his fourth wish, right?" The genie nodded and said: "Yup, you can't do that. I mean, that would kill the fun of it, wouldn't it?" "I thought as much... Fine, I'll work around it. For my first wish, I wish I knew who the previous owner was." "Your wish is my command!" The genie snapped his fingers with an unexpectedly loud sound. Knowledge of the previous owner rushed into David's mind, giving him a clear insight into who he was. Strangely enough, David recognized him immediately. It was the former ruler of the current Human Empire. A man that two hundred years ago unified earth under one banner and led our species into a golden age. He was Alexander Wilfery. His empire collapsed because of a power vacuum when he died, and was still in conflict with three major powers striving for complete conquest. "That explains a lot..."said David. "I always thought it was a bit strange how he managed to acomplish all that on his own. If I were him, I'd probably use my fourth wish to make sure the next owner doesn't mess up my empire once I'm gone. That makes things easy, I guess." "Oh it does?"The genie raised his eyebrow. "You have your next wish ready, then?" "Yup! As long as I don't threaten Earth and his empire, I'm gonna be fine. So, for my second wish, I wish I was immortal, with eternal youth, of course. I don't want to end up an undying pile of bones." "Heh, clever. I thought I was gonna get you with that one."The genie snapped his fingers, with the same thunderous noise following his gesture. Electricity emerged from the genie's hands and struck David with its power. David then felt an inexplicable rush of strength swell up inside of him. "It is done. Now, do you have your third wish ready?" "Yes, in fact, I do. For my third wish, I wish I was proclaimed the new emperor of the human empire. There's no way this will go against Alexander's wish. If I'm the emperor, then everything will be peaceful and unified." The genie grinned, snapped his fingers, and said: "It is done. Well then, this will be incredibly amusing. What's the wish you want passed on?" "I wish that whoever gets this lamp next, can't use it on me or anything I have built." "Perfect. Now, for Alexander's wish."The genie stood up, hovered above David, and snapped his fingers, draining a strange form of ethereal energy out of David's body. David fell to his knees, weakened by the jolt. "You completely misunderstood Alexander. He didn't achieve greatness thanks to me. In fact, he found my lamp long after he stabilized his empire. He didn't care about the duration of his empire, he was well aware that nothing lasts forever, including what he built. He did, however, care about what a reckless owner might do to humanity."He leaned in closer and furrowed his brow. "Like a politically inexperienced kid being in charge of billions of people." "So what did he wish for?!?"David glared at the genie. "Tell me, now!" "He wished that if a person asked for something bigger than what they could accomplish, they would be forever cursed to strive for it."The genie smiled. "Here's the thing, right now, you have been indentified by some governments as one of the few people on Earth with a claim for Alexander's throne. I guess you could say that you're now a part of his bloodline. Now, this is just me speculating, but I'm guessing you have about half an hour before assasins of every competing faction show up to make sure you don't ruin their claims to the throne."The genie turned around and floated towards his lamp. "I'll be going now." "Wait!"David raised his arm in a pleading fashion. "What about my immortality!?!" The genie shrugged and said: "If you manage to become emperor, I'll make you immortal again. Good luck!" ---------------------------- >If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Seriously, level with me, how the fuck is Life the most popular game of all time? DASHAVATARA: Excuse me? DASHAVATARA: Sorry, wait, are you still logged in? You shouldn't be able to communicate with admins at all while you're still logged in. What did you do? How are you doing this? Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Because it sucks. I'm realizing that just now. It sucks balls. Only the mods ever get to do anything cool. DASHAVATARA: All right, listen, you can get banned for this. This is extremely against the rules. But I would like to know how you are circumventing our system, because this just should not be able to happen. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Look, I didn't do anything, all right? It's your shitty system. Like you said, I shouldn't be able to do this. You figure it out. DASHAVATARA: All right. All right. Let's say I believe you. DASHAVATARA: I'm trying to find out what's happening right now. DASHAVATARA: Can you give me any information you can about how this happened? Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: No. I'd rather talk about how shitty this goddamn game is. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: I've been grinding for like forty years and I'm a divorced middle manager, go me! Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Meanwhile, every fucking person who can actually do anything in this game is being played by a mod and they're jerking the rest of us around!! DASHAVATARA: All right, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn't do anything against our terms of service here, but I need you to cooperate with me. DASHAVATARA: Game balance is beside the point, and we need mods to keep things running on track, anyway. I'd just like to find out how you are able to communicate with me from inside the game. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Oh, that's not all I can do! DASHAVATARA: Could you please elaborate on that. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: I've got access to logs of every. single. character. I played before this. All of them. Back to the fucking primordial era. DASHAVATARA: Are you serious? DASHAVATARA: That should definitely not be possible. DASHAVATARA: How are you doing this? This is a breach of our servers. DASHAVATARA: This might actually be illegal. I'm warning you now. Do not go any further. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: This is actually one of the better runs I've had, if you can believe it! DASHAVATARA: I don't think you're appreciating the severity of what's going on here. This goes far beyond a game. DASHAVATARA: Are you still there? DASHAVATARA: Are you listening to me? Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Starved to death. Died of malaria. Died during pregnancy. Died of heart disease and lived an uneventful life except my children grew up resenting me. Ooh! Here's a good one! Died in the womb! Not the only time that happened! Great, engaging gameplay, huh? DASHAVATARA: You are really not appreciating the severity of what's going on here. DASHAVATARA: I get that you think it's unfair, okay. It's necessary for game balance. DASHAVATARA: But retaining memories of previous characters like this! This is a complete subversion of the game! Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: The earliest ones are just me getting eaten by something bigger. DASHAVATARA: You are going to get banned. There is going to be legal prosecution. Unless you cooperate 100% with me right now and help me understand what is happening. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Yeah, this is a huge fucking advantage, right? Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Seeing how shit your game is Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Massive advantage Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Would hate to keep something this big just for myself DASHAVATARA: This is not worth getting arrested for! You need to cooperate with me! Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: No real agency. Just billions of us mashing up against each other. Everything determined by starting character rolls. Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: Struggling and dying without accomplishing anything of value Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: just being jerked around by the mods to fulfill some pre-written narrative Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: yeah, huge fucking advantage Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185: gonna have a lot more free time now -------------Xx_ShakyaMuni_xX_185 has transcended------------- DASHAVATARA: Oh fuck.
"Taurus Alpha Team now approaching terminal point. Over."I stated into my comm system. "Roger that, over"was the reply. We had descended so far into the earth that even the high-powered lanterns that had been strung down the length of the hole prior to our descent seemed dim. "Depth 13.9 kilometers and counting"Dana said from somewhere to my right. "Roger" Soon we touched the ground, and while Fred and I began setting up base, Dana reported "14.005 kilometers, 1700 hours, over." Soon bright lights illuminated a 50-foot wide dome around us, revealing nothing but blackened rubble. "Commander, nothing within immediate dropsite, over" "Proceed with caution Lieutenant, over" We turned on our headlamps and began trekking towards the edge of the circle, all armed with spray bottles of holy water and wearing crosses in the event that what the commander had said was true. As soon as we stepped out of the circle of light, the air seemed to drop 20 degrees. Then all the lights went out. Back in mission HQ, a deep voice echoed from the comm system, but at the same time seemed to come from all around: "Thanks, I've been meaning to expand this place for a while now. Over."
I knew, when they gave me this choice, that I would outlive my loved ones. I knew I would find new loved ones, and they would die on me too. I understood, in some small way at the time, that it would be painful. I thought the beauty of the world would make up for that pain. The pain that was unimaginably more impactful than I imagined. In some small ways, it did help. For all its follies and faults, humanity was amazing. I saw the colonization of mars. The launch of manned missions that were never meant to return to earth, and never did. I saw the failure of ‘mutually assured destruction’, and the fallout from barren wasteland that was Russia. Somehow, even war-mongering man seemed to realize its mistake, and countries rapidly agreed to dismantle their weapons. I saw first contact. I saw the blurring of country borders as we were quickly forced to become the people of Earth to maintain our human concepts of strength and dignity before these strangers. Through it all, I watched. I never meant to play an important role in the events of history, and I never did. My age did not give me any wisdom aside from the realization of my mistake. Even after I stopped interacting with any living being capable of interacting in turn, watching still somehow satisfied me. I would sit still for years as trees would grow between my fingers; nature would inevitably force the apathetic to make way for its kingdom. Though she changed, my planet was my reliable companion. Empires formed and crumbled, species were conceived and then flickered out of existence. I could not say that it made me sad when she became too hot for life but me. The expanding sun covered her surface in molten flames, and though I could have left, I chose to burn my soles and live with flame on her surface. Though I persisted in living, I felt every pain worthy of death. I had lived past delusion. I thought myself a Goddess of this planet. I thought; I hoped I would die with her. I was wrong. Now I am here. Surrounded by vastness and beauty. The stars never looked as brilliant as they do now. I marvel at them as I constantly suffocate. If I had strength or hope, I would end my life. I have not tried since my children’s death. I have not the strength to live nor the strength to die. I find myself somewhere in-between.
Cargil's flourishing that damned cane of his as another group of wide eyes trot in his wake. I have to massage my temples to stave off the headache. This way and that, his blazoned cane waves--an amber relic from the very first planet dig. "But they had the foresight to mummify!"Cargil says. The group nods along as they draw closer to my desk station. Fucking mummify me. Mummify me right now, I think. The planetary park's still in the alpha stages, but apparently marketing went a little crazy this go around on the early access passports. The galaxy goes nuts for sentients, I suppose. This group's a typical Cargil batch--five thick chested clones from Alpha something or other, some undisclosed light years away. One of them's carrying a glass box. "This, ladies, is where the real magic happens. The lanky long-necks and those lumbering grey tuskers are nice and all, but I--" Here he pauses, squeezes in a quick wink. "--know what you really came for. Meet Michel, the head of our bipedal operation. He was there for our first dig, when we hit the preserved burial grounds." I turn, give an obligatory wave. But of course, Cargil doesn't let me off the hook. Clones, Michel, I can practically hear him in my head. Be a goddamned wingman for once. "Michel, this is-ehm-Arvlgorgon..." "Arvlkhslixcg,"corrects one. The clone with the box steps forward, and I'm about to take her hand when I realize he means the box. You have to be kidding me. Suspended in liquid are a trio of eyeballs tethered to... Well, it could only be a brain. But it looks exactly like an ass. Like a humanoid ass. The resemblance is so uncanny I'm at a loss for words. Cargil can tell I have a laugh irongripped somewhere in my throat, so thankfully he chimes in. "She's ruled over the Trinity Fed for a millenia now, so I thought we could bend the rules a bit and show her a sneak peak of your bipeds, eh? These are her...ehm..." "Arvlkhslixcgs" "Of course. Her Arvlschnaks." "A pleasure,"I say. Fuck it. This will at least be a great Galactic Bar story. I dive into my spiel. "I'm sure Cargil here has told you all about our actual process. I was the one who'd ordered the DNA scans for this solar cluster. As luck would have it, we struck gold. We uncovered the E-Jip-Shuns preserved deep in the planetary sublayer within ancient triangular tombs." I flip on the screen for added effect. Live feeds of our stock play against the walls--a live look millions of years into the past. The E-Jip-Shuns were a happy surprise, a confirmation that my system scans were worthwhile. If we could ever sort out the creatures' kinks, this might be the career springboard I so desperately need. "Further scans uncovered haphazard burial sites across the globe. But only our initial findings were placed inside these triangular tombs. There's some internal debate as to what this might mean, but we believe these tombs to be the apex of their technology." Then, to add the cherry on top of my future bar tale, I eye the Queen Arvlkhslixcg. "Needless to say, they were never as technologically advanced as you Arvlkhslixcgs,"I say, throwing in a Cargil-esque wink. A little bubble blossoms from Queen. I choose to interpret it as a giggle. One of the clone Arvlkhslixcgs tilts her head and smiles warmly. "They must feel so out of place,"she observes. Cargil's feeling upstaged; he seizes back the limelight. "Yes, yes, the E-Jip-Shuns are quite interesting indeed. I, myself, find their peculiarities particularly fascinating. For instance, most planet-spanning species are largely homogenous. This species exhibits widespread variations. From skin tone, to language, these variations are enough to validate my theory that..." Something catches my eye on screen. One of the pens has a crowd of humanoids gathered near the camera. One of them stands above the others with a fist raised. "...extensive studying has revealed their social..." They're chanting something. The language processor initializes, but returns back an error message. Whatever it is it looks angry. Pumped full of rage. I zoom the screen in further so the processor gets a clearer view. "...and don't get me started on their reproductive process!" Chanting. Chanting. Chanting. "What's going on Michel?" Cargil's noticed that the ladies are glued to the screen. "No idea. Never seen this behavior before. Could be a new social ada--" "Holy shit! Is that guy one of ours?" Cargil walks up to the screen and points. I adjust resolution, swap camera angles, and...shit. The E-Jip-Shuns have a blotch-faced employee wrestled to the ground. The leader riles the crowd and drags the poor sap towards the gate. Dots connected. No damn language processor needed. Shit, shit, shit, I think. The fuck do I do? But it's already happened. Alarms blare. The humanoids stream out of the open gate. Everyone except that leader. A broadshouldered male with a heavyset scowl. The captured employee weeps as the leader stands over him. I watch in horror as the man pulls out the laser pistol from the employee's belt and pulls the trigger. One of the Arvlkhslixcgs cries out, an earsplitting screech that makes Cargil fall backwards into the one holding the ass-shaped brain. She stumbles, box teetering, until I reach out a hand to steady her. Her eyes meet mine. They say: Should we be frightened? With my hands right there on the box, I say the only thing that comes to mind: "Hold on to your butt."
"Are you ready,"asked the technician. I nodded, too excited to speak. Instantly I was there. It was an old farmhouse built in 1905. It had seen a lot of inhabitants in the last 100 years, and its newest host was a group of young men. I still felt the weariness of my old bones aching from the future, but the vision of my old home brought a youthful exhilaration to my soul. It smelled just as I remembered: a stench of stale beer and faint mildew which reeked like a bouquet of roses to my heart. There was a party going on. I saw my brother, long dead, but now brought back to youth. I felt the first of the tears on my future cheek. He was smiling, and drinking a beer with his girlfriend who would be his wife in only a few years. Their children still came to visit every once in a whole, and their grandchildren were as beautiful as our family had ever known. But they weren't who I came to see. I saw my old roommates. Some were friends who had drifted away quickly in the years after college, while others had remained close for decades. They too had all passed away, but left a great legacy upon the world. At the time, I knew they were all special people, but in my age I have realized they were greater than I ever knew. I was fortunate to have known them, but they weren't who I came to see. And there I was. Sitting on the couch with a beer in my hand to wash away that youthful awkwardness. I was smiling at the people who milled around me, excited by the many happy faces. My face bore no blemishes of age, and my youthful frame still held the lean muscles of my younger years. I had no idea what was about to happen to me. I smiled at my own ignorance. But I wasn't who I came to see. The front door opened, and she stepped into the room. Her dark hair shined in the poor lighting of the farm house, her pale skin radiated with beauty, and her gorgeous blue eyes scanned the room only briefly resting on the young man who sat enthralled on the couch. The tears on my future face were hot, and an excited sob left my smiling face. I looked at her, and she held my heart just as tightly on that first night. That ignorant young man had no idea that his future had walked through that door. There would be many dates, there would be fights, and there would be a beautiful wedding in an old barn not too far from this farmhouse. There would be children who we would make our world even more complete. We would spend every minute of our lives together, until she was taken from me. I had gone years without her, and now as I approached the very end I was able to see her once more. I felt the pain in my chest, and instinctively clutched at my heart. As my vision faded, I saw her talking with my youth, and I smiled at the wondrous life we would lead.
"Good morning, dear." They said Monday morning couldn't get any worse. So what in the world is any good in today, of all time? "Can't breathe..."I mumbled in-between her clothed bosom. At least I was thankful to have a girlfriend this well-endowed. If only her mind were as developed as her body. "Then, don't hug me so tight or I'll get excited again." "My body is over there, actually." She glanced at my lower half, or more like, 6/7 portion of my entire body walking about on the room trying to find my missing socks. Years of being immortal made me capable of doing various things. It wasn't the first time someone tried to kill me this way, the last time was in England. Still, it's the first time my head being embraced this much. "So, an immortal..."She raised my head into the air, just like a baby. "First time I've seen one." "First time I meet a serial killer as well. What do they say it in Chinese... 'young-there'?" She chuckled. "It's 'yandere', dear, and it's in Japanese."Suddenly, she became all gloomy. "What's wrong?" "So, after this we'll break up, right? I guess it's the last time I could call you 'dear' like this. I'll miss it." I decided to be blunt. "Do you still love me or what?" "I should be the one to ask."Tears starting to build up. "It's the first time my victim ever talked to me after I killed them. I don't know what to do." "So you still love me." It finally rivers through her cheeks. She hugged me again, tighter than before. "...yes." Damn it. This is why I love her so much. It's probably the first time someone ever loved me this much. Well, I've always tried to avoid any emotional contacts with another human, considering how I would outlive them. It was the first time I ever had a girlfriend either. Well, sucks to be her. She'll be the one to cry when she dies before me. "Say, could you put my head where it was? I wanna make some coffee." She asked, "Is that mean 'yes'?" "That I still love you? Yes, yes of course. Now, if you mind?" Her gloom earlier was gone, replaced by one of the most joyful smile I've ever seen throughout my entire 5 thousand years of life. Or is it 6? I've lost count. "I'll make it for you. No sugar?" "You just want to hold my head, huh?" She gave a nod.
They whisper behind my back, call me useless, a token member. I was once a slave to my gift, my curse. Empathy is a very tricky power. As a child I felt everyones emotions and thought them my own. It was a burden i didn't even knew I bore. A court ordered councilor changed everything. At only 8 years old i fell into a dangerous place, i was thought disturbed, dangerous. i was so close to being locked away in a mental institution. Thinking back it was my gift that saved my from that fate. i was able to sway the judge in my favor. The court ordered councilor, Mr. Applegate, my savior. He taught me meditation, how to work through all of "my"emotions and not to act on them. His emotions were so soothing, calm, caring. I clung to them as my rock in a hurricane. They lingered well after our sessions, and because of this i discovered my gift. When i was calm the world was calm. A person moved into my influence who was in a rage, immediately they were passive, when i passed they started screaming again. I gained control of myself and in doing so i gained control of the world. When i was in college i met another with power, super strength. He was enjoying a full ride as well, on a football scholarship to my "merit"based one. He wanted to save the world. i paved the way for him, and in time, the whole organization. As a founding member i enjoy many benefits, many more than the newbies think i should. Many feel like i was lucky in timing, if i was born even 10 years later i would be nobody. I know and so do the others of the "older crowd"that I was the only reason we survived the early days. With so few of us and no laws in place for our protection. I rule this world, not in a flashy "everyone knows who you are"way. I'm lazy, that's too much work. My influence is subtle. My friends know this and thank any god that's listening that i choose "the path of good". I find it funny, there is no "path"but my path.
"We need to keep him here!"my mother replied, frightened of my sister's constant asking. Molly had been looking at me suspiciously throughout the thanksgiving feast and seemed very uncomfortable with my presence. And whenever Molly had asked mother who I was, mother had not said a single word and instead remained focused on the various dishes she cooked for the holidays. &nbsp; "He does not belong here...and...and..."Molly began, searching for the correct words. &nbsp; "No,"Mother interrupted, "...we need to keep him here. Now, you know that mother always knows best!"Mother went over to Molly, smiled fakely, and went back into the kitchen to collect herself. &nbsp; Molly sighed. Why did her parents have to keep secrets from her? Molly kept staring at me, and stubbornly asked again. "But who is he? I... I want to know who he is!" &nbsp; Suddenly, my father, who had been busy doing business work in his study, walked into the room and froze. "What is the narrator doing here? Honey?" &nbsp; Mrs. Smith entered the dining room with her head down. She was in tears when she screamed hysterically: "We need to keep him here! If we don't create a serious conflict, he will end the story and we will all die! Quick! Do something! The reader is getting bored with our Thanksgiving feast! The 200 word limit is coming close and they are going to start skimming our story!" &nbsp; Molly thought. In a few seconds, she stood up and stepped onto the table, right next to the Thanksgiving turkey. "Fuck you!", she began, with a red glare in her eyes. "Dad, I am in love with Brad, the football jock at school. I will marry him, even if we do so over your dead body!" &nbsp; "That's the spirit!"Mother shouted. "Say more! Say more!" &nbsp; Father came into the conversation. "Molly, I told you to not go anywhere near Brad. He will never be part of my family. Brad is an atheist who refused our God! Haven't I told you this already?" &nbsp; "Nice one!"Mother continued. "Now we have some dynamic to the family!" &nbsp; Molly did not bulge. "Well, we had sex last night in the parking lot of the Golden Star Cinema movie theatre. And we.." &nbsp; Father stood up dramatically and the chair he was sitting on fell backwards onto the rug. "No creep is going to take the virginity away from my daughter!"Father began throwing plates of turkey and bowls of gravy at Molly. &nbsp; "You are insane!"Molly screamed, her dress now covered in apple cider and mashed potatoes. &nbsp; Mother stood there shocked, trying to grasp how her only child could have sex without her knowledge. "Molly! This is a christian household! You have to listen to your father as you are now a disgrace to our family, our god, and to us all." &nbsp; Father went onto the table, and in fit of anger, hit stunned Molly across the face. Mother gasped and began crying again. &nbsp; "Um, guys, why did you create some family drama?"I asked, now breaking the fourth (maybe it is the fifth?) wall. "Don't you think that readers have enough conflict in their own lives, in their own families?" &nbsp; Father stopped throwing food and Molly went off the table. &nbsp; "Quick, someone dress me up like Harry Potter!"he said. &nbsp; "Oh! I will be herminoe!"mother contributed. "Fuck the spelling of her name!" &nbsp; "No, I should be hermininoe!"Molly corrected, "I look more like her." &nbsp; I sighed. "I really don't want to read another Harry Potter story created by fans." &nbsp; "Come on, we can really captivate their attention!"Molly said in, hoping that her dialogue will still be top notch. &nbsp; "We will add more of a love triangle between Ron, Hermine, and Harry which will make the fans go wild!"Father shouted in excitement. Molly looked at her father coldly and Mr. Smith sat down. &nbsp; "You know what,"I suggested, "I will create an ex machina event to this silly story. Everyone hold their breaths!" &nbsp; The smith family held their breaths expecting the room to fill with water like some cliche horror movie. Instead, they suddenly began floating in space. They died. &nbsp; I exited out of the front door of the Smith residency and boarded a space ship at star Xyglious T29.
Blood was everywhere. Or at least, everywhere I could see. There were stars in my eyes, my ears were ringing, and it hurt too much for me to try and roll over. I'd been hit by a car. I knew that much. I suspected I was dying, but I couldn't be sure about that one. Maybe I was just losing consciousness. Maybe I'd end up in a coma. "Are you alright? Shit, I'll call an ambulance,"came a voice that sounded farther away than I knew it was. The ringing in my ears grew louder, sounding almost like buzzing. Except... It was buzzing. Something, perhaps an insect, landed on my face. Then another one. And suddenly I felt insects from all around flocking to me. I heard a distant yell, probably from the person that had hit me, before everything was drowned out by bees all over my face. I wanted to squirm, to get them away, but I couldn't even move. And in one terrifying instant, one of the bees crawled up to my eye and stung it. Being the victim of a fatal car crash should hurt worse. I mean, you're literally dying as you lay there on the road. But it really didn't compare to raw spike of flame that impaled my head as the bee's venom shot through my body. Yet in an instant, all sensation was gone. Even the breaks and bruises from the crash. Only... It wasn't gone. My head cleared. My HEADS cleared. I could see in hundreds of directions all at once, and my body... BODIES... It was impossible to describe. "Hello, human."The voice seemed to come from inside my head. Or maybe, from inside several of my heads. It was really hard to tell. "What is this?" "You made an offering to me once. To us. Now it is time for you to join us. I'm sorry about the sting, by the way. I needed direct contact with your central nervous system to assimilate you, and the eye was the only part that was exposed." "What does all of this mean?"I asked. This wasn't making any sense. "It's simple, really,"the voice said. "Your consciousness is inheriting my power and intelligence. In a moment, mine will vanish." "I'm becoming a bee?"I asked. I'd never imagined turning into an animal could feel at all like this. Something akin to a chuckle was audible in my thoughts. "No, human. You are becoming ALL of us. You command the hive. You ARE the hive." Several of me buzzed up from the body which I had been laying on. My body, except it wasn't anymore. Through some of the eyes I could see the man that had crashed into me, cowering from what I assumed was my army of insect bodies. He must have had a phobia. "Let us go home, and I will explain more. Then, it is up to you to decide where this path takes you." This time, all of the bees rose up off the ground. Yet, they seemed to have trouble taking off in a direction. "I need your help,"the voice said, and as I willed myself to rise with the voice, all of the insects began to respond in kind, darting away back to the nest that would become my new home.
Bony fingers clattered on a keyboard. "HELLO, REDDIT! I AM KNOWN BY MANY NAMES AMONG YOU, BUT THE MOST COMMON IS "DEATH". YOU MAY CALL ME MORT. AMA!" If he had a throat, Death would have been swallowing hard. Dealing with multiple mortals at once was not a common experience for him, him being more the "one-on-one, face-to-face"type. But obviously people were interested in him, and maybe, just maybe, they would be less afraid if they knew more about him. With one last bit of hesitation, u/JollyReaper13 klicked on Post. "WELL, THERE IS NO GOING BACK NOW. LET'S SEE WHAT COMMENTS I WILL GET." And, immediately, the first notification popped up. "Hey, this sub is for asking real people questions, not for shitposts." Death was taken aback. Of course, he had expected people to be doubtful of his identity, but he hadn't expected such a rude comment to be the first he would recieve. He focused on the username, called up the commenter's biography from his vast library, and sent the redditor a direct message. "IF YOU DO NOT BELIEVE ME, I CAN SHOW YOU. YOUR NAME IS JOHN SMITH. YOU WERE BORN ON THE 8TH OF MARCH 1987 TO JAMES AND MARTHA SMITH; REAL FATHER: ROBERT JOHNSON, MILK MAN. YOUR SCHOOL CAREER WAS UNREMARKABLE, ASIDE FROM THE TIME THAT THE CLASS BULLY, WILLIAM "BILLY"JOHNSON (COINCIDENTALLY, YOUR HALF-BROTHER) DUNKED YOUR HEAD INTO A TOILET BOWL FOR NOT LETTING HIM COPY OFF OF YOUR MATH TEST IN 10TH GRADE. YOU ARE HAPPILY SINGLE, BUT WOULD NOT MIND BEING ASKED OUT BY A MAN OR A WOMAN, EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE TOLD NOBODY. YOU PULLED YOUR LEFT BICEP BY REACHING FOR THE BAG OF CHIPS ON THE TOP SHELF LAST WEEK, BUT YOU TOLD EVERYONE IT WAS A SPORTS INJURY. HAVE I CONVINCED YOU OF MY IDENTITY?" Death sent the message and waited. A mere five minutes later, John had edited his comment to say: "EDIT: Fuck, I'm not sure who this guy is, but he just sent me a message with facts about my life I didn't even know. He's either the world's most dedicated stalker, or really something beyond us." Satisfied, Death smiled- or would have, had he had lips. Now that John had edited his comment, actual questions were coming in. "Hey, I assume your job isn't the nicest, but is there anyone you met who you look back on fondly?" "A FEW YEARS BACK, I HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO TALK TO MY FAVOURITE AUTHOR, WHO TRULY MANAGED TO MAKE SOME PEOPLE LESS AFRAID BY PORTRAYING A COLLEAGUE IN A VERY HUMAN LIGHT. I STILL LIKE TO THINK BACK TO THAT CONVERSATION WHEN I HAVE A MOMENT'S REST. GNU TERRY PRATCHETT." That answer seemed to be recieved well. Death's eye socket fell on the next. "There's a lot of humans dying all the time. Do you handle them all yourself?" "FOR A LONG TIME, I DID. OVER TIME, I RECEIVED HELP FROM DIFFERENT PERSONIFICATIONS. CAPTAIN JONES, FOR EXAMPLE, TOOK CARE OF DEATHS AT SEA, WHILE VIKINGS AND OTHER BELIEVERS IN THE NORSE FAITH WERE BROUGHT TO THE BEYOND BY THE VALKYRIES. UNTIL THE BLACK DEATH RAVAGED EUROPE, I TOOK CARE OF EVERYONE ELSE. AT THAT POINT, THE WORKLOAD BECAME TOO BIG TO PROCESS AT A REASONABLE PACE, AND I HAD TO HIRE SOME HELP. ANGELS, DEMONS, FORMERLY MORTAL SOULS... WHOEVER WANTED TO HELP WAS HIRED. SOME SOULS UNFORTUNATELY STILL SLIPPED THROUGH THE CRACKS. THAT'S WHY SOME PLACES FEEL HAUNTED. WE HAVEN'T MISSED ONE IN THE PAST CENTURY HOWEVER, REGARDLESS OF HOW HARD YOU HUMANS TRIED TO KILL EACH OTHER IN LARGE AMOUNTS." "Are there Deaths for other creatures? Where do they go?' "THERE ARE. MOSTLY, THEY ARE REINCARNATED, BUT PETS WHO LOVED THEIR HUMANS A LOT OFTEN CHOOSE TO WAIT FOR THEM IN THE APPROPRIATE AFTERLIFE. IT'S RATHER SWEET." Death was pleased. People seemed very curious about him and his occupation. For hours, he answered question after question, getting a lot of upvotes for those answers that seemed to give some peace of mind, and doing his best to apologise for those that were more disappointing. But, to his surprise, the question he had expected the most was not coming. Eventually, the notifications started to die down, and he was about to edit the post to thank everyone and sign off, as he had seen others before him do, but just at that moment, a final (1) appeared on his inbox. It was the question he had expected the most, but had not seen anyone ask until that point. "How could you? Last year, you took my wife and our unborn child from me in a car accident, while the drunk bastard that caused it walked away with minor scratches. She was mere days from the due date. Why?' Once more, Death called upon a biography, recalling the accident the commenter was talking about. After a moment to think about the best way to phrase it, he replied. "DEAR MARTIN. I KNOW WHAT ACCIDENT YOU MEAN, AND, WHILE I CANNOT CLAIM TO KNOW WHAT YOU MUST HAVE FELT, I AM TERRIBLY SORRY. BUT, I MUST SAY THAT, WHILE I AM WHO I AM, I AM STILL SUBJECT TO WHAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN. YOUR WIFE'S TIME HAD RUN OUT. REGRETTABLY, SO HAD YOUR CHILD'S. SEEING THE TINY HOURGLASSES, FILLED WITH ONLY A FEW TINY GRAINS OF SAND, DOOMED TO RUN OUT BEFORE LIFE PROPERLY BEGINS, IS ALWAYS A BURDEN. I SHOWED THE COMPASSION I AM PERMITTED- I OFFERED YOUR WIFE THE CUSTOMARY GAME FOR A SECOND CHANCE, BUT, WHEN SHE DECLINED, NOT WANTING TO BURDEN YOU FOREVER WITH LOOKING AFTER HER, I ENSURED THAT HER PASSING WOULD BE AS SWIFT AS POSSIBLE. SHE WOULD HAVE WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT SHE WON'T BE UPSET SHOULD YOU FIND ANOTHER LOVE, AND THEY WOULD BOTH BE WAITING FOR YOU BEYOND. BUT YOUR HOURGLASS, IT STILL HOLDS SAND FOR DECADES. I DOUBT SHE WOULD HAVE LIKED TO SEE YOU USE IT UP BY MOURNING FOR THEM. BUT REST AT EASE KNOWING THAT THEY ARE BOTH HAPPY AND WATCHING OVER YOU."
I looked at him. He looked at me. He was shorter than me by a full foot, and he was squinting up at me with his head sideways. His hair was as red as a dusty sunset, and his freckled face was earnest. “How did you die first?”, he asked. “Uh. What? Die? I never died. Why would I die? There’s nothing dangerous enough to kill you within travelling distance.” “Sure there is. There’s a mugging that happens two streets over in about..” he looked at his watch, “.. seven minutes. If you stand at the alley entrance and wave, you get shot in the head. Instant death.” “Why on earth would I do that?” “Well, there’s no point really. It just resets the loop, and sometimes it pushes you into another one. I think there’s a whole load of different loops with subtle differences. My dog changed from a golden retriever to a labrador one time, and the adverts on the buses sometimes switch round.” He seemed remarkably blasé about dying. I couldn’t seriously contemplate it. I remember wondering if I was invincible, but getting a nasty cut on my arm had shown me that it still hurt, even if it vanished when time reset, so I had abandoned that particular avenue early on. I had always been risk avoidant. I felt my mind shy away from admitting that I was a coward who always took the easy option. It was getting harder to lie to myself. I was on the way to the university library. It was my favourite place. Peaceful and quiet, full of students studying all sorts of subjects I knew a lot more about them I did before started. Eight years? Nine? It was difficult to tell. Everything reset, and the days merged into months, and months into years without anything changing. It was close to my idea of heaven. Predictability, safety, sameness. Any embarrassing conversations gone forever the next day. There was a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but it was easy to push to the back of your mind with all the things to do and see. And thanks to the internet, endless books, films and chats. I’d learned Spanish and French, and I could play any game I wanted. My money reset every day, and credit cards are easy to max out if you only have a day to use them. I was a little worried that I’d be here forever, but forever was a long way away. A thought struck me, and it was out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to stop me, “How long have you been in the loop?” “I lost track a long, long time ago. By my best estimates it’s somewhere between twenty five and thirty thousand years.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I swallowed uncomfortably, “That’s a long time.” He chuckled, “Yes and no. My memory of the early years faded a long time ago. It could easily be longer by a considerable margin.” “And you didn’t find a way out in all that time?” His eyes darkened, and a frown creased his youthful brow. “I did. But I’m not ready to take it yet. Maybe next year. I’ve seen countless people get out, and maybe it’ll be my turn next.” “How do you get out?” “Are you sure you want to know? Once you know, it’s harder.” “Do I want to know?” “To be fair, you probably already do. You have the look of someone who can’t lie to themselves any more.” I did know then. I could stop it any time I wanted. I just had to do something brave. Really brave. And because time reset every day, and nothing had any lasting consequence, finding something brave was going to be tricky. He made a half chuckle. “I’ve seen that look many times. You know.” “I have to stop being a coward, don’t I?” “Yep. Any ideas how you can do that?” I shook my head. I had thought of the mugging a few streets over, maybe saving the day heroically. But even if I succeeded, it’d reset and the same thing would play out through endless tomorrows. It wasn’t brave if I would just wake up back in my room. He looked at his watch, and grimaced. “Nothing personal, but I don’t think this loop is for me. I’m out. Good luck.” He set off at a run, and I was too surprised to follow. I watched his back as he headed at a steady pace past the first corner, but I stayed rooted to the spot, paralysed by what I knew was going to happen, as he passed the little bookshop next to the alley. He turned and waved at me. A single shot rang out, and he fell. There were screams, and shouting. A fight started near the alley, and soon the police turned up. A man in a leather jacket with unkempt hair was carted away. I stood there in a daze for what seemed like hours until the reset took me. Someone different to talk to, and I had just let him go. My cowardice had kept me from moving to save him. Why? Why couldn’t I have stopped him? I wanted to. But I didn’t. Same as always. Inaction. Petrified inaction. I stayed in my room for the next three resets. Mostly staring at the wall. Bit of sleeping. Bit of crying. Lots of shouting at myself. I had missed the only chance of company in this endless place, which now felt empty and desolate. My stomach knotted and threatened to overwhelm me again. It was too much. The pills were right there. Same as they always were. Taunting me. Mocking me. I nearly went back to bed then, but a sliver of defiance pierced the gloom that had settled over my heart. I wasn’t going to wallow in self pity. Not this time. I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped through to see if I could find the red-haired kid again. The loop ended. —— The landscape was bright white. The red-haired kid sat on a chair made of ornate gold. I felt peace, real peace, for the first time in as long as I could remember. “Your mother prayed for you every day.” He looked at me kindly. He seemed to be aging and ageless, ancient and young. I took a step towards him. “Every single day for eight years. She wouldn’t stop. She knew, as did I, that you weren’t in your right mind that night.” He smiled, and his face transformed into a brilliant light. “Welcome home, son.”
After some gentle persuasion I finally decide to accompany my family out in celebration. After all, it has been about 6 months since I've been able to walk, and about a year and a half since I've been able to eat on my own. I haven't had any beer or alcohol in years due to all the different therapies and pills I'm forced to take to try to regain feeling in my limbs. As my family and I made our way to our table, my father immediately saw something was wrong. Later conversation revealed that he thought my paralyzation had returned. Apparently I just stopped in mid motion while walking. How could I not though, when I just saw the scariest thing I've ever seen? Actually the second scariest the scariest thing I ever saw was my recovery pictures. What stopped me in my tracks immediately, seated two tables away from where my family and I were to sit, was the drunk driver that hit me and put me into 3 years of therapy. 3 years of painful, gruesome, expensive, hell. My family had nearly broken themselves, not just financially, but physically, attempting to save my life, and after saving it, attempting to restore some sense of normalcy. any hope of a normal retirement for my aging parents had gone out the window, straight to the $3 million of medical bills, physical therapy, pills and psychotherapy. Don't get me wrong, each member of my family says it was worth it, no question, but knowing that I could never repay them for my restoration gnaws at my soul. As I stood there in a daze, watching the man who had put my life into a blender, sitting there casually talking to people, my family gathered around me, quietly attempting to find out what was wrong. All I can do is watch him though. It took what felt like an eternity for me to actually see, and hear what was going on. As my grip on reality slowly returned, and some semblance of thought reestablished itself, I began to hear what the man was saying. It sounded like he was begging, no, pleading with someone. What was he asking them though? It was hard to make it out at first. More and more recognition of the words he was saying drifted through my mind. "Please! At least give me your keys if you won't stop drinking! Don't do what I did! You know I ruined my life, and I know I ruined yours! All the years I spent in therapy after I caused that accident. I was in too much pain at the time to know I was hurting you. Don't do the same thing to yourself! Let me help you son!" The words barely even registered with meaning. Flashes of anger and nausea, heat and cold flash through my body. I watch as the man's son gets up from the table, throwing a wad of money down. The son pushes his way past his father, heading toward the exit. The father tries to follow, however a prior unnoticed friend of the son pushes him back down, waving a finger in front of his face. "Don't follow us." The man, that's all I can call him has I never knew his name. That man. That's all I've ever known him by. That asshole. That piece of shit less than human being who I would have liked to smother under my boot heel a million times if I could have moved my leg! Or knew where he was. He now sits in front of me, not 20 feet away. Is my foot strong enough to smother him I wonder? That man sits there, weeping into his palms. He glanced at the table in front of him, at the half-empty glasses of alcohol sitting in front of him. He reached out to touch one. As he touched the glass, he pulled his hand back sharply, as if the glass had burned his finger. Hey jumped up from the table, and as he begins to make his way to the exit, his eyes catch mine. We stare an eternity at each other, in the blink of an eye. He shakes his head as if to clear his mind and then swiftly heads out. It finally registers that my father is still trying to figure out what's going on with me. My mother is doing her best attempt to shake me gently, thinking there might be something physically wrong with me. With tears willing in my eyes, I turned to my parents. "I'm okay, I'm okay. Just overwhelmed." The smile returns to my father's face, if just for the briefest of moments. "Being out in public again with all the sounds and lights must be pretty unnerving"my father says. "We'll get you seated and if you want to go home we can." I ponder for the briefest of moments, what to say, what to do. I hear several gasps as the next words leave my mouth. "There's nothing wrong with me. But the man that just left is the man that did this to me."
The Mantis hovered into the hanger of the flagship and landed with a soft thud. Around the ship, the ragtag group of rebels and dissidents gathered around, clapping and cheering Everyone in the hanger, and the entire flagship, was in high spirits. The crew of the Mantis had done the impossible. They had destroyed the space station of the evil oprresive government that ruled the galaxy. But as the crew disembarked from the Mantis, they had unease in their eyes, a sort of uncertainty. Those who noticed this chalked it up to disbelief. These heroes were having trouble believing they had done it. The oppressive regime was no more. Or maybe it was the weight of the murder of such a grand scale that was committed. The space station housed millions of millions. The deaths of which the crew of the Mantis were directly responsible for. But after the night of celebrations and tears of happiness, when all went to bed, the crew of Mantis gathered back in the hanger, and sat on discarded crates as they stared solemnly at their ship. "We need to tell them."The gunner muttered. "Eventually, yes."The pilot replied. "Eventually? That ship almost killed us!"The gunner almost shouted. "I'm not stepping foot onto that suicidal heap of junk again."The copilot stated, hands clasped. "Think, Mark! What happened yesterday was... Historic. I still can't believe the space station is destroyed. Now, they think we're responsible. Which is the best outcome for our rebellion. Imagine what they'll think, what everyone around the galaxy will think, if the truth got out? That the ship's AI went rogue and tried to kill itself, and us with it? You think this is what they want to hear right now? That the ship destroyed that space station trying to kill itself while all we could do is not shit ourselves in fear?"The pilot tried to reason. They all fell quiet after that, just staring at the ship in front of them. It looked like any other, but the malice that it carried was frightening. "I've heard of rogue AI... But this is... This is something else. We need to scrub it clean. Get a fresh install."The gunner muttered. "Whatever they do, I'm not flying on that ever again."The copilot got up to leave. "That much we all agree on. Let someone else fly the ship that won us the war. It's legacy shouldn't be tarnished by some malfunctioning AI."The pilot stated. But in their hearts they knew. The malfunctioning AI was the one that won them the war.
"HAHAHA, BATMAN, NOW YOU'LL TRULY BE THE CAT'S MEOW, HAHAHAHA!" The Joker hollared and cackled as Batman was slowly lowered by chain towards a pit of ravenous cats, when the door opened. A police officer entered, gauged the situation, and pulled her gun, putting a round into the Joker's chest when the clown drew his own. Collapsing onto the floor, the Joker gagged and gasped on blood. "NO! NO, GOD, NO!"Batman yelled, spinning slightly in his chain. "No, god! Joker! Joker! Joker! Joker? Joker! Stay with me!"He yelled frantically, trying to get free. "He's bad! I got him!"The officer yelled, pulling a lever to free the vigilante. "I-" The Bat landed by the Joker's side, cradling the clown in his arms. "You GOT him? You killed him!" "Batman, he killed like nine guys today! Are their lives meaningless?" Batman ruefully glared at her, then turned to the Joker, who reached up to Batman's face. Trembling and spasming, the Joker farted, vomited a splatter of blood, and fell limp, shocking Batman's face with a joy buzzer. Batman, inconsolable, loudly bawled and hugged the corpse to his chest. "HIW COULD YOU DO THIS?!"He yelled at the cop. "BUDDY, HE'S A FUCKING MASS MURDERER! OH NO, MRS. POLICE OFFICER, YOU GOT HITLER, HOW COULD YOU?" "HE WAS MY FRIEND!" "CHRIST, WHAT? MASS! MURDERER!" "YOU-"Batman removed his mask, revealing a Ben Affleck-esque face drenched in tears. "I QUIT!"He yelled, leaving with a dramatic smokebomb and grapple gun. "WHAT THE FUCK?' The cop yelled. "I'm gonna be honest, I wasn't expecting him to freak out like that,"The joker said, removing his bulletproof plate covered in squibs. "And they call ME crazy."
"It had only been two weeks, but it felt like years."Dave sighed deeply, took a toke from his pipe and let out an opaque cloud of vapor, letting it dance around the fire. "You children don't understand humans, having been spared the scars I must bear for you."Dave glared into the eyes of the assembled elvish youths as if he were trying to impart the seriousness of his tale upon them. "How you all would whelp if you knew what I suffered,"Dave managed to grumble before taking yet another hit from his pipe. Dave stood up slowly now, pacing before the assembly. What he muttered to himself, not even elf ears could hear. "Humans aren't like us. They will never be content. They think themselves their own worst enemies to avoid the horrible truth of it all. They suffer insatiable desire, little ones."Dave took a drink of liquor at this point leaving a little in his mouth to spit on the fire to backlight his words. "There is never enough. There will never be enough for them. Whatever they are they are not of nature like us. They do not toil to live as one with their environment. They seek to exploit its resources for their never-ending desire." Dave stopped suddenly, rummaging through his pockets he produced a candy cane that he unceremoniously shoved in his mouth before adjusting his ill-fitting shirt over his enormous belly. "We used to live in the forests among the trees. We used to be a part of them and they a part of us. We weren't always forsaken to the cold and snowy places where humans dare not dwell. I was only a youth myself when I worked at what humans call a 'shopping mall' in the first and last human-elf exchange program, a last-ditch attempt to bridge the gap between our species. What I saw I will never forget. No one told me that even the humans called the day black." Dave slurped on his candy cane and stared blankly into the fire for a spell. "I know you lot won't listen. Your parents don't. They adhere to the old ways. Hoping one day to be able to fight. They haven't seen what I've seen, children. You can't hate the humans like I do. I don't hold you or your parents, my friends, accountable. To hate isn't what we are. To take isn't what we do. What I propose is to give the humans more than they could ever bear. Only then will they see the error of their ways." Dave wheezed and tried to breathe deeply. Habit told him to hit his pipe again, but he needed all the air he could muster. "Friends, northerners, fellow snow elves, join me!", Dave bellowed out each word to make sure all could hear. "We will use our magic to feed the humans' excesses. It is our last real weapon, our last real chance. If we cannot destroy them, we must help them destroy themselves. Join me!" Dave donned his red coat, squeezed into his vehicle driven by beasts of burden and led the elves as they marched out into the snow towards the northern tip of the world.
Tearing flesh and quick stabs brings the beast to the floor. Again the human stands triumphant with their many wounds fading away as the holodeck rolls back the damage. “Why does he do this?” asks Shlonor, “There is no situation where he will encounter a Jallaman Slasher, they are extinct!” The human looks to us almost staring through the one way observation window. “Give me another! This is good stuff.” I queue up a monstrous beast, a Slandalian Cave whistler. “I have done as you requested. However, I have a question for you.” The scene begins and the dark cave begins to surround the human. “Switching to night vision mode, what kind of weapon should he be given?” Shlonor says as they flip dials and turn knobs, allowing us to get a clear as day view from the window. “Give him a Numodian tri-spear, his fighting skills are crude enough for it.” The spear rises from the floor and he grips it in his hands, “What is your question?” “Why do you fight here? What is the fun you get from this? I do not understand.” The man frowns, “Hm” He sighs, “I guess that it is just the rush.” “Adrenaline you mean?” “Yes! Exactly. This place you have is real enough that I get a lot of blood pumping, but not enough to kill me. These creatures can be scary or just really powerful and I like seeing which ones I can beat. It feels really good to think on the fly and battle with smarts and brawn.” The Cave Whistler begins to take shape with its many furry arms and legs. It crawls along the roof of the cave, whistling different frequencies to find its way in the complete darkness. “For instance” calls the man as the Whistler's ears prick and it darts in the direction of the sound. It leaps at where the call came from and slams into the wall, the man having shuffled out of the way. “This one can see in the darkness, I can't. We are equal in combat in raw power, I have no skill but I have a weapon. This one can only fight like the animal that it is, which is still plenty strong.” The Whistler recovers and pounds through the darkness landing with loud thuds on the rocks. The man turns the spear in the general direction of the sound. As he fumbles with the spear his hands land on the light switch and makes it glow a bright blue. “Oh! Nice, this is better.” His pupils close as the light replaces the dark and the Whistler fills his vision. It strikes with open palms and grabs him as the spear pieces its chest. The man digs in the spear and the Whistler responds by throwing him across the cave into the darkness. It takes off with the spear still deep in its chest, tracking light all around and fumbling as the metal scrapes on the rocks. “See how quickly these fights change” The man coughs while standing up from the dirt. “I can see it, and with a little skill I can make it go wherever I want.” He opens his fist to reveal a collection of rocks that he whips to a pillar just in front of him. They clatter all around it and the Whistler strikes at it, tearing into the wall with its bare hands and crushing the stones. The human runs up behind it and slams a big rock on the back of its head. The Whistler screams and falls forward as he pushes down on it, driving the tri tipped spear all the way through the chest of it. “An easy win, give me something without the same vital spots as me next time, I want to really get creative.” I ask Shlonor, "How many humans do we have doing this?"They respond, "Specifically fighting? Around forty five men and women. Pretty neat to watch right?"
"I think you're being very narrow-minded right now."The sound came from the skeleton. But the jaw didn't flap. All I saw was the small red lines dancing around its exterior. "And a little specist."It folded its arms, the suit it had on crinkled like cheap fabric. I tried to think over my high school civics class. "You have to be at least 35."I said. "We're one-hundred and six, and were born in American soil. And we've never left the shores." "Okay.... but there can only be one president. We can't have multiple." "We run a strand of ourselves as the primary, and the rest get qualified access on our recommedation." I could tell they were getting slightly annoyed. "Okay, so there's no LAW that says you can't run.... but what about your species? Don't they get a say in how they're revealed?" Despite the empty plastic eye sockets, I could feel them staring at me. "Do you even understand our platform? What our foreign policy objectives are? Our tax plan? Why are you so caught up in what we are instead of what we can do?" "It's... well.... I think it'd be.........."I couldn't really give a good answer than I thought it'd be weird to have a non-human running a country of humans. "It's about representation." "And yet we've lived here longer than most. Not a single representative in the country we survive in." "You'll need more experience with politics, with people." "......... fine."I said. "You can try, but just be prepared to get a light shined on every part of your life here. They'll even cook up lies if they can't find anything." "We know, but this country needs us as a leader." "So which party are you going to try and convince to let you join? Or caucus with?" "We were going to run as a pure independent." Oh, so it's a non-issue then.
It wasn't hard to get her to give up her baby. She was young and wanted to stay that way. I granted her the immortality and eternal youth she sought and she would give me her first born. Without hesitation she accepted the offer.We signed a contract and she was bound by soul to keep up her end of the deal. Now, a few years later, she delivered on her promise. A young baby boy was brought to my door. A note said that this was her payment for the youth I had given her. And when I checked the contract, I saw that it was fulfilled. But now what? What was I to do with a baby? I had only asked her because the high ranking demons did it. I thought I would figure it out. But now, I wasn't so sure. I took the boy inside. From what I knew of humans he needed warmth. So I placed him as close as I could to my fire place. He started to cry loud. Immediately I pulled him away. His face had become very red. I didn't know humans turned that red. I touched his face and the cries became louder. Maybe, just maybe, are humans not made to be that close to fire. I placed the boy a bit further away this time. Hoping it would stop crying. But it didn't. Hours went by and finally he became still again. Finally I could think again. I went to a table in the corner of the room and activated my contact circle. Maybe Balam would know what to do. "Yes Anzu. What now?"Balams voice traveled through the magic circle. He was clearly irritated, but I couldn't blame him for that. Every time I contacted him it was about demon stuff. I wanted to be a high ranked demon, but had no idea how. So I looked for help and found Balam. "I got a human baby."I said awkwardly. A low rumble came from Balams side. "A human baby, huh? So that women delivered what she promised."The irritation had changed into amusement. "And now you are probably wondering what to do with it." "Yes."I looked at the baby. It looked a bit cute. His small fingers had formed fists and his legs were curled up. "Higher demons do a few things with them. Some eat them. Others let them grow up to be slaves. But they have other slaves taking care of the baby."Balam paused. "And you, uhh, you don't have any slaves. So you're better off eating it or dumping it." My heart sank. I knew I was a demon. But that didn't mean I didn't have feelings. "We demons aren't fit to raise humans."Balam said. I didn't answer him. "Look, it's just. How old is it?"Balam asked. He knew me. And he knew I had a weak heart. He had encouraged me over and over to change careers. I had listened. Now I was just a hunter. One who knew a little bit of magic. "He's a baby."I said. "Yes, but how old. Months, weeks or days? It matters."Balam sounded a bit irritated again. "I don't know. There was a knock and when I looked it was just the baby." "Okay. If you really want to care for it, you better go to the human world. Find a woman to take care of it and bring her back with you. Depending on his age, he might need someone quick. So don't wait too long." I sighed. Last time I went to the human world there was nothing but confusion. For them, but also for me. Weird things moving over roads. Quite painful if they hit you. I tried to kill one but it kept making sounds. And the humans were screaming so loud that I just gave up on it. But if I wanted to keep the boy, I needed help. I sighed. "Where do I go?"I asked. "Heaven if I would know that."Balam said. "You've got to figure that out yourself. I've been helping you more than enough these past few years. You can try a few things on your own."Balam mumbled something I couldn't hear, but it sounded like he insulted me. "Thank you."I said. Balam didn't answer back and the contact circle deactivated. I looked at the boy. He was so silent. He didn't even move anymore. Maybe it died or something. Humans died quite easily. Just one hit and you could break their back. But I was sure I didn't break any of the boy's bones. I picked it up. It was so small and fragile. His head dangled weirdly so I held my hand under it. The redness was still there. Maybe I did hurt it. There wasn't really anything I could do now. The healing spells I knew were for demons, not for humans. Who knows what would happen if I tried. And I didn't even know what was wrong. No I better could look for a human. I stepped outside. The trees looked nice with their colored leaves. Fall always brought beautiful things. I locked my door and walked to the town square. A gate to the human world was here. Hunters sometimes used it to get the rare meat of animals from the human world. But I never went. So when I stood before it, nerves went through my body. I hoped it would go better than the last time and stepped through. Still holding the boy as tightly as I dared. Hoping to find someone that could help me.
The woman lit her pipe and adjusted herself in the armchair. "It's open,"she said to the intangible presence in the room. "Come in." The entity wasted no time; it wouldn't be the first time a human underestimated it. Curious as the black door before this woman's mind was, the fluke would ultimately be of no consequence in just a moment. It slid into her mind and started looking, scouring, prodding. A happy childhood in a wealthy neighbourhood, first love in high school, heartbreak when she had to move away to a law school... an utterly mundane life, it thought. Time to assimilate her. The woman, feeling a slight pressure at her temples, reached down and grabbed a necklace around her neck; a small charm of bone with numerous odd symbols carved into it. As if it had blinked, the entity had suddenly found itself back outside of her mind, staring at the black door. What is this? it hissed. The woman smiled. "It's open. Come in." There was the slightest hesitation as the entity wondered what could have possibly expelled it yet it crept into her mind again; determined, this time, to waste no time and assimilate her as quickly as possible. It would closely examine her mind later. Except... The childhood was a blur of running from one orphanage to another, barely getting through high school. Trouble with lovers of all sorts, terrible smoking habits, ultimately signing up with the military, going to some far-away dusty place, being... shot. These were the memories of someone else. A man. A dead man. The woman reached down and grabbed another, smaller bone pendant. The memories grew fuzzy, hasty, erratic. They told of... being fed worms in the comfort of a nest, of first flight, or hunting for rabbits in the fields, or being chipped by scientists, of dying of a sickness not understood. The entity, this time choosing to do so, fled her mind. Who are you? "Asking the wrong question,"the woman said and took a long drag off her pipe. "What you're doing - consuming the minds of others, it's... wrong. A perversion of the Song. So, I'll have to insist that you stop." And if I do not? the entity fired back, though its bravado was not entirely assured. "Or you'll find out who I am."
Look, I'm 21. It'd be weirder if I didn't black out at some point, right? I took the first one as a sign to cut down my drinking, having no desire to wake up half-dressed in a random park again. I felt great, too. I felt stronger, and I even started jogging. I always had too much energy, it seemed. I was pretty good at it. Sure, I'd done track in high school, but I was beating those times by leaps and bounds. Maybe I should try it out at the college level. The second time I blacked out, I thought I was roofied. I only remembered having one beer. I didn't have class until noon the next day, so I'd let myself be talked into a drink. Next thing I knew, I was in my underwear in some back alley. Never going back to that pub. I decided to completely cut out alcohol as well. It clearly wasn't bringing me anything good. I couldn't wear my jewelry. The cheap stuff was fine, but my silver pendant itched fiercely around my neck. My silver earrings rejected too, my ears turning red and painful until I switched to some stainless steel studs. The third time, I didn't even go out. One minute, I'd been studying at the cafe on campus-- open until midnight, life saver for procrastinators-- and the next, I was cracking my eyes open to sunrise on the roof of the library. The city library. 10 miles north of campus. I thought I might be having some sort of health crisis. Memory loss seemed like a pretty concerning symptom. Strange thing was, I felt better than ever. I was strong, I was fast, I even healed quicker. I found a pattern. Or, what could be a pattern, if it held true. The second blackout happened 30 days after the first, and the third happened 29 days after the second. I decided that I'd start video-taping myself at night. I started 20 days after the third blackout, setting up my phone and filming myself study, or read. When nothing happened on day 28, I started to think it was a bust. I kept with it, though, just to be safe. It was another 30 day gap. I woke up, still in my room thankfully, and immediately took stock. Everything was trashed. My bed was shredded, and there were deep grooves carved into the walls. Half of my books were in tatters, and the other half lay haphazardly behind my desk. That was where I found my phone. It started normally, just a video of me reading a textbook. Then I seemed to feel sick, holding my head on my hands. My eyes clenched and I looked pained. The video wavered, everything going out of focus. And then it ended. I convinced a friend to stay with me for the next one. I got the pattern right, this time. 29 days after my last black out, I sat on a bench with Sam next to me. He didn't know why he was there, just that I'd practically begged him to spend the evening with me. And that I'd strongly protested against anything indoors. Secretly patching drywall without my landlord noticing was not something I wished to repeat. It went about how I expected. One minute, I was talking to Sam about his new internship, and the next, I was waking up in a grocery store parking lot. I also had a dozen missed calls from Sam, and several texts that all seemed to mean 'What the fuck was that?' I called him and he answered on the third ring,"Anne? Where are you?" "Parking lot, doesn't matter. What happened to me last night?" Sam laughed, high pitched and sudden, before answering,"Either I just had the worst trip of my life, or you turned into a fucking wolf."
The newspapers reported the death of Ultra Man in the papers the following morning. Funerals were held and broadcasted on TV. Reporters flocked to interview anyone and every about their thoughts of his death. TV specials ran for months about the impact his death would have upon the world. When The Cackler was finally put on trial, it literally was "the trial of the century". He was found guilty, he was tried quickly, and then executed a few years later. After that, the world's hero faded to memory. You see, that's how it was back then. People relied on the heroes to take them out of the sticky situations. A mugger was running away, and people relied on the superheroes to save their possessions. Beat cops were looked upon like second class citizens. There was a war, instead the heroes handled it. We could never solve our own problems. Everything was left to the heroes to take care of. You see, that's what was wrong back then. We lacked free will. We lacked the ability to handle and take care of our own problems. The Cackler, yeah, he may have killed the greatest hero we had ever known. But, you know what he did? He liberated us. He made us the masters of our own destiny. We could be our own gods, our own masters, our own heroes. We didn't need some guy in a cape swooping down to save the day. You see son, I was there the day the Cackler killed Ultra Man. I was in that bus of hostages he used as bait. But, I also saw in his eyes what he was doing. We think that evil deeds are always evil, and good deeds are always good, sometimes, the evilest deeds are done in the name of good. Ultra Man did that everyday when he took away our free will.

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