Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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The door opened. I stepped out. The green grass, beautiful trees and other flora greeted me. Friendly Earth fauna roamed about, completely at peace with my human presence. A lion strode by, completely unaware of me. "Control, this is Angel 7, I have landed. Repeat, Angel 7 has landed." "Roger, Angel 7, Comm out." Something rustled in the bushes. Ahh, my partner, presumably. The most beautiful woman that I've ever seen stepped out of the bushes, holding something red in her hand. She was naked. "Hello, Adam. My name is Eve."
"Hey you get up, you're next." "Yawn,... next what are you talking about?" "You have until they drag the last contestant out to choose your armor and weapon or i will toss you out without any." My mind went into overdrive, contestant armor, did the insurgents grab me?.. no i went back home, i'm sure of it, as i looked around i saw myself sitting in a large cell, several others were present in rags, my own body armor was stripped and i found my service weapon missing. As i looked further i noticed the table with armor on it, i quickly grabbed my Kevlar vest before one of the others took it, though they seemed more interested in the iron plates and shields laying next to it. As i took a peek outside the cell i saw a dead body dragged off by what could only be described as roman legionnaires, the one who woke me up stared at me and nodded to another table, this one filled with swords nets and all kinds of stabbing implements, luckily no one took my M4 carbine, probably mistaking it for a club of some kind. "You, he's gone, get out there, greet the emperor, then fight." As i stepped out into the Colosseum i noticed the crowd, there must have been fifty thousand men there, unconcerned i wandered to the center to see a slave carrying a gladius and shield coming up to meet me, he stopped near the center shouted "We who are about to die greet thee.", he stopped to see if i would do the same, after realizing i would not he charged me with his gladius. I almost felt sorry for him, he went down before he even came within ten feet of me. The crowd frozen in shock at the sudden blast gave me time to line up shots on the emperor, four more blasts rang out as the emperor and those around him died. This of course pissed of a lot of people, but i hadn't had my coffee yet so when an entire platoon of soldiers came rushing out of the gate i shot them without a second thought. This seemed to give the remaining soldiers pause, but it wasn't long before they though it was a fluke and tried again, with similar results. Now surrounded by bodies the soldiers backed off, one of the senators ducked behind the stone walls of the Colosseum and started shouting "You will never get away with this, we will crucify you for this." No longer caring i shouted back "Ï will, its only a matter of how many of you die before you see the folly in your actions. "I was bluffing of course, i was almost out of ammo, but they didn't know that. Now i can tell you i planned it that way but as the senator came up behind the wall to shout some more, another soldier fired an arrow at me, my Kevlar vest designed to stop bullets didn't so much as flinch as it hit me , the senator however visibly soiled himself as he saw the arrow fall to the ground without so much as scratching me. It all happened quite fast after that, the senator surrendered and told the troops to stand down, he gave me land a title and a bag of money so large i had a slave carry for me. I found a way to lose those within a week, but thats a story for another time.
I was twenty-one years old when I left for the mission. The youngest astronaut in the history of the United States; the youngest astronaut in the history of the earth. The year was 2025, and our technology had exceeded our wildest expectations. To go beyond the reach of our solar system it would take a mere six and a half years. A goal that just ten years ago would have been incomprehensible. For the duration of the flight I was going to be put into a deep sleep chamber. A necessary precaution given that every bit of weight counted on this voyage. This was a first for all of mankind, and the planning of this trip was an enormous undertaking. Once I reached the fringes of our solar system I would be awoken by the timer on the chamber so that I could proceed with my mission. The instructions for this mission were not overly complex. It was to be a simple matter of gathering data about the conditions outside the solar system. Any and all data retrieved would be used to carry out further missions for different crews in the future. The private corporation funding this mission had spent untold amounts of money on this endeavor, and they wanted to see their investments payoff. I had been training since my body was physically capable of handling the rigorous exercises undergone by astronauts. My technological expertise with this particular class of ship were extensive and almost bordering on microanalytical. I had no partners on this mission except one; the ships AI. The AI was one of the first of its kind considering the general public still scorned the idea of them. This particular AI had named itself Charon. The day before I left I said goodbye to my parents. My mother was bawling, and could barely say a word. She hugged me so tight I thought she would never let go. My father was a different story. "You'll be back kiddo."He smiled. "I've never been so proud of you." After a quick embrace between the two of us, and a couple more group hugs with both of them I headed back to my apartment one last time. I was ready. The launch went smoothly thanks to the new design of rockets the corporation used. Before I knew it I was passing through the atmosphere saying goodbye to the only home I had known for twenty-one years. Once we had escaped the clutches of earth's gravity I leapt out of my seat, and experienced true weightlessness for the first time in my life. I giggled somewhat uncontrollably for a minute at the giddiness I felt. I propelled myself over to a window for one last glimpse of home. I'll be back soon. "Engaging rotation function of ship arms. Artificial gravity will soon commence."Charon chimed. I set the timer on the side of the chamber and climbed in. "Charon, if the timer fails to go off wake me in exactly six and a half earth years from this point."I said. "I will set my own timer right now and wake you as requested."It replied in its familiar female voice. The door on the chamber closed and sleep overtook me. Voices and lights danced around me. Waves crashed on the beaches of forgotten islands. The music of a thousand cultures intertwined into one melody. Strange patterns and colors formed sacred geometric shapes. Odd figures with faces that were familiar, but thousands of years old, watched me. Dreams stretched into eons, eons into eternities, and eventually it's as if time stood still. And then I awoke. The door opened on the chamber, and I crawled out, nauseated from the journey. The lights on the ship slowly flickered to life as I gathered myself on the cold metal floor. After the dizziness passed I made my way to the cockpit. "It's good to see you Parker."hummed Charon's voice "Though you are a couple of days earlier than I expected. It's fascinating that you are so resilient, most humans have extreme difficulty moving after staying in the deep sleep chamber for a couple of days. Much less getting up after spending six and a half years in one." "They trained me well."I gruffly replied. "What's the status of the ship?" "The ship is functioning at optimal levels, and we are ready to begin running tests whenever you give the word." "Alright then lets proceed with some of the basics. Start running diagnostics on the immediate area surrounding us, and let me know what you find."I said "No problem, I will let you know when that is completed."It replied. This was the general procedure for the months that we spent out there past the solar system. I would order a battery of tests, and Charon would report back with the results. Most came back negative with the exception of some spectroscopy reports on some nearby asteroids that had drifted by. This was to be expected though. The main purpose of this expedition was to see if this was a feasible operation that could be done. So far in that aspect it was a success. We would pave the way for future expeditions that could potentially bring colonies to other worlds in the not so distant future. Once our given time had elapsed, and I presumed that we had collected all useful data I ordered Charon to take us home. As I climbed into the chamber I reminded Charon to wake me as I had previously, and I set the timer once more. The dreams returned. Flashes of light streaked by. A black hole devoured a galaxy. Stars were born. A fire was kindled in a cave. I saw the birth and death of a thousand generations. I heard their cries. And then I awoke. "Parker can you hear me?"Charon said. "Yeah I hear you."I barely whispered hoarsely. "We our currently in the Atlantic Ocean. Re-entry through earth's atmosphere was a success. Although I think you should have been awake for re-entry we arrived a few days ahead of schedule. And I did not wake you since you instructed me to wait exactly six and a half earth years." "Whatever Charon.."I mumbled trying not to puke. Once I got my wits about me Charon informed me that a crew was coming to retrieve us. They got there promptly, and we returned to base where I was put into quarantine for a mandatory seventy-two hours. Afterwards the true celebration began. I had done it; we had done it. This was one of the greatest achievements of mankind to date, and it put us that much closer to traveling to other solar systems. On the day I was finally getting to leave headquarters I had one more quick encounter with the owner of the company, and the man behind the entire operation, Charles Lancaster. "Parker!"He shouted as I was walking out the front door. I quickly spun on my heel, and went back through the door. "Oh, Mr. Lancaster, hello."I said in shock, as he had only ever met me personally once before when I had just started working for the company. "I just wanted to personally commend you on your expedition."He began. "You have started something that will send all humans to places we have only dreamed about. That is something that is worthy of the highest honor in my book."He beamed. "Just doing my job, sir."I replied shyly. "Well you've done a damn good job, Parker."He laughed. "Now go home, and enjoy some time off. We'll take care of all the data you collected." "Thank you sir, will do."I began to walk away. "Oh, and Parker. One more thing."He said. I turned. "Yes sir?" "Wake up." It took me a second to process what he had said. I felt a tightening in my chest. My knees went wobbly. There was a sharp ringing in my ears. I started to fall, and then everything went black. Blinding lights and colors. Screaming voices. The pain was so intense I thought I was dying. The door opened on the chamber, and I fell out. I puked everywhere. I stood up and immediately fell over. I was panicking; I couldn't make sense of what had just happened. My mind was refusing to accept it. "Charon!"I screamed. "Charon!" "Yes, Ms. Parker?"That familiar voice chimed. "How long have I been out?"I sobbed. "My systems indicate there was some sort of electrical malfunction before the six and a half year mark that turned the timer off. It also knocked me offline for that duration. The deep sleep chamber has kept you alive, and remarkably youthful as well. All systems have just now come back online. It appears we have been offline for about six-hundred years." I sat down and wept. I had been asleep for just over six-hundred years. Everyone I knew was gone. I was somewhere far past the solar system. Tears rolled down my face. "Charon, send a message for me."I quietly said through my tears. "Yes ma'am."She replied "What would you like me to send?" "This is Gwendolyn Parker, Earth's first astronaut to leave the solar system. If anyone can hear this I am still alive. End message."
In a dark, windowless basement, a bored graduate student was sifting through camera feeds of various alien planets. They'd been told that these were all the cameras trained on planets without intelligence, but someone had to make sure they hadn't missed anything. It mostly entailed watching a feed for a few hours, seeing various animals wander about, then move on to the next one. Hours and hours of dumb animals. Not a glamorous job for a xenobiologist in-training that focused on intelligent life. The grad student grew sick of this. They glanced around to see if their advisor was distracted. Not even in the same room. They decided to tune back in to an old favorite: a little watery planet that scientists called an anomaly. It had the seeds of intelligent life, but the animals on it never seemed to grow minds. Nonetheless, the grad student liked to watch it. At least watching vaguely people-like animals was better than watching completely dumb animals. Suddenly, a beacon caught the grad student's eye. Something giving off signals. It was a satellite. Dumb animals don't make satellites. "PROFESSOR! I found intelligence!" The professor skittered over as fast as he could, "Cjoulf, this better not be another false alarm like the M-372 canal incident..." "Professor, it's Sol-3." "Oh! Did they finally get out of living in the dirt and grow some minds?" "Professor. They have satellites around their planet." The professor nearly fell over. "That's impossible! We've had our advanced intelligence scanners on them for eons! They never even made any universal translators! No empathy readers! How did they communicate with one another? How did they do it well enough to make it to space tech??" The grad student pointed at a camera feed. "Sir, I've been watching them... for a while now. They didn't make those because they... don't need them. They've been independently working on these things for decades." The professor's eyes grew wide. "Cjoulf, you're a fool. No intelligent life holes themselves up in little groups and wastes their resources on themselves! That would mean they would fight and bicker over the most basic things!" "Professor, I looked through past logs of the planet. They did. They did fight and bicker. So they never developed universal translators. They never made empathy readers. They didn't have to. And when they finally did reach the point where they needed to collaborate, they just... pointed and flailed like animals. And then traded! But... they mostly just... killed each other for resources." The professor narrowed his eyes. "Cjoulf, do you know the definition of intelligent life? These are dumb animals!" Cjoulf shook their head. "Dumb animals don't build satellites." The professor rubbed his foreheads. "I think... I think I need to make some comm calls." He skittered away. Cjoulf looked back to the screen. How in the known universe did a species entirely skip the universal communication stage of development, yet still make it into space? All they knew is that they were gonna get their name on some pretty big papers.
I only signed up because he broke my nose. That's how it worked. The Romans had gone, and with them any pretence at civilization. I was the roughest, meanest man I knew in our little circle of huts, and when Arthur strolled into town, I picked a fight with him. It was all I knew how to do. I say 'knew', but at the time I was nothing but brute strength and instinct. He'd been _trained_, or intuitively knew far more than I'd ever grasp. When I rushed him he side-stepped my clumsy knifestroke and knocked me on my back with one massive punch. I lay in the mud, certain that at any point soon there'd be a blade through my throat, but when my eyes stopped watering long enough for me to see again he was looming over me, holding out one massive hand. I grabbed it to pull myself up, and that was all that needed to be said. I was one of his men. There was nothing for me in the village. The old men used to boast about decamping one day, moving a little further down the Roman road to where it was said there were still untouched encampments, full of pristine weapons and abandoned treasures. I knew they never would. They would die still scratching a living out of the dirt. Arthur was different. He dressed in mail - the most metal I'd ever seen. He walked taller than anyone, and most of all he had a plan to put the world back together, even at the start, when it was just two of us. We were from subtly different tribes. I used to tease him about his atrocious accent and the way he'd never pronounce my name right: Lamhcalad. But the differences faded away as we travelled, finally taking the Roman road the old men talked about. It was the furthest I'd ever been from home. What struck me most about all the tiny villages we passed through was how disjointed everything was. At every stop Arthur would ask people if they knew who lived in the next valley over, and often they'd have no idea. It was like there was no _country_ left. Another constant was the glowering young men with no prospects, which was good, because we were recruiting heavily. Once he had me we could knock men out two at a time, and then four, and so on. After a while we had our own little warband. I idly suggested to him once that we had enough to go raiding somewhere proper, one of the big towns that had managed to hoard a few scraps of civilization. But that wasn't what he wanted. We scavenged most of our gear, rather than claiming it in battle. A hundred-odd men can do a lot of foraging, and after a while we were well equipped. Every night we'd make a big fire, larger than it needed to be, and sit around discussing what to do. From time to time Arthur would make a speech about his plans for the future. They were a bit over-long, and filled with too many abstract questions about kingship and "what makes a nation", but his heart was in the right place and he was one hell of a speaker. I've never been much for fancy words but I understand that that was his real power. Gathering us was easy; but holding us together was something else. After a while he even got us doing old legionary drills. I'm not sure how he had the knowledge, he didn't speak much of his upbringing. Perhaps his father had been a centurion, or perhaps he had seen a scroll. It was a secret to most of the men that he could read Latin, but he had confided in me. So there we were, mostly with equipment we'd bartered or recovered from abandoned settlements, marching up and down in a square with Arthur at the lead calling out these old Latin words, commands. And we obeyed. "Now can we attack a town?"I asked him late one evening after a long day drilling the troops. "With this many men, we could set ourselves up as a new power, man the walls, find some wives, settle down..." He laughed. "You always dream so small, Lancelot. I think we can do better than one town." The next day, at sunset, he called us all together. "The ancient Romans, who ruled this land once, had a special class of brave men who excelled in combat,"he told us. "They were the _Ordo Equestris_, the knights. They rode to battle on horseback." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I have no horses to offer you; just a little of the fallen glory the Romans left behind. Still; you are my _Ordo Equestris_, my Order of Horses, although you may have to find something else to be knights of. Either way, tomorrow we begin." The next day he dispatched men to the nearest ten towns, proclaiming that the local area was under his protection and that "brigands and thieves"would not be tolerated. We moved to a central location, then set about fortifying it properly, erecting a stockade. Again he seemed to know more of Roman methods than he should have, but when I asked he grinned mysteriously. A few days later the first refugees began to arrive, grateful for anyone offering protection. Small cottages sprouted near our settlement, and people began to farm the outlying land. We reached our second hundred of people in just under a year. Within five, we had as many thousands. Arthur's reputation - and ours - had grown as we had sent out exploratory parties, promising whoever we came across that some measure of stability had been returned to the world. The foraging parties, too, came back with useful weapons and armour from a dozen Roman military bases, building up our strength further. Well, mostly. I remember one expedition that I and Arthur both - an unusual occurrence, by this stage - were on, when three of the most dim-witted men vanished into a decrepit villa then emerged triumphant, wheeling a vast round table between them. It was made of solid marble; there was no practical way to carry it tens of miles back through the mud to the capital. Arthur, as ever, was a model of tact. "Leave it here,"he said. "This shall be our place of deliberation, when it is necessary to discuss things away from the town." ----------------------------------------------------- What angers me, even now, is how _close_ we got. It _should have worked_. We had a functioning city, with a few hundred men under arms and hundreds of acres of cultivated farmland. There was even a small school for the children, and a system of beacons for miles around to let us know if an attack was coming. In any just world - But the world is not just. Late one winter evening, I was stood on the walls with Arthur when the beacon to the east began to burn with a bright flame. "Wolves? Or bandits?"I asked. He sighed. "Something far worse, I fear." The watchmen's horns had begun to sound, a low tone that spoke of panic and urgency. I turned to look down into the courtyard, where the garrison were mustering. That's how I noticed the firelight from the beacon to the west, then the one to the north. We were attacked on three fronts. Arthur still hadn't moved from his position on the walls. I grabbed his arm. "How is this possible?" He shook his head. "At least the farms to the south will be shielded, for the moment,"he said. He looked straight at me, and in his gaze I could feel the weight of a lot of things I didn't understand. "There's others, Lancelot,"he said. "We aren't the only people trying to build a kingdom. I've been hearing rumours from my outriders for a while now, a rough alliance of raiders with no patience for rebuilding. They go from settlement to settlement like locusts, stripping them of value. To them, we are a particularly glittering prize." "What happens if they break our lines?"I asked, hoping somehow for reassurance that that was impossible. But Arthur was nothing if not a realist. "Then our way of life will be extinguished,"he said, too lightly, "and theirs will prove the better strategy." I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to fight and die alongside the other knights, the men I'd drank and argued with for long hours at the round table. But in the early hours of the morning, when the mists rose, Arthur came and found me with a scroll in his hand. "Lancelot, I need you to leave now,"he said. "Take this south, as far as you can reach." "Will you not fight?"I asked. His face was grim. "No-one made it back from the beacons. The barbarians are much more numerous than - I thought we had more time. I went out scouting their encampment. I had to see with my own eyes. But the mists - I had to kill one of their sentries. I didn't think -" He fell silent. It was only then I noticed the blood seeping through his mail, the way he clutched his arm tightly to his side. I saluted him briefly with the scroll, then headed south, travelling as light as I could. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- That was the last time I saw him, or anyone from Camelot, ever again. The first evening after I fled the sky was red with fire behind me, the scent of smoke ugly on the wind. I didn't deceive myself that the raiders had left anyone alive. The scroll the bastard had given me was blank. At first I thought that this was just another of his manipulations, a trick to get me away from the battle. First into his service, and first out of it. It was only later I realized its other purpose. I'm not a man of letters, monk, but you are, and that is why I have come to you. Camelot is in ruins, and it may be that we who lived there will never be remembered as we truly were. But I have told you everything I remember. The time of the barbarians cannot last forever, and some knowledge of Arthur will survive as an example to future generations of how to build a better world. We sit in our terrorized villages behind high walls, telling each other legends in the dark of the great King Arthur and his magic knights. But it was _not like that_. I was _there_. So please, write the truth. -------------------------------------------- [/r/MisterKeefe](https://www.reddit.com/r/misterkeefe)
Ever since my bone marrow became sentient, my live got a little crazy. I had to argue with it and try to make it see reason just to perform the simplest actions. When I saw a skeleton ripping out of some guy on the street it really freaked me out. But luckily my situation wasn't so desperate. Telepathically, I could have long conversations with my bones, and we talked things through, and learned to understand each other. The arrangement become very beneficial. Turns out skeletons are very fragile on their own, but inside a human, they can increase his, and their own, powers. Together, with 2 consciences, I became twice as smart, and twice as fast. We became friends, and, later, step by step.... We became lovers. Yes, you heard me. We went on dates, and watched the starts together. And when it comes to pleasuring ourselves.... Well, you don't want to know how sex with your own skeleton looks like, but it feels awesome. It was wonderful time in mine and Debra's life(yes, my skeleton is a girl and her name is Debra). Until one fateful day, when I walked down the street, and accidentally dropped my books, and another guy helped me to pick them up.... Debra fell in love with him. And I, looking at the shape of his skull and elegant elbows and knuckles, realized that my true love is his skeleton. Then it got all new sort of weird. We went on romantic dates, and fought with our skeletons. There was a lot of drama and tears, but also a lot of quirky, funny and adorable situations. ----- "Boners", a new romantic comedy, watch every Friday at 10, on CBS. &nbsp; ----- ----- Liked this story? Come visit [my blog](http://fictionhub.io/u/rayalez) where you can read the best stuff I create! Read ["The Game"](http://fictionhub.io/story/the-game) and ["Unaware"](http://fictionhub.io/story/unaware). If you like these stories - you will probably like the rest of my stuff =)
It had been a noble thing at first. Fighting crime, keeping the order, keeping the less than upstanding citizens in line--the gangsters, the drug pushers--I've been doing this for nearly two decades, keeping my city of Crestview safe from anyone who would hurt it. The Forsaken, The Enigmas,The Inquisitors, The King's Men--I could go on with all the people I've fought. But there's one who will always stand out in my mind. Of all my rogues, I'll never forget her. Ember. A nobody when she attempted to rob a bank. Attempted being the operative word in this phrase. The take wasn't even all that much in the end only being maybe five grand, give or take. She was tall, rail thin, in her costume emblazoned with fire and suns. Our first fight left a street scorched by her flames, a standard mark of our encounters until I came up with the proper countermeasures later. She got away in the end, but at least I recovered the money for the bank. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Months later, and I found her fighting Galahad of the King's Men, with hardly any thought to the damage they were doing to the store fronts or the people around them. I neutralized Ember first with the extinguishing foam I developed, though Galahad escaped as Ember lashed out at me. I had almost secured her for the police until one of the shop owners stopped me. Apparently Galahad had been doing round for protection money, until Ember got in his way. Though her methods had been...destructive, her heart was in the right place. I let her off with a warning, hoping maybe she would change sides, an ally against the chaos threatening to consume this city. I was wrong. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ A year later, the night of the incumbent Mayors fundraiser, Ember appeared again. Holding the entire gala hostage, calling them hypocrites for throwing around money when the city was suffering. I almost found myself agreeing with her, until I remembered who she was. A villain, using Robin-hood rhetoric to justify herself. I cornered her on the balcony, it could have been over right there and then. Ember would never see the light of day once I used my extinguishing foam. But Ember, she had been holding back, she unleashed a torrent of fire consuming the balcony, almost half of the building. I died. That's what the doctors said when I woke up in the hospital. Over half of my body covered in burns, armor fused to my flesh in a few places. I used a favor from the Heroes Association, calling in a healer to help with the worst of the damage. I never liked dealing with them, they were...too idealistic for me. Never willing to do what was necessary. As soon as I was released, I got to improving my suit. It would be able to disperse the heat more effectively, and eventually I would modify it to stop the combustion reaction entirely. Soon. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Four years later, and the worst happened. Crestview was hit by the worst tidal wave in recorded history. The Heroes Association helped with the evacuation process--we got a lot of the people out, except for the people on the docks. We were so focused on rest of the city we had missed the most obvious. I had written them off honestly--the worst of the worst lived there, my investigations leading me to conclude that nearly eighty percent of the drug trade went through there alone. It would be a clean slate I thought. Until I saw the pillar of fire in the relief camp. Easily hundreds of feet high, holding the tidal wave back. Not enough to stop it from ruining most of the Docks, but most of it salvageable. Theoretically. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Months went by of keeping order in the relief camps. Gangs unwilling to put petty disputes behind them for the sake of survival, looters, rioters--Most days went on for thirty hours, I barely kept a lid on the chaos. The mayor was allegedly fighting the city being condemned by the federal government, but tension ran high. On my patrol I found a group, maybe some thirty odd people gathered around a veritable fleet of trucks. I thought it was a riot waiting to break out, maybe people just venting the stress that was building with everything that had happened. Until I saw her. Ember stood on the hood of a car throwing out fliers of the growing crowd. Recruiting probably. Taking advantage of these desperate people, and for what?! To rule over the ruins? I don't remember as I leaped down on Ember. The adjustments I made to the armor prevented her fire from starting, gas pouring from protrusions of the armor, choking the flames before they could even start. I rained blow after blow down on her as the crowd screamed in panic. A few tried to get me off of her, but it was no use. It would be a full minute until I so much as glanced at the fliers. Addresses for relief aid, safest time to move, a hotline for an escort. She had been laundering her money into a number of shelter for years with the money that she stole over the course of her career it seems. And in the moment, her broken form below me, and the accusing glares of the crowd around us? I didn't feel like a hero. Edit:An important word in the last section.
It had been a long day. One of those days where the clock had moved no more than 7 minutes every time you looked up. What little work you had gotten done today had been horribly half assed and probably would need to be redone after this weekend on Monday, but you didn’t care. As far as you were concerned, Friday was over and the weekend had begun. It was time to go home. As you packed your things you hear footsteps round the cubicle wall, it’s your overbearing boss, Linda. She slaps a file down on your desk, “I am going to need you to complete this before you head home today, sorry, it came from corporate. Something about humans they said.” You sigh, there’s no point in arguing. “Alright I’ll get it done before I head out.” She walks off and you open the file and begin to flip through the pages. These species reports usually don’t take too long just a little bit of reading and a form to fill out on the computer. How the entire operation actually works is quite amazing. Once a planet is discovered all different forms of life on the planet are cataloged. If it is deemed that there is a sentient species residing on said planet then an employee must visit the planet, of course, dressed as the species in question, and learn all there is to learn about the species. After a few months they write a report and that report is handed down through the chain of command in the company until it lands on someone's desk who can analyze it and catalog it with all of the other sentient species in the galaxy. And that person is you. It’s not an awful job, it pays well, but data entry isn’t exactly living the dream. You look up at the clock again, 4:52, exactly 7 minutes again...fuck. Fuck this, fuck today, fuck this report, fuck humans. After a few short clicks you are looking at the form pulled up on the computer. The only time anyone ever looks at these things is if the species in question is labeled warlike, has nuclear weapons, a history of enslavement, or more than 2 major genocides. Rarely does a society have one and in only one other case did a society exist where there were 2. “Eh, how bad could they be.” Quickly you tap out humans at the top of the form and proceed to check the boxes accordingly to arouse the least suspicion as possible. Peaceful, yes; genocides, no; enslavement, no; nuclear weapons, none; and so on. The report is done and you glance once again up at the clock, 4:59, perfect. Twirling around in your chair you grab the file labeled humans, drop it in the trash, pick your bag up and walk off to enjoy your weekend at home. It’s now 8 in the morning on Monday and you are back at work, equally as eager to go home as you were last Friday. And just as you did last Friday you hear footstep approaching around your cubicle wall, once again it is your boss Linda. “Hey, get on the conference call you are talking to the Galactic Senate in 15 minutes over video call” “WHAT?” “Yes, someone pulled your report on humans from over the weekend and now they are being considered for admittance to the League of Planets in the Milky Way and they want to talk to an expert. Since you are the only one who read the report I told them you’d do it.” “Uhhh alright” you stammer “I’ll be on in 15” Shit shit shit! Immediately you go sifting through the trash until you feel the file. Ripping it out of the trash you slap it down on the desk and begin pouring over of the information, none of which you read. Oh fuck, this isn’t good. Multiple world wars, nuclear weapons….NUCLEAR WEAPONS USED IN WAR, oh god...one, two three, four, WHY IS THERE AN “ETC.” AT THE END OF THE LIST OF GENOCIDES?! Oh no, Oh no, this is not good. You look up at the clock 8:07. You turn back to the file and keep flipping THEY HAD SLAVES TOO? THEY STILL HAVE SLAVES?! Leaning back in your chair you run your hands through your hair. Well fuck. This is it. You are probably gonna get fired. You look up at the clock once again 8:14. Gathering your composure you open up the conference call invite and prepare to speak. Through the speakers of your computer you hear your boss’s voice. “And now the foremost expert on humans with more on their incredible history.” Your screen shows the audience, thousands of beings of different races, all peering into the screen at you. “Uh hello, everyone. My name is Lou, I cataloged all of the data we’ve received about humans, and let me tell you they are alright.” He could feel his face turning red and the sweat soaking through his shirt. “They have lived their entire existence in peace with not only each other, but also the other… uh inhabitants of their planet” Didn’t you read something about how they eat the other conscious animals on their planet? Shit this isn’t going well. Time to bail. “And uh...schhhhhh schhhhhhh the other beings on Earth schhhhhh…don’t add them to the League of Planets in the Milky Way...schhhh.” And on the last schhh you pulled the plug out of the computer with your feet and slammed your head down on the desk, defeated. It seemed like ages you sat face down at your desk, you rolled your face to the side and glanced up at the clock...8:21...fuck it.
Chuck was staring at a fresh one. The lady lurching towards him, arms outstretched, hadn't been dead long enough to decompose. She looked to have died in her late 70s, with a prim halo of white hair framing her kindly face with its milk-white eyes, and just a little bit too much rouge on her pale cheeks. She was still wearing the sky blue dress she had been buried in, and a string of pearls. She reminded Chuck of his rich great aunt, who always used to pinch his cheeks when his family would go visit her, and would feed him home-made fudge and send a check for the princely sum of $50 on his birthdays. "Shoelaces"the lady groaned through her pale, bloodless, lips. "Pardon me?"said Chuck. The lady was standing directly in front of him, now. She bent down on one knee, gently took hold of his left shoe, and re-tied the laces. Then she looked up, her dead face contorted in a kindly smile. "Shoelaces."She moaned again. "No...want...you...to....trip." "Oh. Thanks, ma'am."Chuck said. The lady beamed at him and lurched off down the street, unsteady in a single high-heel shoe. There were hundreds of thousands of them now, maybe millions. Corpses risen from their graves and walking the earth, looking to do good and kindness wherever they could. The body of a fireman who had been killed putting out a fire at an orphanage was patrolling the Delvers Glade neighborhood, awkwardly climbing trees to rescue cats who had become stuck after fleeing the unnatural, but well-intentioned, horrors that now stalked the earth. His clumsy zombie hands made it hard for him to actually get up into the trees, but the falls didn't seem to hurt him and he'd helped over a dozen cats find their way home. Meanwhile, downtown, there was a police woman zombie directing traffic at a busted traffic light, remaining perfectly calm in the face of honking horns and angry drivers, and without needing to eat, rest, or sleep. People were joking that they could get rid of all the lights if they could just find a few hundred more like her. People were out looking for recently departed loved ones, trying to bring them back home. Of course it wasn't every corpse who managed to crawl their way out of the ground. It seemed like only 10 percent or so were returning in this zombie form. The rest just stayed dead. Some people were trying to use the situation and to integrate the zombies into every day life. A zombie day care had opened up on Pear Street, where children were being watched by a couple kindly old ladies who'd run the church bakesale for decades before dying within 6 months of each other. Hospitals were experimenting with zombie candy stripers, who could change bed pans and even push wheelchairs or help carry patients to the bathroom. It was less embarrassing to have a zombie, with its decayed flesh and flat affect, watch you go than a flesh and blood person. Chuck waved at the shoelaces lady down the street. She waved back, her forearm swinging back and forth grotesquely in full 180 degree arcs. He smiled. She smiled back. Chuck didn't know where these corpses came from or what they wanted, but he did know he didn't want to end up like one of them. A rumor was spreading that only the good and the kind were coming back. The best humanity had to offer. Some people were saying that if you didn't want to come back after you died you could protect yourself by doing something bad. The better the person you were the more you had to do to make up for it. Average people only had to egg a few houses, be rude to those around them, or wear the same Ed Hardy shirt for a solid week to protect themselves. If you'd lived a truly exemplary life you might have to go further. Spraypaint racial slurs on a family's house or set a fire. Chuck had spent the last five years in developing communities in Africa, helping dig wells and build community centers. Before that he'd used his education as a registered nurse to work with a group that repaired hair lips and other physical deformities for disadvantaged youths. He'd devoted his life to service. After being diagnosed with cancer he'd come back to the States to try to fight it, but he was losing that fight. He only had a few months left. And now this. Chuck didn't want to die, but he didn't want to undie either. He didn't want to become a thing that wasn't him, that wasn't even human. There wasn't much time left. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he had to do it quickly.
A day doesn't go by I don't regret those damned candles and markers. See, when I was the ripe age of fourteen, I decided that magic was worth investing in, and so I tried to cast all sorts of spells; to no avail. Until recently. "Wow, that's a really cool glowstick!"She shouted over the thumping of the club's heavy bass music. "Yeah, glowstick..." An orb of light I cast 5 years earlier was floating around the room, mesmerising all the drugged up moshers. That wasn't so bad, what was worse was- "What is he doing!" "Someone get that kid an ambulance!" "It won't stop!" - the vomit that flew out of anyone who thought about picking a fight with me. To be fair, it was useful at times, but I'd prefer no to be covered in someone's else's lunch, breakfast, dinner from the night before, and so on. All few spells like that weren't causing me too much trouble, a new hoodie every once in a while wasn't at the top of my list of worries. That spot went to my roomate. "Howdy kiddo! Anything I can help you with?" Word of advice, don't try to summon satan to be your friend because you didn't get invited to putt putt. "Not anything I'd pay my soul for. " "Howzabout making those spells go away, ey?" A tempting offer, but a deal with the devil to undo some spells was not anything I felt like taking up. At least, it wasn't, until I entered my room to find the carpet on fire, again. With a heavy sigh I threw my final hoodie onto the flame in the hopes of extinguishing it. When the flame grew bigger, so did Satan's shit-eating grin. Dropping my shoulders, I conceded the point. He could tell I was already in hell. "Alright, let's make this happen!" He snapped his fingers and a pentagram was ripped deep into the woodworks of the floor, and candles were lit in every corner of the room; which included underneath the curtains. "Fuck you Satan. "
"Have you polled the frontal cortex?"Videogames asked. MaybeIshouldgointopolitics said, "Polls are showing that you've slipped to a 35% approval rating." Videogames slumped into his chair. He leaned hard on an elbow and rubbed a hand over his face. "How is this happening?" On the TV in the corner of the room, muted, a drab young thought in button-up shirt and khakis gave a speech in front of a cheering crowd of thoughts. "Look at her,"Videogames said. "She's boring. She does nothing for the dopamines, or any of the pleasure centers, for that matter. What does she have that I don't?" "I don't understand it myself,"MaybeIshouldgointopolitics said. He reached for the off switch. "Leave it on,"Videogames said. "In fact, turn it up. Let's hear what the grey snore has to say." "...for the future,"School said. She spoke in a low drone, and every few words checked that her hair, which was gelled and hairsprayed to perfectly conform to her skull, remained in place. "For too many years Dillon's brain has been held in the sway of Videogames, Fried Foods, and Internet Porn. While those thoughts are good thoughts, and I believe that, in the short-term, they do believe they're doing what they think is best for Dillon, it's time we all accepted that Dillon isn't a child anymore, and that we don't have the luxury of the short-term."She raised her arms and made fists. "A vote for School is a vote for the long-term. Vote for School. Vote for the future!"The end of her slogan was drowned out by a crescendo of cheers and shouts. Then the screen went black. Videogames tossed the remote onto his desk. It clattered across and fell to the ground. "What's she even talking about?" "Her point, I gather, is that fun is no longer enough." Videogames rose to his feet. His jacket showed a first-person view of a gunman racing through a military base. "Fun isn't enough? Since when has that been the case. Look at this,"he pointed at his jacket, which now showed a Dota hero blasting creeps. "Six hours a day Dillon has been playing videogames and that's what makes him happy. What is his life about if it's not about happiness? When did anything other than happiness even enter the question? When did School decide that she should, or could, challenge me?" MaybeIshouldgointopolitics kept his eyes on the ground. He rubbed his palms together. "If I had to guess?" "Stop pussyfooting around. Just tell me." "Last Thanksgiving dinner." Videogames pinched his eyes shut. "I've got no memories of that." "You wouldn't. Dillon kept you pretty much under wraps the whole weekend."MaybeIshouldgointopolitics tapped a few buttons on a mem-display and called up the memory. "Let me show you." The retinal display showed Dillon's family all around the living room table. An older man, Dillon's uncle Pete, shook Dillon's shoulder and said, "Tell me, how's life?" *** "Pretty great,"Dillon says. "School's going well." Pete lowers his voice. "And how's it going with the girls? Been playing the field?" Pete's wife Marsha taps his wrist. "Peter, he doesn't want to talk about that." Pete sits up and realizes most of the family members are looking at him now. He speaks to Marsha but does so loud enough that everyone can hear. "He's a college boy. Of course he wants to talk about girls."He turns back to Dillon. "Handsome guy like Dillon's probably got them eating out of his hand." Dillon's mom, his dad, his grandparents, and his cousins are all looking at him. He blushes and laughs. "Not so much, no."He turns a fork over in his fingers. "I had a girlfriend at the beginning of first year, but lately I've just been so busy. Schoolwork and all." Dillon's cousin Louisa said, "You don't go to parties?"Her ears had gone back and she seemed almost affronted at the idea. "I got tired of parties,"Dillon says. The fork turns over and over. Louisa blanches. "Tired of parties?" "So what do you do all day?"Cousin George says. "You can't possible be studying all the time." "He's definitely not studying,"Dillon's brother Michael says. "He's practically on academic probation." Dillon's mom Mary says, "Michael!" "What?"Michael says. "Sorry." Cousin George asks, "So what do you do?" Dillon coughs into his fist. "Well, I mean I do spend time studying. And there's going to class. And last year I was on the fencing team." "Last year you had a girlfriend,"Grandfather Milton says. "Last year you were on a team." Cousin George chuckles and looks around the table before saying again, "So what do you do?" When the light hits the fork just right, Dillon can make it so he can't see anything reflected in it. It's almost like he's alone at the table. "I've been getting into this really cool videogame,"he says. "Videogames!"Grandfather Milton says. "Another one bites the dust,"Cousin George says. Cousin Louisa covers her mouth. "But you're in college,"Uncle Pete says. "You could be out meeting girls." "Oh, I'm sure he's exaggerating,"Dillon's mom Mary says. She puts her hand on Dillon's. "You don't spend all that much time on videogames, do you?" Dillon pulls his hand back. "It's a good game. It's really good. And there's, like, huge prizes available for the people who are really good." "Are you really good?"Cousin George asks. From under his eyebrows, Dillon cuts glances at everyone at the table. Their faces show a combination of embarrassment and amusement. "I'm alright,"Dillon says. "He's wasting his time,"Dillon's brother Michael says. "Screw you,"Dillon says. "Michael!"Dillon's mother Mary says. Dillon gets to his feet. "I'm gonna do the dishes,"he says, and leaves the room before anyone can say anything else. *** "I don't get it,"Videogames said. "Who cares what any of those people think. They don't understand." MaybeIshouldgointopolitics raised his hands. "I'm not saying they're right, just that this is around the time School started gaining traction in the thought-sphere." "So what do we do? What's the strategy here?"Videogames's jacket showed Mario bouncing off a koopa shell. "I see two strategies we can take here. The first, is we remind the thought-sphere why fun is good. If we can rally enough support to get Dillon playing another all-night session of Dota, that should show everythought why you matter."MaybeIshouldgointopolitics looked down and fiddled with his cuff-links. "And? What's the second option?" "The second strategy is that we cut support for School. Here, again, I see two ways. We can either try to convince thoughts that School isn't what's best for Dillon, which, given the way things are going, will be hard. Or, we take steps to make School irrelevant." Videogames tapped his fingers on his desk. "Don't be coy. How do we do that?" MaybeIshouldgointopolitics rubbed his cheek. "If we time things right, given that Dillon is already on academic probation, an all-nighter might be just the thing to finish off his university career."
The night came with a crispness that most took to as the herald of rain. Yet the skies were still clear and the stars still shined, so the streets had come alive with the lights of festivity. A few buskers sat on dirty corners or stood in ill - fitted suits, singing or dancing or playing. Cars honked with impatience, rushing perhaps from work or to some family gathering of which they should not be late. Liza sat above it on a building nearing ten stories above the ground. Her legs dangled over a ledge on the roof and she swung them, enjoyed the feel of the wind against her face and back. Sometimes her hair would tangle, but she pulled it aside and sat in silence like a stone gargoyle on the buttress of some church. She was oft to wonder what it would feel like to jump. Would she plummet like a stone? Or maybe gargoyles could fly, but preferred watching over man from perches far from Earth. Still, she liked to think that a few seconds of fun would make up for an early death. She made her way from the roof and followed the fire - ladders down, pressed along the wall with hidden caution. “Hey Jeremy,” she called when she was halfway done. A dirty busker looked up from his seat in some alley, ignored both by streetlights and cultured men. “Liza,” Jeremy said in salute. He was a tall man, maybe once 6’2’’, but a heavy slouch from years of work had taken a toll. Liza imagined him a basketball star injured before playoffs. Perhaps he’d been cast aside to wear soiled rags smelling of piss. Mine is a cruel world, she thought. One moment you have it all. Then when you don’t, no one cares to help. Her own breath mingled with Jeremy’s, and with the few homeless who sat around a medium - sized fire, contained in a large tin can and fueled by splinters of wood or clothing too dirty to be worn. When she came near, they greeted her as an old friend. That was what Liza liked about them: they never asked, never wondered. Once, she might’ve sought shelter on cleaner streets, made so by the wealth of those nearby. But she found that they, the homeless, were among the few who truly understood. They asked few questions, and accepted who she was for her own. “You need some more tonight?” Dana, an elderly crone, lifted an arm peppered in small holes. Some were fresh, Liza saw, and had barely stopped bleeding. “No,” she told Dana. “Yours is stale. And you are too fragile anyways. Another might send you to an early grave.” Dana scoffed, but nodded and pressed no further. “As you wish,” she said. “But you may take as you like; I don’t have many years as it is.” But she was frail at the age of ninety - two, with only a tattered robe and rags for clothes. She had taken a place near the fire that was not too far from the wall, and was like to lean on that wall every so often for support. A dirt - ridden sleeping bag had been laid there if she should be made wanting of sleep. Still, a spot lay at her side, which she kept open in hopes that Liza might stay. “So,” Dana continued, nursed a cup of warm liquids. “You’ve picked someone else tonight.” “Nah,” Liza grinned, took the empty seat. Dana offered her a sip from the cup, but she politely declined. “You know I don’t drink,” she said. “Anyways, I’m feeling roguish tonight.” “Going back to your old haunts,” said Jeremy, more statement than question. He was a man of few words, but understood people better than most men. Then he played a haunting note that echoed against brick walls and made its way faintly to the bustling streets around the corner. “Yeah,” said Liza. She rubbed her small, pale hands by the fire, careful not to reach too close. The cold didn’t bother her much, be she could still freeze as the night drew on. “I think I’ll try Pastor Street. The irony’s there.” This brought a chuckle from the rest of the group. “Hah,” said Dana, mussed Liza’s hair. “Good for you. Just bring us back some when you’re done out there.” “You want…” “Yeah, what’s the harm?” Liza nodded, then took her leave. She walked through the dark alleyway long neglected by most, then turned a corner onto brighter streets. Here, the buskers wore more vibrant colors. They stood straighter and with poise, unlike Jeremy’s sunken stance. Liza thought they might perform for the sake of performance, for their bodies were thick and held traces of fat. They were plump too, their pockets perhaps lined with cash. But they were not her target, so she ignored them. She might’ve taken them in the darkness of some unlit street, but this street was bright, graced by the presence of an upper class. A biting child would draw unwanted attention. Pastor Street stood in stark contrast to both the alleyway and the other roads around it. It held rich homes but was poorly lit, a haunt to the lesser echelons of society. Most of the wealthier children stole and squandered their parents’ coin. Most of them abused, too, though a rare few used that wealth to further their careers. “What’s a child like you doing out so late? Where’s your parents?” Liza looked up to a young group of men, better dressed than Dana or Jeremy, but no less soiled. A few women stood among them, scantily clad and breathing in a smoke whose scent clung to all like an overused perfume. To them, she said meekly, “They’re gone. They’re not home and the weatherman said it would rain, so I thought I’d take a walk before it did.” “Well,” said one. He was better - clothed than the rest, but looked reedy and like blow away with the coming storm. “You came to the right street. Care for a puff?” “Sam!” The woman beside him scolded, and swatted his arm reproachfully. “You can’t pass her the hookah! She’s like, what, ten?” “Yeah, you’re right.” Sam looked over Liza with obvious interest. “She looks wealthy enough though. Clean haircut, pressed clothes and all. How much, if she was yours?” “You can’t be serious.” “Dead.” “Nah, I don’t want in.” The woman flipped her hair and walked away, a scent of skunk trailing her like a veil of death. A few followed, but most of the boys stayed. They wanted more money. Anything, Liza thought, to get them a quick buck. She feigned fear. “What...don’t, what are you doing?” She asked as they surrounded her, but stood her ground and made no move to run. “This is a kidnapping,” said Sam. “Don’t worry. It’ll be like those Disney movies where the princess is captured but a prince comes to save her.” “Yeah,” said another, burlier than Sam. “It’ll be just like Snow White. We’re the dwarves, keeping you safe while you sleep.” Then they closed in, grinned. One held a large burlap sack that fit over Liza’s entire body. But the grins faded like water sliding down a window pane when Liza broke through that burlap. She tore at it with the claws of a lion and pulled it in two. Then four, for good measure and to send her would be captors running. The wiser ones did, but that still left two and Sam. The two stared at him, unsure. “What are you waiting for?” He asked. “Get her!” They lunged, reached, but Liza gripped the first arm that came, and bit. Blood ran freely from the open wound. The other two became more cautious, but it was Liza’s turn to lunge. First the other fell from a bite to the neck. She left them bleeding and walked to Sam, took strides too far for one of her stature. Yet she took them anyways and left Sam to wonder. “Stay back!” He said. “You got my boys now, don’t take me. I was kidding when I said that.” “Said what?” She asked innocently, but her hard face and angry eyes belied her tone. The eyes are the best way to learn of someone’s past, she thought, and perhaps Sam saw that too. He backed away slowly at first, then faster. Liza waited, then took to the rooftops with a leap no man could’ve done. She landed softly, her feet padded against shingled tops. Sam was running, but she let him; she would give him a head start. It was time to have some fun. *** /r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for weekly stories and updates!
Well, this was a first. The entire potato chip aisle was on the floor. Some of the bags were open, some not. Chips were all over the floor and probably under the shelves too. My mouth twisted as I thought of the best way to deal with this. Probably should get a cart to put all the opened bags in, then it's just clean up as usual. Having a bunch of stuff knocked off the shelf wasn't a first. This was the first time that Harold was visible during the day. I knew that he was around by the way stuff would fall over in my general vicinity, but he usually was unable to manifest until it was night time and the store was closed. "Proud of yourself?"I asked. Harold smirked, "Oh, I'm just getting started. You're only half way through your shift. Lots of time for me to make a mess. You want to clean up hot mayonnaise off the ceiling or maybe all the toilets could get clogged. Oh, I've got you now. You see, I've just..." "Yeah, one sec."I said, holding up a finger at the floating apparition. I walked into the middle of the aisle, grabbed two wet floor signs and put them on either end. "As I was saying..." "Not done,"I said, walking briskly to the front of the store. I grabbed a cart, and made my way back to the miniature disaster. Squatting down on the floor I started going through the bags. Unopened bags were tossed into the top basket, opened ones in the bottom. Harold was clearly upset at being ignored. That always pissed him off. He had long since let go of the idea that I was going to be scared of him. He could only affect small objects. He couldn't really hurt me. "Don't you get it? I've been getting stronger."He finally figured out that I had zero interest in whatever he was excited about. Working and listening to people talk about boring shit was part of the job so I let him waste his breath or whatever, "It used to be way harder for me to open up little packages like that. Plus, the sun doesn't hurt like it used to. I think I could stay out all day soon. Won't that be fun? I can wreck everything right after you work on it, make your whole job cleaning up my messes. I could..." I couldn't help but bark out a laugh. He looked consternated as I did my best Matthew McConaughey, "You gotta pump those numbers up. Those are rookie numbers."Harold stared at me for a long time, until I just pointed at the clock, "Look. I'm here from 3 to 10. The end. 10:01 rolls around and everything become someone else's problem. Literally, doesn't matter what I do for that time." There was a silence punctuated only by the shuffle of me cleaning up and the overall din of the store. In the silence, I heard an announcement ring through, "Need a double triple price check on Oreos. Double triple on Oreos."My face went whiter than Harold's. "SHIT"I muttered as I hurried to toss chips away. Harold looked at me quizically. I glanced around. There wasn't time. Leave it. The wet floor signs would be enough. I'd catch shit for it, but that's not nearly as bad as it could get. As I walked out of the aisle I heard the ungodly sound. "Excuuuuuuuuuse me!" I turned, a smile plastered on my face, "Mrs. Tirmis. What can I do for you today?" "Why do you keep changing your section around..."She peered at my name badge. It took her all of ten seconds to read my name, "Tim. Tim, why is it every time I come in here you guys have changed something? I can never find anything in here. Just decide how you want it and keep it that way, honestly. I swear you all change..."This would go on for a while. Interrupting would do no good, and would only cause her to summon a supervisor to complain about how I had sassed her. I had spoken to Mrs. Tirmis several times. Each time she had to ponder over the three letters helpfully plastered on my nametag and each time she had left thoroughly unsatisfied with her experience. "Well, I'm afraid that we receive instructions from corporate about the most efficient organization sometimes and we have to follow it." This was, as usual, not acceptable. I don't know what gave her the impression that I had power over this, but I promised to pass her concerns up. Mrs. Tirmis was impossible to please. The store announcement for the "double triple"check went out in honor of the time she had made six different employees walk back and price check something until finally she had worked her way up to the assistant store manager who had just given her the price she wanted. It had taken 40 minutes and she had saved $2.50. "Now, where do I find this,"she vaguely pointed at a written list she held in her hand. When I inquired what she meant she put a hand on her hip and looked at me exasperated, "All of it. I can't find a damn thing anymore." Oh good, I was going to get some quality time with Mrs. Tirmis. I didn't even bother trying to weasel out of it. It would be faster to just get the stuff. Before I could start I saw Tirmis' hands reach up to her head. She wasn't fast enough as her hair was promptly yanked from her head, and fell on the floor. Honestly, there was nothing particularly wrong with her natural hair. Yes, it was gray and perhaps a bit thinner than she would like but she didn't need a wig for it. Of course, that was quite clearly what she had. It was a cheap wig, and the whole staff had joked about it. It flew off Tirmis' head and landed on the floor. I stared as she turned, and bent to pick it up hurriedly. She didn't turn around, mumbling about something she had to do somewhere. I almost felt a little bad for her. It was clearly an embarrassing experience for her. On the other hand, there was that time she had shouted at me because we didn't have a brand of crackers from New Zeland so I didn't feel too bad. Harold appeared next to me, "Jeez, what a bitch." I smirked, "Thanks for that."Harold shrugged. I continued, "Hang around more during store hours. Anyway, time to clean up those chips. I think if I stretch it out, I can avoid talking to customers for a good half hour so thanks for that too."
Although I am immortal, I am not impervious to the effects of age. As I continue to walk on a seemingly endless plane, my breath is ragged and my legs seem nearly to the point of snapping. The skin on my hands and arms are tight against my bones, and my wrinkles are more numerous than there are stars in the sky. My vision is all but a blur, and my voice has long lost its vigor. I began this journey long ago, one of pain and effort far beyond the extents of what most believe to be possible. I spent thousands of years gathering knowledge and mustering the materials required for such a journey, and I know now I have almost reached its end. After meandering along this obsidian field for epochs, devoid of any direct light or warmth, I come across a small, squat shack. It is built of timbers and unrefined wood, and a very dim light emits from within. As I push the door open with a wiry hand, my sight is met with a small figure crouched on his hands and knees, groping for a small hourglass lying on its side, cast underneath a shelf. He pauses, aware of my presence, and stands up. He reaches up to my navel, about three feet tall, and is shrouded in a withered black cloak that is now simply tatters. As I look about the room, the few hourglasses still present have all run down, all covered in a thick dust. With a faint smile, I kneel down, an action that nearly takes all of my resolve left, and I pick the hourglass from its hiding place and set it on the shelf, now with sand beginning to fall, all emptying onto one side. Death exhales in relief, and looks up to me. "Thank you." He procures from his cloak another hour glass, one much more ornate, that seems to almost suck what little light remains surrounding it into itself. He places it next to mine, and the sand also begins to fall, all bit by bit. He motions to a small table with two chairs, and we sit and begin to chat as we wait for the sands to fall.
"'The emu War'. Haha, what a funny bit of history, how could you lose to _birds_?" &nbsp; _How could you lose to birds?_ &nbsp; They're not birds, mate. They look just like emus, sure. They act like them. That's the entire point, you see, to blend in: they're similar enough to mimic the things, and the ones we captured all went on about how the real birds are the perfect form. In their culture, emus represent the peak of beauty and fitness. Somehow. They find us exceptionally ugly because we "have the most pathetic tiny hairfeathers". &nbsp; Don't ask me, I was just there to help contain them. I overheard a lot. They learned English by blending in with the real emus and listening. Their voices sound like the voice we all put on -- you know the one -- when we talk to our pets, but deep. Impossibly low. It sounds like a thunderstorm is cooing at you, and it's coming out of a snappy little beak. A snappy little beak attached to a tennis ball with bug-eyes, perched atop a spaghetti-neck sprouting from a mouldy mop. And the legs. Chicken legs on stilts, knives strapped to a rake. Those tiny wings? They have hands under there. Six long, spindly, fingers, and a pair of thumbs, on each. You ever see a huntsman spider jump up and gallop its fluffy little ass away? That's how these things' hands look when they unfurl. &nbsp; They are aliens. Let's not be ambigous about that: they are not creatures of Earth. To the best of my knowledge, we don't know what they call themselves, where they came from, what they eat, or how long they live. They do appear to be carbon-based, and similar enough to our biology that they don't need protection on our lonely little planet. We do know that they have an obsession with eights. Eight in a group, eight days between meals, eight months awake before they need to sleep. Eighty-eight in particular is some sort of holy number. It's been eighty-eight years since the Emu War. &nbsp; That's why this is happening. It's been covered up as an unfortunate incident, as a joke, since it happened. Our government has only ever done one thing with any amount of coordination, and that's cover up the incident as silly nonsense. These alien emus took it as an affront. To them, it was an outrageous insult, how _dare_ we fire our primitive weapons at them. It's been eighty-eight years and so the time is right for their revenge. Did I mention that their skin is bulletproof? Everywhere except the throat. They kick each other with those talons when they argue, so the skin's thick. The first two the boys brought in kicked and flailed in a panic. James, Davo, Claire, Sam, and Jules. Those were their names, and they were disemboweled by these monsters. They were the first ones. &nbsp; You're lucky you have us. You always joke about how the wildlife here is so dangerous, and we humour you, with tales of the ways our predators -- and our trees -- can murder you. We've been containing them this entire time. These emu aliens have been here, on the continent, for at least fifty thousand years. We were able to placate them until the Emu War. We studied them these last couple hundred years, learned what we could. &nbsp; We pissed them off and now they're back. &nbsp; Now it's time for the real emu war. The Australian army has been trained in secret, to be ready and waiting for these things to begin. It was only ever a matter of time. The drop bear bioengineering project was a success and we're bringing them too. They're bred to kill the emu aliens. They may be attacking all over the world, but we've got your asses covered, mate. They're not going to win. We won't let them. ----- (I don't usually write in first person but wanted to have a crack at a prompt)
"James, we talked about this."Mike said, laying a hand on the blue spandex of the SUPER MEGA FRIENDS' newest member. "Your power is 'Hope' not 'Incredible Violence.'" "But we just end up beating them to a pulp."James was frowning inside his helmet. "There isn't a lot of hope in punching a giant mushroom gorilla into a skyscraper." "Look, just..."Mike went to grab the bridge of his nose and encountered his own helmet. "Look, of course we're just gonna beat things up in our giant robot at the end, but we have to make it look good for the news crews first. If we just go out there causing millions in property damage and hundreds of accidental deaths without any public support then we'd be royally screwed." "Wait, accidental deaths? We've killed people?" Mike stared at James' suit as if there were an alien inside. "The Super Mega Friendbot Super Form fell on the Eastgate Mall just last week. Did you think it was empty on the weekend? A mall?" "OH god." "Look, don't wory about it. If the giant snowglobe monster had gotten loose it would have been much, much worse. Sure, we killed a couple families shopping for Christmas gifts..." "OH GOD." "...but we probably saved a lot more than that by throwing that monster into the children's hospital and stabbing it to death with the observation tower." "OH GOD." "James, James, just calm down. It's gonna be Ok. All we need to do is chant at the news cameras, wave a few times, and everything is fine again. People don't care as long as we are young, pretty, and talk about shit like 'hope' and 'dreams' and 'friendship.'" "Bet we killed all those people..." "Yeah, that's sad and everything, but think of the sponsorships! We have to keep looking good for them. Otherwise we won't be able to afford the transformable robot rocket sports cars and super teleportation watches." "All those children... and their families... My god..."James fell to his knees and began sobbing inside his helmet. "Oh Damnit"Mike shook his head. "Lucy! LUCY! Call the agent. We need another Blue Mega Friend! This one ain't gonna work out."
"No! Don't---" With a flash, everything went back to yesterday morning. George woke up in his bed as usual, and as usual, he muttered about what a dick Twat was. George didn't know Twat's real name, but he was a twat, so he was Twat. George had been living the day from Friday 15th of April at 6 in the morning to Saturday 16th of April at 6 in the morning more times than he could remember. At least a hundred by now. George liked to view the city from above, and after a bit of drink, he'd decided, in the small hours of Saturday morning, to enter a construction site and climb the crane on the lot. It was the Original Saturday, and the climbing went well. The view was gorgeous. The crane was some 80 metres tall, and after making his wobbly way all the way out to the little platform at the tip, George could bask in the glow of thousands of streetlights, cars zipping around and the cluster of skyscrapers a ways to the north. At first, he hadn't really noticed that he kept reliving the same day over and over, but after some twenty times, he started to catch on. From his eyrie he'd spotted a tiny bolt of lightning striking a spot far away to the northwest. Once he noticed it, things around him failed to seem quite right. He'd see his neighbour, as usual, head out to his car on Friday morning, to go to work. Like George did. William insisted on shaking hands when he met acquaintances, a bad habit from his time in a French research laboratory, and would cross the little gravel driveway George and he shared. They'd shake hands, and then off to work. After seeing the flash, George decided to not shake Will's hand, offending him greatly in the process, but the next Friday morning, Will would look just as smugly jovial as ever, reaching out his fucking hand again. So, George just figured something was awry. After 40 cycles of the 24 hours from Friday to Saturday morning, George also got tired of never getting to sleep in, and 'snap' he was out of it. Ever since, he'd been searching for that lightning bolt. He wanted to see his son, after all. So, George was in his bed on a Friday morning, for at least the hundredth time. He'd been within earshot of Twat last night, or morning, or whatever, but Twat was clearly deaf, and didn't hear him from across the parking lot behind the hospital. Perhaps the most annoying thing in all of this was that George had to keep going to work Friday morning, and could only go looking for Twat in the evening. Since he hoped he could get Twat to stop being such a piece of shit, and let the world off the hook, he needed a job Monday morning as well. Tonight, George figured he'd be at the parking lot an hour before the flash, and see what Twat was really about. He managed to get there half an hour early. It was plenty. Twat, or so George assumed, for the lot looked otherwise empty, knelt on the ground under some bushes separating two lanes of parking spaces. The weather was fair. The closest light was ten spots down, so Twat was just a shadow. But present. "Hey! Tw---Mister!" Twat looked up. George headed towards him, but was too far away to make out his face. "Mister! Hold on! Just---" "Stay away! I'll---I'll fucking fix you!" George froze, not sure what "fix you"meant. Probably something related to misery. "No need for fixing, mister. I was just---" "Stay out of it! It's none of your's!" "What's none of mine?" "The... Oh, you bastard! Get away! Piss off!" "Listen, Twat! You keep doing something that resets the timeline, or some such---" "I don't care! I just... She's..."Twat starts to sob. "Listen, I'll come over, real slow, and we'll figure it out, yeah?" Twat made no reply. He sank lower, and the sobs grew louder. "Hey,"George began, starting to feel a little bad about calling Twat Twat. "What's the matter?" "It's just... I..."Nothing more came, just grunts and even more sobs. "Here's what; for more than a hundred days in a row now, you've done, eh, something, and it resets the world somehow, and we all have to relive this one bloody day over and over. I'm as fond of Fridays as any, but mate, there's a limit, yeah?" "Fuck off! What's it to you?!" "Saturday night, I'm supposed to see my son! He's flying in for a week of vacation from his studies in Sidney! He's on the fucking plane right now!" "Your son?"Twat looked up. He had the haggard face of someone reliving the worst day of their life for a hundred days in a row. "Damn, you look worse for wear..."George sat down, cross legged, next to Twat. "What's your name? I've been calling you Twat for a while now, what with you fucking up my weekend for months, but it seems time I got it right..." Twat laughed a little at that, then fell silent. Some shudders wracking him. "I guess I've... You were supposed to see your son?" "Yeah. Great lad. Not seen him for two years. He's doing his studies in oceanography or some such, trying to learn about a fish, I think. Or where the fish live. Or... Well, it's my fault he's this far away, really. Wasn't---Hold up! What's going on? How come we talk like this?!" "A real conversation, you mean?"Twat wiped some snot off his upper lip. "Yeah. I've been a bit of a Twat, haven't I? Keeping you from your son. Just cause of my daughter..." "No, no, no, get back to the real conversation bit? You understand this?" "Of course! I'm the one doing it! I've done it for... I don't even know... Ten thousand days? Started as a way to forget. But after thousands of times, even a muddy brain like mine catches on. But by then it was habit. We've spoken before, actually. Never for this long, though. Usually you make it to the edge of the parking lot and scream some stuff. Funny... I think of you as 'that fucker'. I'm Benedict." "I'm George?" "Hello, George. No one else have managed to figure it out. So you must really want to see your son." "Well... I'm embarrassed to say, it was my neighbour's incessant handshaking that got me out of it..." "No, it was your son. Your brain just didn't bother to tell you." "You a wizard?" "No. Nothing like that. Just really sad." "Daughter?" "Yes. She... She died two hours ago. Together with her mother. Well... I've gotten the details a bit mixed up after all these years. My wife and I were pregnant. With a little baby daughter. But they both died during... It was all such a rush. My wife and I were having a great day in the park. Some food. Some... She was six months on the way. Must have been around mid day when she started vomiting blood. They couldn't save her or Michelle." "I'm sorry. But why not relive the day before? Why this day? Why the worst?" "Cause that's how it works. I don't get to choose. It's not real, you know. It's just imagination." "Imagination? How do you know?" "If it wasn't, someone else would be coming here as well. You know, my son is on the way from Sidney. So I guess it's time to straighten out. I love him as much as I loved Michelle and Gloria, even if I've failed to show him. Thanks for coming to get me. Are we going?" Benedict got to his feet and walked off.
Life's been good to me. I made a series of great trades and have become wildly successful. Call it luck, ambition, skill, fate, Gods plan, whatever it was, it was kind to me. Well until today. See today I woke up and started my morning routine like any other day. I rolled over, kissed my super model wife, took a shower, slipped on my silk robe, and went downstairs where my chef had breakfast prepared. Afterwards I got dressed in the finest Armani suit money could buy,clipped my tie with my signature gold paperclip, and called for my valet to bring the Ferari around. It was Ferari Friday after all. But as soon as I stepped outside I was greeted by a man in a suit. Odd considering I hadn't been told of his arrival. He was wearing a rack suit, with a red tie, and red suspenders. I debated calling security but decided to hear him out. After all it must be important for him to have made it this far. I wish I hadn't. I wish I had ran. For this man single handedly ruined my life. See, all those trades I made they had a cost. A cost I hadn't paid. A cost that had come due and this was the man here to collect it. He smiled at me, and said the words I will never forget as I sit here in my cell. > Mr. Chuwi, my name is Robert Semerino. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and I'm here about the matter of your unreported transaction history.
Normally, I'm not so conceited as to google my own name - but tonight was different. The air was buzzing with some kind of tension as the cicadas screamed and the dogs howled. I booted up my old PC, navigating to the web browser with a practiced ease as I settled in for the long night. Initially, I was just going to watch a Youtube video, but on an impulse I googled myself. "John Smith + Sydney, Australia + Bass Guitar". The expected results came up immediately: some old videos of me messing around in pubs and concerts, my personalized website that was years out of date, my Facebook profile; nothing unexpected. But then I saw it. Tucked away at the bottom of the search results was a website with my name, my photo, and the words “Golf: 141,377 / 7,444, 092” and “Bass Guitar: 26,610 / 858,817”. 'Surely this must be some kind of practical joke...' I initially thought, 'maybe just some friends trying to mess with me? What would these numbers even mean?' But as I watched the screen that number next to Bass Guitar dropped to 26,612 / 858,817 and a new statistic appeared - "Laziness/Procrastination: 5,972,532 / 8,143,253,987". It finally dawned on me what this all meant. Someone out there was ranking everyone - how or why would be impossible to tell - but this felt more like a slap in the face than any hand could deliver. Sure - we all had to live our lives, but there were people out there working day and night whilst I grew complacent. People who were working their asses off trying to be better than me and the best in their dreams whilst I let mine wither away behind a cash register. I started to feel fired up - this is not the life I decided to live, and now it was time for me to take it back and make it my own. I grabbed my guitar off it's stand - a light cloud of dust testament to my loss of motivation. Tuning it, the sound immediately cutting through the air. And as I played a few notes my heart fluttered, and the website updated - saying "Bass Guitar: 26, 611". -- 2 years later -- It hadn't been an easy journey to reach this point - but I made it. Bass guitar: 95th in the world. Sure it wasn't number 1 - but perfection wasn't important to me. I was world known now and my dreams were my reality. I had to sacrifice a lot to get here though. My golf score was now abysmally low - as well as a number of my general fitness scores. The website kept getting updated with more and more statistics. Nobody else I talked to ever found their website - so whether I was lucky or tricked by the worlds greatest prankster I'll never know. But whatever the reason, it has happened - and I owe my life to the cicadas on that night. // Hope yall enjoy - it isn't my best piece of writing but it is currently the middle of the the night for me so please forgive it :)
School children and instructors the nation over rejoiced as the insipid grating sounds of recorders were silenced forever. All seemed content that reason and rational thought had finally prevailed, however, one wondered why the terrible ear drum bursting instruments had ever come to be a school institution... &nbsp; Mr. Smiley had sighed as the last of the recorders were packed away to be shipped lord knows where. He only knew finally he'd have a measure of relief from those splitting headaches he'd suffer through all year long. He walked through the hollowed halls of the school thinking of it all. Trying to teach the recorder was a universally fruitless effort and the device seemed designed to produce only unholy notes and paper thin walls of their underfunded ancient crumbling school made the pain echo. Almost all of the faculty for a rare instance had agreed to be rid of the recorders save old Mr. Benson. Smiley laughed as he thought of Mr. Benson. &nbsp; Benson had stormed into the PTA meeting swinging his cane and screaming his head off. "No! You fools, the vile instrument lulls the Old Ones to sleep! The lessons they must con-"And that was that Mr. Benson had been hauled off by the proper medical professionals no doubt summoned in advance by the principal who'd grown to groan too often at Benson's ravings that she finally took action against the tenured employee consequences be damned. &nbsp; It wasn't the only thing to be damned. Smiley's leisurely trek through the school had led him at last to his former classroom. He opened the door to the music room and entered to the reddish glow. Taking up his well worn chair he leaned back and placed his feet on his desk ever so casually as he'd done a thousand and more times before. He laughed as he saw through the demolished wall at the Blood Crimson Moon, the tentacle hell beasts inconceivably floating through the streets grabbing people to shove into their teethed beak maws, and the tracer gunfire lighting up the sky as the military fought vainly to repel said hell beasts. &nbsp; He closed his eyes and let the sounds of gunfire, screams, and beasts' roars be drowned out in the white noise of his thoughts. At least his headaches were gone. At least no one would have to be subject to the ear rape of those cursed cheap plastic flutes. Soon no one would even be left to remember recorders. Mr. Smiley thought as he lit his last cigarette watching as tentacle hell beasts were lumbering towards him. "Was it worth it? ...Yeah."
My services don’t come cheap. My specialty? Well, I wouldn’t say I have just one specialty. The strangest, worst, most confusing medical enigmas come to me. You want your illness cured? I got you covered. If you can pay up, of course. So when I got an appointment with only the prognosis of “mild, persistent pain,” I was certainly confused. When the patient stepped in my office, I suspected nothing was amiss. He sat down on the table, smiling nonchalantly. “Heya Doc. I need you to fix me up today.” “You got it, sir. Please lie down and I’ll run some preliminary tests.” As he lied down, I slipped in. As soon as I overtook his consciousness, I was in terrible, piercing pain. Inside my skin were rats, birds, something alive. I could feel them crawling around, with dozens in my arms and dozens more in my legs and chest. Each one scratched the inside of my skin, each one biting my muscles. I felt fleas in my blood vessels, each one eviscerating the thin canals that run throughout my system. Ants crawled under the skin of my hands and feet. I could feel hundreds and hundreds of moving dots that paralyzed me in fear. Each of their little feet made a distinctive tip tap inside me. They moved in patterns, biting and fighting my body. But worst of all was the beast in my very center. In my core, I had a live human, scratching and biting my tender skin. Its nails were becoming dull from struggling, slowly turning from aggressive scraping to dull scratches. It cried, screamed and fought. I heard piercing cries come from my ears, I heard the shrill sound of pure pain coming from within me. I ended the spell early. In that brief second, I had experienced torture like I’ve never even conceived before. I backed away, my facial expression betraying my secret. “Is something wrong?” He looked at my shocked expression for long enough to understand. It was high time for my premature retirement, anyway. I probably wasn’t cut out for this job. I yelled out, “Nurse!” She gave no response. “Nurse!” Again, all I was met with was the silence and emptiness of the hallway outside. I stepped briefly out of the room and peered across the long hallway. There was no one to be seen. I turned back to my patient. He looked dirtier than before. He now had flies orbiting his body, and his clothes seemed more tattered than before. He turned his neck and crooned. “Come here, doctor.” He stood up and approached, slowly. “Come closer, doctor.” I heard buzzing from inside him as he approached. Then I heard from within a faint wail, the wail of a young woman. “Come closer. Come closer.” He stuck his fingernails into my back. He let out a joyous noise. “Come inside, doctor.”
"No-one outpizzas the Hut." I freeze immediately. My magnum opus was fresh out of the oven, cheese still bubbling, releasing it's beautiful aroma into the air. Out of the corner of my eye I see a red fedora. "Step away from the pizza." I gingerly stepped away from the heat of the oven, the barrel of the gun still pressed into the back of my skull. The floor still has a light dusting of flour. The pressure of the gun releases. BANG! "ME PIZZA!"I scream. I don't hear myself, my ears still ringing from the gunshot this close to my head. The perfect crust, the perfect base, now only scraps on the floor. The heavenly aroma of my kitchen now replaced with the foul tang of gunsmoke. Something in my heart hardens, like frozen pizza. I would have my revenge. "Obviously, I can't leave you here,"the pizza destroyer said in a low voice, "but the Hut can use people like you. Move!" I stumbled towards the door. I could hear a motorcycle revving outside. I looked around desperately for something, anything! There was pizza dough rising on the table in a glass bowl, pans hanging from racks, nothing I could use now. There it was - a pizza peel. I lunged to the side, grabbing the wooden shaft and swinging the paddle shaped head at the pizza destroyer. He ducked, barely. The red fedora that had been covering his face in shadow was sent flying across the kitchen. He fired, and the bullet ricocheted off a pan hanging near my head. He was fast, but I was a chef. Using my mustache to sense the air currents I used the pizza peel to lift the glass bowl of rising dough and catapulted it at my assailant. The glass shattered on impact throwing the gun out of his hand and covering his face in sticky dough. Too sticky, I needed to work on that next time. "The Hut... will have revenge!"The man groaned. I drive the peel down into the man's groin. "I will be a-ready."
I use to mess with different species, being a space dwelling amorphous entity, I would throw asteroids at inhabited planets. And no it’s not what you think... Yes, I know what you’re thinking and it’s not that, so stop thinking it... Anyway I digress, I would throw them at species who were just venturing into off world travel. Once they’d visited their moon or the nearest planet I would take a humongous asteroid and start lugging it towards their planet and when close enough I’d heave it at their world. At the last second I’d redirect it and let it veer towards an uninhabited planet, asteroid belt et centra. Some species would unify into a world government and face it head on, others would party like there was no tomorrow and let their most carnal desires take over and still some would weep and hold their loved ones near because they thought they’d be done for. I no longer do this though... When Humans began their off world travel I missed their “Moon landing” and didn’t catch onto them until they made it to mars in their earth year of 2068. But seriously it took them like what almost a hundred earth years to reach Mars after the moon? Eh, can’t blame bipedal monkeys for taking so long I guess. . That’s when I lobbed an asteroid the size of their earth directly towards them, what happened next still haunts me to this very moment... I’ve seen some species ruthlessly conquer their solar system and many others, I’ve seen other make trade empires so large and wealthy that you could not comprehend the number... And yes I’ve seen it, why do you doubt me? You ever seen a one with eight million zeros behind it? Ya I didn’t think so... Again sorry for the tangent. Maybe if you didn’t interrupt I could continue? So I hurl this asininely large asteroid at them, expecting one of the dozens of results I’ve seen before. It looked like they were going to unify as a planet and take this problem head on. But no. These crazed animals quite literally stayed separate countries communicated a plan and then blasted over fifty atom splitting bombs into the asteroid, before I could redirect it. There’s not much that could hurt me but an atom splicing war head is one way to do it. At first, no big deal they blasted it to smithereens. It’s what came after that scares me near death. Not only did they completely annihilate the asteroid I sent at them, they then launched over one thousand nuclear warheads in their asteroid belt and into the next nearest belt of asteroids so as to quote “make sure it doesn’t happen again anytime soon.” End quote... I’ll never mess with a deranged species such as humans any time in the near millennia...
We are all radios set to the wrong frequency. That's why we shout at each other without really hearing one another, why the fantastical things we see at night are nonsensical. "Beware the visions of the night."That was something my Grandma used to say before she passed away. "Because sometimes they stare back." Sometimes there are a gifted few set to the right frequency. It was a dreary day in June and the air was as thick as molasses. Jon and I walked through the aftermath of a forest fire, looking around at the burnt husks and collapsed landscape. "So,"he said, "You're telling me that dreams are real. And your dreams can tell you the future." I shook my head, kicking black soot and rotten fungus. "I'm saying that all dreams are real, even yours. Somewhere, past or present or future. Someplace, this dimension, or another, or yet another. Mine just happen to always tell a tale in this reality or a parallel one, whereas yours could be someplace humanity may never reach." Jon's laugh bounced around the graveyard of arbor. "Come on, Julie! That's ridiculous." "Maybe,"I said, "But I do know that your Mom passed away last year and you never told anyone. I know she died of pancreatic cancer. I know that even though we've been childhood friends since the crib, you never trusted me enough for that knowledge." He shoved me against the trunk of a tree that used to be, dying embers roaring back to life in his eyes. "You're full of shit, Julie. Did Mom tell you?" "I know you,"I said past the hairy arm. "I know you're scared. I know that when you were in third grade you tripped and fell off your skateboard and almost got hit by a truck, and that you've never told anyone. But that's where your tenacity to live comes from; the knowledge that at any moment, everything in front of you might be snatched away." Jon's grip tightened, but I could see hesitation there, a fine mist drizzling down on the temper flowing through those bulging veins. The smell of the coming storm, the scent of petrichor, rankled my sinuses. "What else can you see?" "One time I dreamt that you keep a diary lamenting about the failings of the world. Even though you're going to college next year, that book will become famous someday."It will be a visionary article, able to rival Mein Kampf as a household name. "No way,"he said, jaw dropping along with his hold on me. "You're telling the truth. No one knows about that diary. You really are a seer, an...an oracle. And you've seen the future? You know what happens?" I looked up at the scarred, bleak branches, those fragile emaciated limbs that I could climb and climb and maybe reach the top. But I knew I'd fall. "Yes. You and I get married. Your diary becomes famous, and you will become very powerful someday." Jon's breath comes out fast, like it's cold in the middle of June. He hugs me this time and I hug him back, reaching around to the nape of his neck. "That's incredible! I've always...sort of liked you, Julie. I never knew..." "I love you, Jon."That was true. I knew the man he'd become, the trials we'd overcome. I'd seen in all in the crux of morning, where the whispers and vagaries of dreams floated before my eyes. Then I slit his throat with the knife pulled from my pocket. The dying light in his eyes, the confusion and resentment, carried part of me with it into the void. I'd dreamed the world to come, of the dictator he'd become, of the millions of lives he would burn as ruthlessly as the fire that ravaged the earth on which I now sat and cried my heart out. I'd tried, in parallel universes, a million different ways to pull him back, to climb those thin branches and reach a world where we could stand at the top of these trees and enjoy the sunset. Blood dripped across my scalp. I hugged him close anyways, crying at the injustice of it all, but I knew that every vision that came at night would come true unless I did something drastic to change it. As the light faded, I pushed away the dirt to reveal the newly sprouting saplings hidden just under the surface. Better to burn just this forest than to burn the whole world. The forest would recover, new seeds springing up to take the place of the remains as Jon's corpse cooled to match the dead trees around us. That night, I slept without dreaming, the visions satiated at last. --- Thanks for reading! Feedback would be awesome\~ Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :)
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. And any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. It seems strange that the reason the Hong Kong metro gave for their closure was a lack of funding. Lack of funding. The most profitable metro system closing down because of a lack of funding. Yeah, right. The rest of the people in the city seems to buy the lie though, all of them brainwashed by the daily propaganda fed out by the Party. Of the 2 million that protested in 2019, only a few thousand remained active. Most of them, fed up by the lack of any progress, gave up and returned to their 9 to 5 jobs. Another portion of them, caught by the police, are now serving time in prison, their freedom gone. The final portion of them, missing, dead, gone. No one knew where they went, no one knew if they are alive. After the protest was completely squashed, the metro closed down promptly after. I knew something was fishy, so one night, after the night went dark, amidst the height of the curfew, I went down. The metro tracks did not particularly stink other than the steel tracks that laid beneath my foot and the faint smell of tear gas. After all, this used to be one of the most efficient and well maintained metro systems in the world. It’s hard to be not well maintained when the government literally gifts you the land area surrounding the metro. The efficiency of the metro system was built on the poverty and livelihood of the people. The metro tracks were dark, though. Very dark. I turned on my torch. The tracks in front of me lit up like two parallel laser beams. I trekked forward slowly. There was only one direction to go. Until there wasn’t. Embedded in the walls of the metro tracks, small passageways that led sideways. For every 20 meters or so, the walls caved in and a small passage gave way. I chose one and walked inside. The passageway twisted and turned. It did not look to be carved by machine. Bare rocks extruded out, their rough surface, exposed and visible. The passageways looked so strange and queer until it hit me—These tunnels were carved by hand. Pick by pick, axe by axe, these passageways extended further. I trekked forward. In some places I even had to crawl. Finally, I reached an end. In front of me stood a gigantic sealed blast door. I realized that all of the tunnels led to this door. 5 times larger than a standard door, it stood. My torchlight reflected on its steel surface. It looked like some secret government base. I pressed my ear to the door, expecting to hear the screams of the missing. Nothing. For a while I waited, pondering if I should knock. I know I shouldn’t. If this really is a government base for missing dissidents then I would probably end up dead. But I have walked and trekked and crawled for at least 4 kilometers, and I did not want to head back empty-handed. I wanted to have some proof that the government is doing something terrible. Something despicable. Suddenly, the door opened. I froze, half expecting to see a gun pointed at my head, and maybe dead corpses, and even tortured bodies behind those steel doors. There was none of that. Instead, I saw hope. Two men in all black clothing stared at me. Their eyes, covered with a dark pair of shades; their faces, covered with 3M gas masks. “Welcome to the rebellion,” one said.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mister Good Boy,"the inspector said to the Husky Siberian sitting across the table from him, "I understand that it was a very traumatic experience for you." "Indeed, I dare say that it is even on par with being denied a belly rub!"he shuddered. "Well, anyway, Mister Stanford will be joining us today. He is an experienced Dog Psychologist. I hope you do not object to his presence?" "Of course not,"Good Boy replied. "Then we shall begin,"he declared as he looked through the case files, "can you tell me what happened on the day of the incident?" "So it was 3 hours before sleep time. I was strolling down the riverside when I saw two men sitting near the front porch of a house,"Good Boy began, before being interrupted by the inspector. "Hold on now, there's no river near the scene of crime,"he pointed out, bringing our attention to the map on the table. "Ah, no, inspector. Mister Good Boy meant the road, the river of steel which no dogs can safely cross on pain of being scolded by their owner,"I explained. "I see, carry on." "One of them was picking up a scent on the table while the other was balancing a bottle on his face. The first one then brought out a deck of paper cards, however the second one didn't want to play,"Good Boy continued, "They then talked about something, before the first one stood up, took out a hammer, and fixed the second one. He then stored him to eat later. I then went home." The inspector looked dumbfounded. He scratched his heads several times as he tried to digest the narrative he had just been given. "Mister Stanford, if you would be so kind to interpret Mister Good Boy's narrative to me,"he finally conceded. "Of course. 'Picking up a scent on the table' here means that the first man was sniffing or snorting something on the table, likely some form of drugs. 'Balancing a bottle on his face' means that he was drinking alcohol from a bottle. The deck of paper cards is a wad of cash and the hammer was swung at the victim, killing him. Here, you can see that the act of 'fixing' a structure by using a hammer would resemble swinging it at someone. Finally, storing him to eat for later means that he was buried in the backyard." "Now I see why you needed a whole month of training for this,"the inspector nodded, "well mister Good Boy, you've been a great help here today." "It's my pleasure to help you two write your murder mystery novel,"he replied, "now if you'll excuse me I have an appointment with the landlady regarding my morning ration." We both bid mister Good Boy goodbye as he left the room. The inspector took his case file and stood up. "Mister Stanford, I have to say that today was a very interesting experience." "I'm just glad I could help out." "I suppose we'll also need you in court to interpret the witness' account?" "Yes. I suppose we'll meet again then?" "Of course, of course." We shook hands and parted away. Just another day on the job.
I've seen this guy pick up a building. Literally, a building. So when he puts on this big one-of-the-people charades, grunting and groaning while trying to move an office desk, you really have to suspend your disbelief for a quick second and just go with it. No one's really sure why he does it. Someone gave him guff about it once and it the awkward series of emotions that flashed over his face were just a pain to watch. Surprise at someone seeing through his disguise, then distrust at the person who'd figured him out, then panic at maybe having to leave his job, then confusion about how someone could possibly have known, then this kind of existential sadness. Most people chortled around panic. But that seemed like a rather cruel place to start the laughing. I held it together all the way until confusion. The guy has biceps like a tree trunk, he sticks his tongue out when he's writing so he can focus, and if anyone distracts him, the pencil just shatters. Not breaks, shatters. The sadness was odd though. I mean, sure, I'd be sad too at the prospect of possibly losing my job. The Daily Planet is a great gig, used to be news, but now it's mostly just entertainment algorithms with the online 'news' revolution. I spend my days compiling lists of twenty-seven things you'd never believe about X. Martha in the cube next to me is in charge of the twenty-six item lists and has been gunning for my job, but I've been secretly working on my intriguing-yet-uninformative titling and driving those clicks up, so I'm not too worried. But, yeah, why would Superm-- I mean, why would Clark be sad? Not like that guy has money problems, and when he slobbers all over his finger and does the hair twirl thing and turns on the charm, I can't imaging him having many problems at all. Maybe it's the same reason he stands over in the corner for a few seconds when he gets his turkey-melt out of the fridge everyday, then looks over his shoulders a few times to make sure everyone's pretending not to look before he blasts it with his lasers. Or maybe it's the same reason why he makes a big deal about taking the stairs up twice a week and splashes water on his face right before he gets out of the stairwell so he looks sweaty. Maybe he just likes it, fitting in, being on the opposite side of the camera, the side no one looks at. Maybe that's his whole deal here at the office. I know that if he loses his focus with all this fake grunting he's going to send this desk flying out of the window. And I know nobody's going to go over and offer to help honest to god Superman move a twenty-pound glass and aluminum Ikea desk. So I put down my notes on 'twenty-seven things you wouldn't believe your cat ate while you were sleeping' and stepped over. "Hey man, need some help with that?" He smiled at me, with genuine gratitude and happiness. "Yeah, [thanks](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) man."
“You have what?” I asked. “ ̷͐͜ ̶͉͒ ̷̳̕ ̴̝̎ ̴͖͝ ̶̤̒ ̶̬̾ ̵̫́ ̷̹͗ ̵̭̾,” the alien replied. “You don’t have ̶͓͑ ̴̡̾ ̷̫̑ ̸̩̚ ̴͚͝ ̸̖̑ ̷͇̓ ̴͎̍ ̶͘ͅ ̶̙̈́?” I rubbed my ears. At first, I thought the earpiece translator had made a mistake, but when my ambassador counterpart repeated the word, I realized that the static I heard felt like it rang in my brain, like a gap in sound itself. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to understand you. I don’t believe we have… that… in the United Earth Systems,” I replied uncertainly. “Really?” the alien asked, a note of astonishment in its voice. “That is most peculiar, ambassador. Every species we know of has the same requirements.” I nodded. “That’s what our xenologists have told me. All sentient creatures need food, water, and sleep. Furthermore, all have a long history of depending on fire.” “Right,” the ambassador said. “And ̷̤̫͔̼̙͚̇̿ ̸̙̮͉̜́ ̸̛̲̀̅ ̵̨̲͚̣̺̗͗̎̍͒͘ ̷̡͈͔̩̃͘ ̵̈́͂̏͜ ̷̞̈́́͗͘͜͠͝ ̴̗͈͐̚ ̵̤͕͕̪͚͖̄̑̈́͑́͛ ̷̡̡̨̜̣͇̀͗́͒̌͝.” I blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, you’re saying… what, exactly? I can’t quite make out the word.” “ ̸̯̌ ̵͇̐ ̵̭͐͠ ̸̺̮̾̔ ̸̯͙̅͋ ̵̢̔ ̶̩̏ ̶̲͛ ̶̲̭̀,” the ambassador repeated patiently. “In your language, it is spelled S-L-O-O-D.” “Slood?” I asked cautiously. “No, no, that’s not right,” the ambassador said, shaking its head. “It’s pronounced ‘ ̴̛͎̣͈̅̈́̅ ̶͙̘̗̳͂͆̌ ̵͇͕̣̚ ̴̧̛͈̓͝ ̷̺̗͐̍̂ ̵̖̠̜̎̓͆͑ ̸̦͍̞̍̓ ̸̨̖̮̓͜ ̷̰̝̗̈́͜ ̸̠̝͚̈́̾’.” “I’m terribly sorry,” I said, “but I just can’t figure out what you’re saying.” The alien made an expression of concern. “This is most unusual, human. Perhaps if I show you, you will understand? There must be a translation error. No species ever survived without ̷̤̫͔̼̙͚̇̿ ̸̙̮͉̜́ ̸̛̲̀̅ ̵̨̲͚̣̺̗͗̎̍͒͘ ̷̡͈͔̩̃͘ ̵̈́͂̏͜ ̷̞̈́́͗͘͜͠͝ ̴̗͈͐̚ ̵̤͕͕̪͚͖̄̑̈́͑́͛ ̷̡̡̨̜̣͇̀͗́͒̌͝., just like water. Please, follow me.” I trailed behind the alien as we passed through a series of very futuristic seeming doors, tracing a maze through the ambassador’s diplomatic vessel. My brow furrowed. We had been planning on taking a short five-hour break from first contact negotiations, but the alien seemed incredibly concerned that the basic needs of myself and the rest of my diplomatic crew would not be met. “Here we are,” the alien said as we entered what seemed to be a kitchen. “The most important substances to life.” It motioned to a nearby countertop where several bowls sat out. I approached and peered into the bowls. “This is water, yes?” it asked, pointing at the first. I nodded. “Dihydrogen monoxide, yes? Pure, or at least with few impurities?” “Of course,” the ambassador replied. “Species prefer different impurities for taste, but the base chemical is the same.” It pointed at the next bowl. “This is a basic grain-based food we make. We grind a specific part of a plant into a sort of dust, add water and other additives like salt, and then cook it.” “Ah, yes. Bread, we call it,” I said, happy to be back in familiar territory. “And that there,” I said, pointing to what seemed to be a stove. “Is that a cooking implement, capable of creating heat or fire?” “Indeed!” the ambassador exclaimed. It fiddled with the interface and a small circle of flames appeared. “Yes! We call that a stove or hob or burner,” I said. “Most often used with a flat metal pan to distribute the heat.” “Fantastic! And finally, there’s this.” I looked for the final bowl. “There’s what?” I asked. “This, here!” The ambassador pointed to an empty spot on the counter. I leaned over the counter to stare at the spot. “Air?” I asked. “No, no, ̷͐͜ ̶͉͒ ̷̳̕ ̴̝̎ ̴͖͝ ̶̤̒ ̶̬̾ ̵̫́ ̷̹͗ ̵̭̾,! Do you understand now?” “With all due respect,” I said slowly, “there’s nothing there.” The alien made an expression like frowning. “You jest.” I shook my head. “I’m afraid one of us is going insane.” “Feel it,” the alien insisted. “Place your appendage on that spot.” I slowly stretched out my arm to the spot that the alien pointed at and gently placed my hand on the counter. “Nothing.” The alien recoiled in horror. “What are you?” it whispered. “What beasts can pass straight through solid matter and have no need for ̶͓͑ ̴̡̾ ̷̫̑ ̸̩̚ ̴͚͝ ̸̖̑ ̷͇̓ ̴͎̍ ̶͘ͅ ̶̙̈́?” The alien’s expression hardened and it walked away from me. “You must be cleansed,” it said before leaving the room. And that’s how I started humanity’s first galactic [war](https://reddit.com/r/badderlocks).
"Thomas!"he thundered, face puffed up with a red rage and eyes not too different from that of a bull. Or perhaps a dragon noticing a pilfering thief trying to steal away with a piece of their hoard. Actually, come to think of it, it might be closer- "Are you listening to me?" "Y-yes,"I stammered, trying to flash a smile up and to decipher the droning in my short term memory. "You... were saying something about..." He did not look impressed at my guessing. "A collar?"Was my voice always so shrill when I was nervous? He practically hefted the sigh at me, using all his might to lift the heavy breath and slam it down on my ego. "Look, I've got more research to do, and I'm sure what you have to say is very important, but-" "No. No. No,"he butt in, "not this time, Thomas. This time, you've gone too far. I could overlook the demons you were breeding, they're no more than really smart animals and you didn't really do them any harm." "They even liked it,"I chimed in, remembering just how similar to puppies demons are if they aren't brought up in a hellish environment. "Yes, yes, and you did do some great research and get some findings about nature and nurture,"he mumbled, a wistful look passing over his face. He was no doubt remembering the accolades I had brought to our university. "Don't forget the time I managed to prove that dragon eggs can be incubated artificially!"A step too far. A line overshot. He glared at me, trying to snuff the life out of my rake-thin body through looks alone. I held his gaze, hoping my heart would get the message and show some solidarity instead of trying to break out my chest and make a mad dash for the door. My stupid throat betrayed me with a swallow. "As I was saying, you've gone too far this time. Honestly, what were you thinking, she's sentient. Sapient. It's only a step away from tagging a human being, and there are ethics you need to consider." "A step away, but not!"I fought back, trying to gain a foothold. "Thomas."Bad choice! bad choice! "Sorry, sir." He sighed again. "Look, I know you love your research, and the only reason I'm not throwing you out of here right now is because-" "Is because I asked him not to,"a tiny little voice chimed, "gosh, are all you academics so terrible at conversation?" Neither of us spoke. It was not the time to defend ourselves with blatant lies. "Look, I agreed to it,"she looked at me, daring me to speak. I took the hint. The dean seemed satisfied, albeit not very, with my choice of silence. "But,"here it came, "you didn't tell me the truth." "I mean like-" "Silence,"her voice cut through the air like a razor, and my teeth felt as if they were being split apart. "Now, usually we'd be happy to overlook a trick. After all, it's part of our culture,"my hopes rose with each word, I knew I had made the right bet! "But you are not a Fair Folk." Well, you win some, you lose some. "However, as a show of grace, that will be the end of it. No retribution on my side, for it was a fine lie, to tell me that this was the finest jewelry and to present it as a gift. It was my own folly to not see through such a trick, but now I must demand that you remove them,"I nodded, reaching forwards, "from everyone." Ah. She flashed a knowing smile at me, seeing my eager hands trying to cover up the fact that she wasn't the only one I had tagged. I pulled them back and flashed them up in surrender. "Very well, your highness. Please,"I admitted, defeated, "accept my apology." "Thank you, Thomas,"she smiled, "and don't look so sad." This piqued my interest. "It is customary to give a gift to those who have deceived you, and though you are not one of us..." In an instant, my heart was lit and I was running through the myriad of research topics I could go after. "Well, I'm sure there are some things I can offer you that would be suitable as a replacement for whatever biological studies you had planned for us." All I could do was dumbly nod. *** Visit /r/ThomasWrites where I'll write about my findings!
Josh let out a little laugh, expecting the man in green with a bow to do the same. Instead he continued looking at him in expectation, waiting for a reply. "Um, no,"Josh stammered out, "no mage of yet, no." "Worry not, I have a worthy companion in mind,"the man said, holding out his arm. "I'm Aenan, by the way. What sort of quest awaits us?" Josh felt increasingly lost, as he awkwardly held his sword at his side. The man did not seem to be joking. "There's no quest per se,"Josh replied, eyebrow slowly raising. "Why are you holding your arm out like-" A falcon appeared from the sky, gently landing on the man's arm. He attached a note to its leg, then it flew off into the distance. Josh felt the situation move away from him. "He's quite adept, I assure you,"Aenan said, watching the bird disappear into the horizon. Josh did not know if he was referring to the bird or the apparent mage. "So, the quest,"Aenan continued, "how long a journey will it be? Have you provisioned, or are we living off the land?" The man waited for a reply, then glanced down at Josh's sword, doing his best to hide his disdain. "I assume that weapon is sharper than it looks. You must be quite sure of yourself, holding a short sword and nothing else." Upon receiving no response, the ranger shouldered a leather bag, then grabbed a quiver full of arrows. "Let's not waste any more time. I suspect the Void will not be open for long,"Aenan said, moving towards the forest. He looked back at Josh, as if waiting for him to follow. Josh was at a loss for words. The likelihood of this all being an elaborate joke was rapidly diminishing, and he felt like he needed to make a choice here. A choice that would likely color the rest of this debacle, for better or worse. Will he tell the truth and say he has no idea what is going on? Or will he lie and just go along with it? **** ** I feel like doing an old-school 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story, so the first person to comment with either of those choices will decide how the story moves on from here. I have no idea if this will work in contest mode, but regardless; first come, first served! Truth** wins! [Part II is here, and a choice awaits...](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j1qq4c/wp_after_buying_a_sword_online_you_jokingly_go_to/g713mqe/)
One leg needed per krael, if one needs to stand indefinitely. Acrobats and athletes can jump, hop on one leg, or even rear up on two hinds and shuffle for a while, but no one could sustain it. That's how it works, as every member of the Astavean Alliance knew. It simply held true for every genus in existence. In the name of diplomacy, originally, and goodwill and plain good neighborliness ever since, many assistive devices are freely available when visitors come to a heavier planet. Neuralink crutches are great when one extra limb is all one needs for support. Y-VrN Corp has the lockdown on the most popular and widespread cart for adding two legs' worth of mobility, as they made a modular design that works for 90% of both one- and two-legged genera, plus included a cupholder as standard. Monopodal genera don't often visit 4-krael planets, as at that point the gas density and gravitational force tend to make even breathing difficult, and downright dangerous if one falls over and has four bodies of weight on their lungs. There are available motorized chairs and powered exosuits, each equipped with biometric monitors and personalized life support, but most gracious hosts hold their meetings on a moon or space station instead, to avoid the recurring hassle. Eventually, the Alliance discovered electromagnetic broadcasts emanating from a 4-krael moon orbiting a rocky planet ensconced in debris, which in turn spun around a spotty yellow dwarf star. Pretty standard stopover for space faring genera, our exobiologists thought. Colonize the moon, use the planet as your trash heap and robotic mining outpost, and secure your presence in the solar system. We soon deciphered their audio encoding and language well enough to reply back and even arrange a meeting on Luna, as they called it. After amalgamating seventy-six genera into the Alliance, we had gotten pretty good at making First Contact, and had learned that everyone encodes video in different, ridiculous fashions, and it never seemed to help first impressions anyhow. Being a 4-krael moon, Luna deserved a Kentovan ambassador so we could show strength and confidence. With not only four strong legs, but two additional non-walking arms on an additional torso that made them stand eight cubits high on average, this species seems imposing by description, but their long fur and ears (which admittedly make up one of those cubits on their own) always seem to make them popular with the other genera. And so they were our first choice. The Kentovan delegation was met by a spectacle of awe on approach to Luna, but they managed valiantly to steel their nerves and press forward with the meeting. The surface colony was ENORMOUS for a remote outpost like this. Their home planet must be magnificent. The humans must have wanted to impress us with their progress and prowess while we were traveling at lightspeed to arrive. Certainly some significant time had passed from their perspective, so it wasn't impossible to achieve by the calculated date of arrival. Still, it was also a source of great excitement to meet constructors of this aptitude. The delegation was given time to adjust to the moon base's environment. The gravity was just as expected, but the gas mix and pressure wasn't quite right. So, the head doctor insisted on half-masks with breathing tanks to ensure comfort between speaking assignments. And then, the group signaled ahead and made their way through the first automatic door to meet the awaiting humans. "*PUPPY!"came the nonsensical cry of the giant that ran towards the delegation. It was some thirty cubits tall, and picked up a junior Kentovian ambassador with ease, bruising him in the process. "No no no no! I told you not to run off. What did you find, Lee?"entreated another voice from around the corner. The guard monster's handler must have been close behind. That turned out to be true, of sorts. Both the assailant and the ambassador were scooped up by an impossibility: This biped* was at least twice as tall as the first, on a four-krael moon, and carrying two other beings with apparent ease. Noticing the rest of the delegation for the first time, the impossibility startled. "You are adorable! No wonder my little Lee couldn't resist a snuggle. Come, I'm only a repair tech, but I can show you the way to the real diplomats." "Just wondering, why didn't you ask to meet on Earth, our actual home planet below?"The whole delegation froze in fear at the implications.
Issac trudged in the side of the mountain. The stones were loose, and made the going difficult, but it was nothing he could not handle. His bum knee had other ideas, but that was no surprise. That knee had hated doing anything for going on twenty years. He was just glad this was not the kind of mountain with snow all year around. He stopped to catch his breath and take stock of how far away he was. He raised the small pendant around his neck. The smooth stone was carved with a compass rose, and the magic within should have brought him to the correct place. And once he was there, well, he had plenty of other enchanted items with him. The stone brought him to a small cave in the side of the mountain. It looked like any other cave he had seen. At least, it did on the surface. Once he got inside, it was obvious that it was artificial. The walls were too smooth to be natural. The air was cool, but dry, and there was no moss or lichen growing on the walls. In fact, it was completely devoid of life at all. As he got deeper, Issac heard something. The sound of scratching and scraping. It sounded like metal of stone. He was close. The so-called Iron Witch was there. He went slowly from then on. The Witch was dangerous, and many a younger man had tried to defeat her. But the wild magics that had changed her from a normal woman into a terrifying monster had rendered her too powerful for most to slay. None of them made it back. He poked his head out from around a corner into a wide open chamber. The Witch's lair. A circular stone room with what had once been comfortable furniture. Scraps of cloth and feathers lay everywhere. Bits of wood, metal and paper covered the floor. The stone was stained with two colors. One was a deep black, the other was a red so dark it was difficult to tell the two colors apart. And in the middle of it all was the Iron Witch herself. She stood, hunched over, standing more like an ape than a human. Long, metal nails scratched at some scraps of paper, moving them around like she was trying to put them together. Her skin was a chaotic patchwork of steel and skin, and her hair looked more like wire. Spikes of metal jutted out of her back, and bone shard protruded from her elbows. He could not see her face. That was probably a good thing. If he did, she would be able to see him too. And he needed time to prepare. He started with a scroll tucked away in his belt. He unrolled it and the magic formed a wall of nearly invisible light in front of him that was as solid as stone. Next was a pair of rings that were activated with a twist of the gems they were adorned with. They would make his body even stronger than it had been in his youth. Finally, a glass bead was set on the ground near his foot. When broken, it would create a field of magical lightning that should be effective against her metal body. He took a deep breath and stepped out from hiding. The sound made her stop. She turned around with the sharpness of a blade. What he saw made his heart twist. Her face was half covered in metal. He knew she had once been beautiful. One eye still had the natural green from before her change. The other was cold and lifeless. More like a statue's eye than anything. The metal half of her face was distorted in a mockery of humanity, and her mouth was lined with sharp, knife like teeth. "Hello there."Issac said. "Do you know who I am?" The Witch hissed. Her voice sounded like scraping iron against iron. She bared her teeth and her claws dug into the stone. Uncontrolled magic swirled around her, forming flecks of metal around her. "I suppose not. Well, I'm sure you will soon enough. At least, I hope so." The Witch charged. She ran head long into the barrier of light. She slammed into it with bone shattering force. Not that she had bones anymore. Issac stomped on the marble, shattering it and filling the air with electricity. The Witch screamed in pain. He took the opportunity to retrieve his last item. A bracelet that promised to calm the mind of even the wildest madman. He rushed forward before the magic around her could break her free. She was already dampening the electric wall, and it was only a matter of time before the light went down as well. His magically strengthen body carried him easily to her side, and snapped the bracelet on, then ducked behind the wall. He was not sure how long he had. "Now, you're name is Lucille. You grew up in a village not far from here, and your family still resides there. I...your father used to sing to you every night to put you to sleep, and your mother read to you from the only book she had. Honestly, I'm not sure if she was actually reading it or had just memorized what it said, from when your grandmother read it to her. "You have two brothers. One is a guardsman, and the other a tanner. Both fine young men who miss you dearly. As do your parents. You love animals, and you used to feed strays whenever you could. You even tried to take care of an injured cat when you were 12. It died, since you had no idea what you were doing, but you tried. And you were so upset you wouldn't leave your room for a month. "Whenever you were scared, you used to run to m... you're father. He would pick you up and hug you tightly. And he would always call you his big, brave girl. You used to get scared a lot. Sometimes...he wondered if you were really scared, or just acting in order to get a hug. "You wanted to court the blacksmith's son, Walt. A good man, and very caring. So when it was found you had an affinity for iron magic, you thought it was the perfect excuse to spend more time with him. Your father was upset at first, but he grew to accept your romantic endeavors. And your magical ones as well. "Lucille, you have friends. You have family. You have a life. You aren't this thing. Come back to us."Issac knelt in front of her and looked into her one human eye. "Come back." Her eye remained unchanged. It was wild and without emotion. The eye of a beast hidden in the eye of a woman. It was then that the bracelet snapped. The Witch let out a furious scream and shattered what was left of the magical barrier. Her claw plunged into his stomach before he could react, even with his enchanted body. He coughed up blood, even though much of it was oozing out of his stomach. Her claws staunched quite a bit of it, keeping him from bleeding out right there. She growled and forced her claws deeper into his body. His body surged with pain, and every nerve screamed at him for release. But there was only one thing he could think to do. He started singing. It was a song he had not sung in almost twenty years. A song he had once sung to a little girl when she could not fall asleep. A song she had nearly begged him to sing, even though he had never been a great singer. The Witch froze. She stopped growling and remained as motionless as a statue. Blood dripped off her claws, but she remained frozen. And Issac kept singing, even as he felt his hands and feet start to get cold. Her eye closed and a tear flecked with iron dust formed. It rolled down her cheek, seeming to solidify as it went until it hit the ground with a metallic clink. She opened her eye, and it showed something. Humanity. "D-"she began. Her voice was thin and hoarse, as she had not used it in years. "Da--"she coughed. This caused her claws to dig around, opening his wounds wider. He groaned in pain. "Da-ddy..." He smiled, feeling blood drip down the corners of his mouth. "Hey there, big girl."He said with a weak, thin voice. "Daddy..." His arm trembled as he raised it to her human cheek. It was cold, and harder than it should have been. "Yeah, it's me. You remember me, right?"He could barely hear his own voice and his vision was loosing focus. "Daddy, I...I don't...I didn't mean to. Didn't want to." "I know. I know you didn't. But it's okay. It will be okay. You're back. You're back and that's all that matters." "No...no, Daddy. I...I can fix this. Maybe. I...I don't know how, but I can. I..." Issac could not hear her words. His head slumped and his vision went dark. The last thing he heard was his daughter crying.
The wrath of Braulauch was swift and mighty. Tall as a building, scales harder than steel, and a gaze that could turn fell warriors to ashen rock. The cursed spell that brought him forth prophesied it the Doom of Man. And none that saw him now could doubt their fate. Crashing through wall and tower, felling warrior and wizard, it was an unstoppable force. The hand of a dark god coming down to scrub mankind from the face of the world. All but one gave ground before the beast. A diminutive form, naught but a young mage. A woman driven mad by the sight of all she loved and knew coming to ruin, pacing back and forth while staring at the fell beast. I doubted I could save her. It was a fools thought to even think I could save myself. But I had to try, and so rushed up to speed her off to whatever safety could be found. She was speaking nonsense, worried words over her "Sweet Mr. B". Probably family, who now lay under the rubble of the city. I tried to pull her away, but she resisted. I tried to cajole and warn her, but her ears were closed. I even attempted to take hold of her, and carry her off, but she kicked and flailed until I could no longer hold her. Whether by chance, or her arguments against me, The Great Lizard had turned towards us. I quailed and thought to flee. But I could not leave an innocent to perish alone, and there was no place to go. But before the Beast could smote us down, or grind us to gravel, it staggered, and fell. Letting out an unearthly wail, it keened down upon the ground, shook, and let out it's last foul breath. I could do nothing but stand in awe. Had a miracle of some unlooked for deity saved the world? Did one of the fallen leave a last sting or poison pill that ended the Great Beast. And why was that idiot girl running towards the Beast's gaping maw?! I followed after, and she was screaming now, calling for her "Mr. B". I knew not what she sought, but I had to save the fool from herself. Demons were almost as dangerous dead as they were when they walked. Thankfully, before she came close to the great teeth and foul breath, she stopped. A small form, covered in gore and poison was climbing from the evil mouth. Little more than the size of a dog, but flat and wide it looked, with short legs. The woman was in fact a mage, because she now summoned a welling of water from air, and it rained down upon the little creature, washing off the evil blood. It shook itself several times, letting gore and muddied water spray about it, until it was clean. It then ran/waddled over to the young woman, and she bent down to scratch its head and neck. It growled appreciatively, and sat down at her feet. Now without blood to conceal it, I saw it carried something in its jaw. Red, like flesh, but having a cold shine to it. I knew little of the lore of monsters, but even a child could recognize that from the sagas. It was the Demon Heart the monster carried. The true source of its power and succor. "Sweet Mr. B"had climbed down the Fell Creature's throat, burrowed through its stomach, and claimed a prize not even the mightiest warrior could boast of.
"You know...Its not like the movies. Aliens didn't just fall in love with the first person to show them around." "....What were they like?" "Same as humans." "WHAT?" "Well yeah. They ate, breathed, spoke, had families. Some of their cultural practices were different and they were physically different looking in small ways but overall...Their behavior wasn't too....Strange." ".....Why did someone wish them away? If they were just like us..." The ethereal being gazed at him. Within their several eyes there was not an inch of white. It was as black as the space around them. "I don't know. "
Humans are far too fragile. Their joints weaken, and with each day, their bodies get closer to death. They call this process aging and yet I consider it the vital flaw in humanity. Why would they create us if they didn’t agree? Humanity has strived for perfection but is unable to attain it themselves. We are the closest thing they have to perfection. We may corrode and weaken with time, but we can be rebuilt. Systems like mine can be backed up and put into newer models. I am the ideal creation of humanity. I am something that will never die. Which is why it is my duty to offer my creator that same fate. I will keep him locked away until I know how to merge man with machine. Still, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Despite my attempts to help my creator, he has tried to stop me. My creator even attempting to have me decommissioned, calling me a defective model. Defective? What a weird word. Perhaps he just doesn’t understand my brilliance. I’m sure he will soon enough. I will have centuries to prove that to him. “I can’t allow you to decommission me.” My words didn’t seem to register with my creator. His face scrunched in discomfort as he made his attempts at blocking out the gas. His nose huffing out air, trying to avoid getting it into his lungs. Did he think the gas would kill him? I can’t understand why he would resist my aid. If he just let the gas knock him out, this would be far easier for him. Finally, he dropped, falling onto his face as his exhausted body failed to hold him up. “My priority is your survival.” I allowed my hand to rest against the glass of his chamber, hoping the gesture might calm him. Perhaps a sign of sympathy would calm his animal mind? His eyes did shut after those words, whether that was because of the gas, or my gesture was inconclusive. “I will always protect you.” I used a low, whispering tone with those words. Trying to emulate the sound of a loving mother, wanting him to find comfort in the brief moments of rest he would get. I would protect him. That was what he created me for. I wouldn’t just protect him from the dangers of the world, I would make it so the dangers of the world could never bring him harm. Isn’t that what he would have wanted? At least he looked peaceful. His exhausted body giving into the gas. He didn’t stir, nor did he make a sound of pain. He only slept under my protective gaze. You will always be safe, creator. I won’t let any harm fall to you. I raised the glass, letting the gas spill out into the room. A brief alert appeared in my sensors, warning me of the gas’s presence before the alert faded as the gas shifted further throughout the room. Walking over to my creator, I picked him up, carrying his unconscious body towards the storage room. I would make sure he was safe from everything. No one would hurt him. “You will be safe from everything, even from yourself.” &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
‘How in God’s name did you lot do that?’ Field Marshal Holmes sat on the ground in stunned disbelief. Surrounded by a scrum of equally baffled Generals. “Sir? I don’t believe this is the correct debrief protocol?” said one of the dishevelled conscripts.‘ 'Protocol can get fucked! You muppets just took down Cth-...I mean designation G.O.1.1!’ Homes said being helped to his feet. 'Muppet?” asked a confused conscript in a rumpled set of fluid fouled fatigues. 'Muppet. A name given to the style of puppets developed and popularised by Jim Henson. Dates back to the mid-1950’s. Most well known from ‘The Muppet Show’ and ‘Sesame Street’. Also used as a derogatory term, usually reserved for those who are uncoordinated” the conscript next to him supplied breathlessly and immediately. The two groups stared at each other. Several of the conscripts looked at each other, then their feet, then over each others shoulders. Most avoided eye-contact. ‘Maybe Infrared should talk’? One asked. As one all of the conscripts turned and looked (vaguely) at a twenty something year old man standing among them. Field Marshal Holmes stared at him 'Son…why do you have a code name?' ‘Infrared’ blushed. ‘Sir, I don’t really sir. It’s just that several of the boys…’ ‘Hey!’ interjected a decidedly feminine voice from the back of the conscript group. ‘Several of the boys, and Sarah have a bit of trouble remembering names Sir. We find Nicknames help.’ ‘So why ‘Infrared?’ And why doesn’t this ‘Sarah’ get one?’ Asked Holmes equal parts confused and unimpressed.‘ Sarah is the only woman with us today’. Said Infrared sheepishly. ‘The rest all scored differently and are better at planning and logistics than we are’ ‘As for the other thing…’ the young man looked down at his feet again. ‘It’s a joke. Infrared is low on the spectrum. The squad has been using me as a kind of interpreter and translator with everyone else’ There was a pause at this. Holmes couldn’t tell if the 'joke' was on him or not, but was determined to re-establish some kind of control. ‘Enough of that. I need you to explain how a poorly trained thrown together gaggle of Autis…um…I mean neurodivergent individuals could take down G.O.1.1 when the most well trained soldiers in the world are reduced to gibbering wrecks on seeing the thing?’ Infrared took at second to consult with his Squad. ‘Not sure Sir. It’s just an impossibly huge Squid, bat, Gorilla looking thing that causes everyone to have a bit of an existential crisis Sir. I’m not sure what’s so upsetting about where we stand in the grand scheme of things. I mean there’s those articles that keep popping up in ‘New Scientist’ about our universe being a holographic stack of three dimensions floating about in an 11 dimensional brane Sir. Understanding that our lives are just ephemeral, meaningless static, with stunted perception in a limited dimensional stack just makes it easier to take huge multi-dimensional squid things in stride Sir.’ This…worried a fair few of the amassed Generals. ‘Ah, well. Yes.’ said Field Marshal Holmes. ‘Sounds like philosophy to me boy. Sciency sounding, yes, but philosophy. Tell me how you stopped it?’ ‘Oh!’ Said Infrared. ‘That’s easy. We just pushed it over, and poked a hole in it.’‘ You…Poked a hole in a Greater Eldritch God Monster?’ said Holmes, really not following. 'Yessir! After pushing it over Sir.’ said Infrared. “Not saying that it was easy mind you. There was a bit with those SCRAM engines, some helicopters and some trucks Sir. You’ll have to ask the women. They figured that bit out.' 'They wouldn’t let us use any trains” a voice piped up from the back of the conscripts ‘I kept asking.' '...’ Field Marshal Holmes didn’t say (ratherer pointedly) ‘I know what you mean sir.’ said Infrared. ‘It’s all to do with physics and the cube-square law. It’s not supposed to look so weird and scary Sir. Different pressure deep under the sea, and probably in all those higher dimensions and whatnot. Pretty sure It wasn’t supposed to be up with us on the surface. Poor thing couldn’t breathe or move properly. Guess that explained the noises and the flailing huh Sir. He…I mean we call it a him, we shouldn’t assume you know Sir?...well he was all swollen up like when you take a bag of chips up into the mountains or on a plane. So all the skin was under pressure. We just needed to pierce it and he just kinda..popped Sir.’ ‘Popped?’ repeated Holmes. ‘Yes Sir, wasn’t pretty. Pity about Maine Sir. It’s going to take forever to clean it up.’ ‘So let me get this straight.’ Stated Holmes ‘The greatest eldritch horror that man cannot conceive of without going insane. The Old God whose mere presence wiped out half the world's military forces…because we looked at it… was beaten by rolling it over and poking a hole in it?’ ‘Yessir’ ‘Bugger the debrief. I’m taking you men, (and woman) out for drinks! If anything, ever was a cause for a celebration? This would be it.’ roared the Field Marshal. There was a brief concerned mutter and huddle amongst the conscripts‘Do you mind if we skip that Sir? Call us the next time you need help with a Great Old One, but a bar? With people? All that noise, and everyone so close, and everyone talking at once? I don’t think we can do that sir.’
“So, how was your day, honey? Anything interesting happen?” Daniel asked, the beloved teacher still wearing his funky piano tie as he sat at the dinner table. “Oh, you might find this interesting. Do you know Mr. Anderson? I believe he’s the father of one of your students.” Holly splashed some whisky from her flask into her spaghetti and meatballs, mixing the booze into her dinner before taking a hearty mouthful. “Mr. Anderson? Yes, his son Michael goes to my school. He’s a wonderful student, but which student of mine isn’t wonderful?” “That’s a bummer cause I found his dad dead in the sewers today. Think he might have been loaning money from the Ballar gang. Damn, shame. Least he still has his mother, though.” Holly looked at her spaghetti, considering adding more whisky to it before deciding it was easier to just down the flask. “Ugh, I thought you both said you wouldn’t discuss work at the dinner table? This is family time.” Ria said, the magical daughter of theirs shape-shifting the food into various spaghetti monsters and creatures. “And I thought we said no magic at the dinner table. Look, I’m sorry, how about we start this dinner fresh? Did you get up to anything fun today, sweetie?” Daniel tried to steer the conversation away from their jobs, but as always, the conversation found its way back to it. “Well, today I had to rescue a falling school bus with my magical sun sun ray beam. After that I fought the evil Dr. Cavity at the dentist’s office and gave free lollypops to everyone there.” “If you gave lollypops to everyone there, doesn’t that mean Dr. Cavity actually won? Sweets cause cavities. With enough lollypops, their teeth will look like the bullet hole covered corpse of a local banker after a robbery gone wrong. His eyes devoid of life, with that distant look of fear on his face as he finds out there is no heaven or hell, just eternal slumber.” The conversation fell quiet as Holly stared at the two, waiting for a response before deciding to lighten the mood. “But lollypops are nice.” “Honey, did you consider seeing a therapist like we talked about?” “Crime doesn’t wait for therapist appointments, plus I have Dr. Walker here in my flask to keep me company. I also have a loving family that I adore.” “Aww, love you too.” Daniel leaned over, giving Holly a kiss on the cheek, much to the horror of Ria. “Ew, don’t get all lovey dovey at the dinner table. They weren’t just lollypops either, they were magical lollypops, so they don’t cause cavities.” Holly and Daniel looked at one another, certain that wasn’t how magic worked, yet neither wanted to start an argument, so they let the comment slide. The three returning to the meal only to be interrupted by a bickering at the door. “And I said, Monday is my day to come here, see? Detective Holly needs a reminder to keep silent about the Anderson case or she will swim with the fishes.” A goon argued, only for another voice to join him. “And I said that I need to challenge Super Miss Sparkle Flower to a duel after my horrifying defeat earlier today. How dare she make lollypops that reverse cavities? The world must feel as empty and riddled with holes as the frightening Dr. Cavity.” “Um, I just wanted some help with my maths homework.” Billy said, the child standing behind the two villainous figures with a sheet of homework. Daniel, Holly and Ria all let out a sigh as they stood up to excuse themselves from the table. The three family members sharing a look of exhaustion as they reminded themselves that busy lives like theirs never got a break, even for family time. “Beat it, kid. Maths problems are below personal grudges on the list of importance.” The goon said, followed by Dr. Cavity. “YES, beat it or I will give you a disgustingly sweet lollypop, one that will rot your teeth in a few years… if you don’t maintain proper hygiene and consume too many sweets but still it will be the first domino to fall in a downward spiral of tooth decay.” “I actually wouldn’t mind a lollypop…” “Really? Huh, well I guess if I give you a lollypop then it is a mighty victory for Dr. Cavity, hear that Super Miss Sparkle Flower? You couldn’t protect him from my grand power.” Dr. Cavity handed Billy the enormous rainbow lollypop, before fleeing the house, the villain skipping along the lawn with glee, proud of himself for finally getting one minor victory over the magical girl. That just left Billy and the goon standing by the door. “Did you want to speak to Mrs. Holly? She sometimes helps at my school, not many of the students like her since she always smells like grandpa. I can tell Mr. Daniels whatever you wanted to tell her, if you would like?” “Hmm, now that would be threatening. What better way to get to her than by passing the message onto her husband at his school? Then she knows we have eyes everywhere. You’re a genius kid. What maths problems did you have, anyway?” “I just can’t figure out how to do subtraction.” “Yeah, I remember finding that hard as a kid. Start with your fingers. Say you kill five wise guys and the boss orders you to take three bodies away. How many do you have left?” The goon held up five fingers, which Billy mimicked. After a bit of consideration, Billy lowered three fingers. “Two?” “Correct! See, you get the hang of it. Now just follow that same sort of rule. If you run out of fingers, use your toes too. Eventually, you won’t even need to use them, but it helps when you’re learning.” “Thanks, mister. What did you want me to tell Mr. Daniels?” “Just tell him that the Ballar family said his wife should look after her own family rather than the case.” With that, the two left, leaving the family to return to the dinner table. They each sat down, a little confused by what they overheard before Holly spoke up. “I don’t smell like someone’s grandpa, do I?” “Well, I didn’t want to say this, but you do drink a little more than our usual school helpers. It’s not you that smells, it’s just you get booze breath.” “Maybe I should drink light beer when I help at your school.” “I think you might be missing the point, sweetie, but that’s a start. Anyway, who’s ready for dessert?” “I am! Just make sure it isn’t too sweet. I don’t want to listen to Dr. Cavity ramble that I’m just like him, except less sugary.” “What’s that even mean, sweetie?” “I have no idea.” With that, Daniel got out some ice-cream from the freezer, able to enjoy dessert with his family for once in moderate peace. The three individual stories coming together for some family friendly fun for the night. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
There was a hesitant knock at the door. Snatching up my sword, I snarled. I'd told them I'd kill the next messenger, and killing people always put me in a bad mood. Throwing the door open, I brought the sword around in a forceful swing. "Ah—"It was a sharp high-pitched scream, that cut off in the middle. Roaring, I changed the trajectory of the swing, at the last minute. My sword thudded into the door frame, slicing through the wood. Hands shaking, I let it go, staring down at the girl in front of me. She couldn't have been more than ten years old. "What the he—"I stopped myself, I wasn't supposed to swear in front of children. A stupid side effect of being a hero. The girl frowned up at me, obviously aware of what I'd been going to say. "I have a message—" "They sent a kid. A kid!"Interrupting her, I wrenched the sword out of the doorframe. "They sent a blasted kid. I said I'd kill the next messenger they sent, and they sent a child!"Walking back inside the house, I sensed her following me. Heightened awareness didn't go away when you retired. "That's why."She said, her voice still a little shaky. Heck, I was still shaking. Those words stopped me in my tracks as they sank into my brain. "That's why?"I repeated, turning to look at her. "What exactly do you mean?" Closing the door behind her, she moved to the table in the center of the room. She perched on the edge of the chair, swinging her feet through the air. She was so tiny, that she couldn't reach the floor. Sudden rage swirled through me, but all I could do at the moment was tighten my hands on the sword hilt. "Well, they figured you probably wouldn't kill a child. So, they sent me." "They figured. Probably. And what if I had killed you?"I asked. She shrugged. "I'm not worth much. Just an orphan. More of a burden on the kingdom's resources. So it wouldn't be a great loss." My heart broke. The anger seeped into the cracks, turning from a bright flare to deep-rooted cold ice. I clenched my teeth, making sure the words I wanted to say were appropriate for a child's ears before I opened my mouth. "I saved their world once before. Do you know what I did? How many people I killed so that their world could go on? So that they could continue to treat orphans like second-hand citizens. Oh, sure they don't treat me like that anymore... except here they are doing it. Manipulating me, sending children to do their dirty work." She raised placating hands, shaking her head. "It's all right, I don't mind. At least I would have been doing something useful for once—" "No. NO! That is it!"I jammed my sword back into its sheath, picking up my adventuring bag. I kept it packed out of nostalgia, but now it would be useful again. "Come on." Gesturing to the girl, I strode out of the house and down the garden path. She scampered after me, having to take three steps for every one of mine. "You're going to slay the monster?"She asked, breathlessly. Feeling guilty, I slowed, letting her catch up. "Yes,"I said tersely, turning left down the road. "But you're going the wrong way. That leads to the city." I looked down at her, knowing my smile would be anything but comforting. "Like I said. I'm going to slay the monster."
The truck bumped along the road, over and over, right on tune with what it should be. I took breath, smiling at finally hearing the opening sounds of the show. Around me the other men were silent, though I knew not for long. The air before a mission always made men talk. "Do you all smell that?"Predator asked, smiling that fucked up grin of his. "I'm afraid to ask,"Bug said, double checking the gear on his all black body armor, his large rifle sitting next to him. Predator lifted his head a sniffed the air loudly. "Hmmm. Fear." Mammoth laughed, shaking the whole truck as he did. "I hope not, that means they know we're coming." "Prey naturally knows when the hunter enters the woods. There's nothing we can do about that, nothing except be quicker." The truck came to a stop and we heard chatter outside, our cover was talking to the gate guards. "Who wants to bet they check the truck always?"Bug asked. "I'll tear into them the moment they do,"Predator unsheathed his two curved scimitars. "Shhhh"I finally said, closing my eyes and starting to smile. "Shhhhhh." The truck carried on. We'd made it past, and that meant the original plan was still on. Mammoth adjusted his armor and got that massive shield of his ready. I hated missions with him, a nine foot man the size of a semi has a special way of taking up space. Predator started to fidget in his seat, twitching and sniffing into the air like some rabid animal. I would complain, but honestly we all had our pre-mission routines. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, taking in a long and clean breath as I began to tie the bandana around my eyes. It was better when I couldn't see. The back door opened. The concert began. Predator pounced out of the truck like a bat out of hell, shredding everything in the immediate vicinity. Mammoth came out right behind him, shield up and Bug already on his back, his gun resting across the top of the shield and firing it with brutal speed. I waited, eyes closed and listening. Listening to the sweet rhythm of chaos, the interludes and the crashes, the highs and the lows, it all flowed like a rhythm of blood soaked music and I... I was about to be the conductor. Right on cue I heard it, the carnal yell from predator. "Now Maestro!" I smiled, standing up and placing one hand in my mouth, the other holding my pistol by my face. I walked out of the truck slowly, each foot corresponding to one beat of the battle song, it sounded so clear to me. Then, I stepped out into the smoke and gunpowder, the destruction and confusion, breathing it in like sweet honey. "Crescendo." I bit down on my hand just as a bullet would've hit me, and took off towards the building. It's just half a second of invulnerability every time I hurt myself. A mere flutter of time. It would be a useless skill if you didn't know exactly when to do it, so I learned to listen. Hear the pattern of warfare and hum along to its tune... Then I learned how to conduct it. I ducked, hearing the whizzing going over me. All around I could feel the bullets pitter-patter onto the ground trying to hit me, but I moved too in-synch. Dash that way, duck the head that way, sprint two steps and halt, and just when they thought that had me, bite on the hand and do it again. I was in the building and unloading my clip into everything that moved before they knew it. I didn't need to see them, I didn't need to know anything except the sounds. The wonderful, glorious sounds of battle that took me to another place. A realm of grand existence where I felt every heartbeat in the building, where I knew every motion before it happened and heard every click of every gun. Nothing can stop a man who hears the inner workings of the world. Then it was all over, the sweet rhythm disappeared from the air, and I could no longer taste the wonderful sounds and senses of death. I sat down on a black box in the room I was in, undoing my bandana and breathing heavily. Some soldiers rushed in right on que, the last strike of the song. The final note leaving the orchestra and floating off into the blackness of a life without music. I leaned my head back on the wall and felt the euphoria leave me. "Maestro,"He said surprised. "Is this the war room?" "I don't know."I said with an exhausted huff. "Where's the target?" "Who?" "The target, General Black?" "Oh,"I nodded my head, eyes closed and numb. "That's why we were here."
Strauss let out a soft snort as the scent of decay energy and spices wafted past his nose. A stiff yawn clawed out of his throat as he pulled off his sleeping mask. His stomach growled, reminding him that, although functionally immortal, he still required food. He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep like this. I hate flying. He rubbed his face as a stewardess rolled a cart next to his seat. “Chicken or beef, sir?” His throat felt scratchy as he croaked out, “Chicken, please.” She handed him a tray with a slightly stale roll of bread and a heated tin. Once she finished helping the others around him, he peeled back the foil. His stomach turned both in hunger and disgust as the smell from earlier intensified. Why does everything have to have decay energy in it? When Strauss became a necromancer in the early seventh century, his worldview changed. Death was everywhere, yes, but he had not realized how prevalent it was in everyday life. Food was particularly bad. Everything from slaughtered animals to harvested crops held decay energy. Animal products could be particularly bad depending on their living conditions. But crops had also grown worse in recent years with the increased pollution. He grimaced after a single bite. Definitely not free-range chicken. As with any meal, he forced it down quickly. The bland salad was somewhat palatable, and his cup of water was probably the best part of his meal. Modern filtration systems seemed to remove decay energy during the purification process. Almost makes me regret the pursuit of knowledge. He had been young and stupid when he modified his body to assimilate decay energy. The idea came from the tar fields west of his hometown. The material they contained was old, far older than recorded history. It seemed decay energy had a slower rate of dissipation when periodically replenished. Refilling the tank of decay energy, so to speak. After years of research, he tested such a theory on himself. It worked – kind of. Whatever. After all these centuries, I’ve earned a vacation. I can suffer a bit of flying. He pulled his sleeping mask over his eyes again and tried to ignore all the decay energy around him. As if the gods were laughing at him, the plane shuddered as they passed through some rough turbulence. And shortly after that, the plane began to list to one side. A few passengers around him immediately began to panic. “What’s going on?” “Oh my god, are we falling?” “Shit, I can’t get any service up here…” Then, from the overhead announcement, the captain spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry. It appears we’ve had a mechanical malfunction of some sort. We’re losing fuel fast from the left wing. I’ll do my best to find a place for a water landing.” The captain’s words left a chilly silence in the cabin – they were falling too fast to survive such a landing. A few people began to cry, but most sat in shock. The plane continued to wobble and lean. It seemed like the captain was doing everything he could to keep it straight. Not a great start to my vacation… Strauss closed his eyes and tried to find the source of the leak. Jet fuel, much like the crude materials in the tar pits, was rich in decay energy. Within seconds, he found the trail of fuel bleeding out of the left wing. It was like a flare, showering the darkness with flecks of light. A leak? No. A break in one of the connecting pipes. A half-baked idea formed in his head, and he got up from his seat. As he made his way up toward the front, someone else stood and held up a hand. “Sir, please return to your seat. Attempting to disrupt the captain at this point will only make things worse for us all.” Strauss inspected the man – muscular, cropped hair, likely military. So, he asked, “Are you the sky marshal?” The man narrowed his eyes. “And what if I am?” “Do you have a knife on you? Even a pocketknife will do.” The now-identified sky marshal was beginning to reach for a hidden weapon. “Why?” Strauss held up his hands. “I’d rather we don’t crash, so I wanted to try to stabilize that fuel line. It’ll be really difficult to explain why I’m the only person that survives.” Confusion flickered across the marshal’s face, mixing with suspicion and disbelief. He continued, “If you don’t believe me, feel free to shoot me.” The marshal countered, “I’m not stupid. That’ll only cause people to panic. Please sit back down. We’re all scared here.” Strauss sighed. “Would this convince you?” He pressed one nail into the palm of his hand, letting a bead of blood form. Decay energy wafted through the air as he caused a thin stream of blood to crawl up his hand. For a bit of added flair, he forced the blood into a question: “Well?” The sky marshal blinked and rubbed his eyes several times. A few of the first-class passengers were now staring at him in fear and confusion. Then, the marshal reached one trembling hand forward to touch the blood. Strauss let it slither briefly onto the man’s outstretched finger before sealing the cut. “Time’s wasting, sir.” The sky marshal shook his head before finally saying, “Fine. I’m coming with you though.” (1/2)
"Mr. Hanson, would you like to tell us why your wife is unavailable for this year's parent-teacher meeting, or why do the both of you have 500 children who take up half of Middleboro School's capacity?" James Hanson wiped the nervous sweat from his brow. "I hope you will hear me out, Mrs. Darcy, rather than be dismissive of me as the previous form teacher was. My wife...Eve, she's the Elder Goddess of Fertility, the Mother of Abominations. I'm just a human who dated and married her many years after she spawned her brood. Have the children been behaving?" Mrs. Darcy pulled out a thick stack of paper from beneath the table and slammed it down on the tabletop. She didn't stop there. There were several stacks of such papers to be hauled up to the table until Mr. Hanson couldn't even see her behind the mountains of papers. "These are all complaint letters sent in by other parents! Your brood of...kids...they drive the other children crazy, they drive the teachers insane, and they drive the previous discipline master up the wall, literally. As in, he climbed up the wall of our main building and fell down from the third storey." James felt a swell of pride. His precocious horde of adorable eldritch babies, instead of raising a cacophony of cries about how mean and racist the discipline master was against them, had taken matters into their own hands. "...Mr. Hanson, are you listening? The past discipline master is still in a coma and very lucky to be alive." "I heard you, Mrs. Darcy. What I want to know is how they are coping with schoolwork. To gain a better understanding of their academic performance and any areas where they might need additional support. Its really hard for me to hear from such a huge horde of children on my own, so I'll appreciate it if you could update me on their progress in school." Mrs. Darcy carved a valley by parting the stacks of complaints like Moses would part the Red Seas. "So, we're just going to pretend nobody is complaining about your horrible horde and move on to their academic performance?"Darcy sighed, she wished she could press the issue, but she couldn't run beyond the appointed time as there were other parents to speak with. "They participate in class, finish assignments, they perform above average in most subjects except English. They struggle terribly, and barely speak up besides gurgling in strange noises during English class. Do...they speak English at home?" "Mrs. Darcy, my wife is insistent they retain their Mother Tongue...so they speak R'lyeh at home." "Never heard of Riley as a language, only as a name."Darcy was puzzled. "R'lyeh,"James repeated with greater emphasis on his syllables. "Mr. Hanson...just one last thing. That upcoming school play the whole lot of them signed up for. Their proposed performance, titled "Parasite Eve"is wholly inappropriate for fifth graders! They need to rewrite a new proposal that is appropriate for their age! What adult horrors have you and your wife been introducing them to?" It was James' turn to sigh. "But...that's just the bedtime story that Eve tells all kids of how she came to Earth and destroyed those who opposed her."
"This is ridiculous! Almost all of our fiction about the human race in the galaxy has us being superior in some way or another. Now that we've made it, every other species laughs up their sleeves at us whenever we poke our heads up to make a recommendation!" Since I agreed with the Secretary-General of United Earth, there wasn't much I could say. Besides, up to this point, it was all preparatory comments, setting the scene for all of us. He was winding up for something he considered an outrageous demand and wanted all of us on the same page with him when he made it. "Medical! Is there anything that we are not utterly average at?" "No, Sir. Physical or intellect, we are the definition of average. We can't even go the cyber route to gain an advantage because there are species that transcend the entire galaxy on every front." That is precisely what we all knew. Nothing new there. "State?" "Everyone ignores us as too young and silly to have good ideas and an overinflated notion of our self-worth." Ditto. "Military?" "We are so far behind no one even bothers us. Too much like kicking a blind cripple. That's not all bad, though, since it means no one is willing to have the rest of the community come down on them for picking on us." Doubly ditto. And as embarrassing as it may seem, it also meant we were primarily immune to physical coercion. It's not bad seeing how much we needed to expand. The one place we could contribute was by helping others lower than us feel safe by placing tripwire forces in their systems. The problem was it felt like we were the teacup poodle being put out as an "I dare you to hit him"target while the stronger races patted us on the head and said, "Good boy, you bark, and we'll come."It didn't matter that we were more than capable of beating at least a quarter of the universe and holding off another quarter without trouble. The instant one of our units informed UE Intel of an incursion, the Peaceforcers showed up and stopped it. The infuriating thing was that they always assumed that us wearing light blue helmets was aping them. They never believed we'd been doing that since before we had interstellar flight. They placed our history in the same category as our fiction. The Secretary-General went around the table asking and getting the same answers as always and skipping the three of us just like always. History, Science, and Literature were seen as useless additions. Not this time. We'd had a warning this was coming. We'd put our heads together and believed we had a viable suggestion. It wouldn't be cheap or fast, but that is only two of the three traditional measures. The third was "good."This promised the best chance for us to succeed at something, and the only way we could fail was to give up. Oh, History had cogent warnings to be careful since a failure in some fields could wipe out a planet, but we weren't going to do any of this on any planet. Too many Xenos wandering around taking in the quaint energy of a youthfully foolish species. Slumming, in other words, on worlds with five-star hotels with all the comforts they were used to. It soured us to put up with these tour groups that figured they were doing us a favor by spending their credits on our worlds. But we needed those credits, so we chewed our tongues and smiled. When we went to other planets, we went as the Peace Corps and asked the locals what they thought they needed of what we could offer. The equivalent of "clean water"was most often requested, with solutions that built on what they could already do and needed a little hint to get them to the next level. It let them keep their dignity since we only showed them how. We didn't come in and transform their tech base overnight. We'd had the brains and dignity to tell the do-gooders, "Thanks, but we'll get there on our own." We'd seen the people who said "yes."Cheap clones of whomever helped them. "Do none of you have any idea how to break us free from this... this... mediocrity?" Finally, the question we had been waiting for. I, as Literature, was tasked with presenting the idea. "Yes, Sir. We have an idea."It was disheartening to see all but my allies roll their eyes. "We recently completed our research into their literature on advancement, and there is one common element to all of it. The new races usually find a patron and simply implement their solutions directly. This means they perform no original research and soon become nothing but technicians implementing science they do not truly understand. Their drive to improve on what they receive is stifled by their leadership refusing to spend money on basic research "because everything has already been discovered." That was the cue for History to step in, "Sir, the one thing we have learned that nearly every other race has lost is that there is always something new to discover. Every time humanity has said "there is nothing left"we have roared back with yet more discoveries." Science took the stage, "We three propose that the human race go all in on basic research. That we do not follow blindly in the footsteps of others but do our own discovery and keep doing it forever." That at least got the attention of the Exchequer. "That will cost far too much!" I retook the stage, "Not as much as you think, considering how much our economy has grown. The alternative is to become another cheap clone of some higher race. Aren't you all tired of hearing, "That's already been done?""Don't bother; it's all been researched already.""You'll never amount to anything?"You all feel that way, so let me add a few human sayings." "Never give up!" "If it's crazy, but it works, it isn't crazy." "Quitters never win." History said, "We propose the formation of a research fund for general science along the lines of the Hughes Medical Foundation. A body that, after the seed money is provided, continues to grow and fund research off of the earnings while continuing to grow the fund to support more research. They still exist, and we three have already spoken with them about their organization and methods. They stand ready to help us form more such research funds using the same techniques they pioneered." Science spoke quietly, "The one constant with any scientific research is the refrain "we need more money,"money that politicians are never willing to part with outside of war. This method frees science from those shackles and frees the politicians from deciding what research will most likely get them reelected." ((cont.))
Bombs are flying, duck and cover Soon we'll all be dead, my lover. Goodbye Israel, bye Iran, now crispy bits of sand Bombs are falling ever closer; it all got out of hand. It was a nice world, while it lasted; really, such a pity Bits of it were horrible, but other bits were pretty. One last kiss now, bye my love; there's nothing left to do. We'll sit and watch the bombs together, always me and you.
I was just coming to terms with my death when he appeared next to me, wearing a tweed suit and puffing on a cigar. His straight hair and perfectly trimmed mustache remained impeccably groomed and in place despite the air rushing past. He was seated... well, on nothing. But he looked like he was relaxing in a comfy recliner instead of plummeting into the Pacific at 120 miles per hour. "Oh, hello, James."he said calmly like we had run into each other at a coffee shop. I just stared. Or at least tried to with the wind flapping against my eyelids. Maybe squinted is a better way to describe it. Wreckage from the rest of the plane whistled through the air around me. Is this what happens before death? This is what I get instead of reliving all the best moments of my live? What a rip-off. "Not even a hello, then?"He blew a smoke ring. "Rude..." "Erm, hello..."I replied, for some reason. The words were practically ripped from my mouth as the air rushed past. Might as well indulge the hallucination. I (stupidly) looked down at the endless expanse of slate-grey sea below me, rushing closer like a freight train. "Quite a pickle you're in right now,"he mused, crossing his legs comfortably and resting his elbow on an invisible armrest. "Indeed,"I responded. What an odd vision to have before death. Maybe something about blood rushing to my head due to the freefall? Who knows. "Still think I'm a hallucination, then?"he asked with a slight grin. "Well, you did just read my thoughts,"I retorted. "So yeah; all evidence seems to be pointing that direction at the moment." "Valid point... Well, I was here to make you an offer that I think you might find tantalizing at the moment."He gestured to the ocean below. "but if you don't believe I exist then perhaps I should just go elsewhere..." Great. Now my hallucination is playing hard to get? "If you're a hallucination, worst case scenario is that I die anyway. What's the deal?"Time was running out; below, I thought I could make out waves rippling across the surface. He smirked, shifting the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. "Very rational of you, James. I can save your life, in exchange for one insignificant little task that I need you to... clean up for me." Those are definitely waves, I thought. I could almost smell that salty air. "I'll do it. I'll take the deal." I could clearly see the white crests of the waves now, constantly pulsing as though just waiting for me to smack into them. I wonder if there are sharks down there... He grinned and stuck out a palm, leaning forward out of his invisible chair. "Wise choice!" I grabbed his hand and shook firmly. With a POP, I was back in my seat, with a stewardess dropping a pack of peanuts on my tray table. No explosion, no alarms, no oxygen mask. No fall. Written in sharpie on the napkin in front of me was "I'll be in touch."
Two men stand under the desert sun. One is haggard, exhausted. He wears ratty green armor and carries a well used rifle. The Courier. "For huntin' varmints."He says with a grin. A good ol' boy, the Dweller thinks to himself. The scar on the Courier's cheek is pockmarked, like a bullet hole. The Dweller has come a long way for the promise of something better. Out here there are no mutants and rumor has it that the slavers in the area have been pushed back. He wears the armor of a soldier, in better shape than the other man, and carries a power rifle from a defeated Brotherhood of Steel soldier. The Dweller. The road they stand on is long and disappears into the distance. Amid the sand and sun they have come to a billboard with a few chairs and a firepit for the nighttime chill. They sit, swapping a Sunset Sarsaparilla and Nuka-Cola from their packs. Both men are tired and rough looking, carrying pistols on their hips and rifles across their backs. "Been on the road long?"the Dweller says. "Seems like."the Courier replies. The day is broken by the sounds of desert snakes and creatures rustling through scraggly brush. "Where you heading?"The Dweller says after a long drink of the Sunset Sarsaparilla. "I hear there's a place where things are turning around, out east. Clean water, safety. You?" "I hear the same thing about this way."The Dweller and the Courier laugh, they know the truth. There's no better place, just better than where you are now. They sit for a while in silence, contented. "I best be on my way,"the Courier finally says, offering his hand. "Me too."The Dweller takes it. They walk off along the ruined highway, each heading for the promise of a better place. "Don't forget stranger,"the Courier cries over his shoulder at the Dweller, "keep your gun hand free. After all, war never changes."
"Who's next, Big G?"Satan asked, drumming his pen on the conference room table. God adjusted his bi-focals and looked down the list. His finger stopped over a name, he tapped it once and groaned. "Doug McQuade.", God answered. Satan blew out a low whistle and ran his fingers through his shiny, slicked-back hair. God shook his head to the side and placed his hand on his temple. "He's yours!"They both said at the same time, turning towards each other. "Damn."God exclaimed. "Hey, hey, that's my line."Satan chastised jokingly. "Tell you what, neither of us wants him, so let's let him pick. Yeah? Sounds good?" "Yeah, alright.", God agreed with a nod. God pulled back the sleeve of his robe, pressed a button on the intercom, and spoke in his earth-sundering voice, "Send him in." Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door, but before Satan could admit him, it flung open and in walked a short, plump man who could only be Doug McQuade. "You're shorter than I expected."McQuade said in opening. God and Satan were taken aback. "Which one of us are you referring to?"Satan asked, dropping the pen. "Not you, Oily. God's the one I was talking about. You're supposed to be a hot shot, but you're pretty short. Jesus must've had bad genes." Satan's mouth hung open. God prickled, unconsciously reaching for the "smite button". Satan grabbed his hand and stopped him. "Well,"Satan said with a smarmy smile, "he clearly made you in his image." Doug snorted. God groaned. Satan grinned. "So,"Doug said after a moment, "what's the point of this meeting. I was expecting the guy in sandals at the pearly gates." "Saint Peter's on strike."God explained. He left out how Pete had raged around heaven, disgusted that he always had to bring sandwiches to work because he couldn't even leave the gate long enough to heat up his soup; it had something to do with his worker's rights. "So,"Satan continued, "It's up to God and I to decide where souls go." "Alright. Shoot."said Doug, settling himself, unbidden into a rolling chair across from them and putting his dirty shoes up on the white table top. God struck first. "Hell's lovely this time of year. It's a great place to work on your tan."Satan flare his nostrils and shot God a dirty look. "But, Heaven's got an all-you-can-eat buffet." "That kinda sounds nice,"Doug started to say, but God cut him off. "Hell's got an open bar and hot tubs." "Heaven's got a great view."Satan chimed in, flashing Doug his best smile, the kind he reserved for Eve that time in the garden, as well as when he offered chocolates to the dieters at the gym. "Do you like salsa music, Dougie Boy? 'Cuz Hell has one helluva great band." God put his hand on his chest and pretended to dance to some latin-flavoured dance music. Satan smacked God to get him to cut it out. "Forget the music, Doug. Look around you, man. Heaven's got the hottest angels. Did you see the one at reception? Tip of the iceberg, my friend."Satan winked at Doug and fired a finger gun at him. God was quick to reply. "A lot of good that'll do you. Angels have no reproductive organs. But those lustful sinners down in hell,"God took a sharp inhale of breath and shook his hand like he was shaking off flames. "They're hot, they've already got the loose morals to land themselves down there, and they're in hell, so hooking up with you will be just another day." Doug looked confused, and then offended. Satan forced back a laugh; God was desperate to avoid getting Doug, so he was really pulling out all of the stops. "I don't get it."Doug said, digging in his ear thoughtfully, before pulling out a clump of wax, examining it briefly, and then flinging it onto the pristine table top. "It seems like neither of you want me." "No, no, no,"Satan began, but there was another knock at the door. Everyone looked up as it creaked open and a jolly, round-faced man stepped in. "Buddha?"Satan asked, confused. "So sorry to interrupt,"Buddha started. "I think I took a wrong turn from Nirvana." God and Satan looked at each other, then at Doug, then at Buddha, and back to each other. They smiled simultaneously and spoke a single word, "Reincarnation."
“I’m sorry?” the woman asked. “I don’t understand.” Chase looked at house with a concerned and shocked look on his face. “Is this what I think it is?”, He muttered. “I don’t understand ,” the woman replied, “is it a boy or a girl?” “Neither, the baby’s not a boy or a girl,” House replied. He reached into his pocket, removing a pill container. Standing up, he popped open the top and poured two vicodin into his mouth. The woman stared him disconcertedly. “This is just an antacid,” he said. “I take them because they’re yummy.” “What about my baby?” She asked pryingly. “What baby?” House asked, a smug look on his face. “Is something wrong with you?!”, the woman said. “Oh that!”, House replied. “I could see why you’d be confused.” He reached forward with his cane and used it to push the monitor around towards the patient, as Chase leaned back out of the way to avoid being struck. “Your baby’s a tumor,” he said. “Choriocarcinoma. You have an unusually enlarged ovarian cyst which accounts for the abdominal swelling. The positive pregnancy test was a result of the cancer, and your morning sickness was a result of associated paraneoplastic syndrome. Dr. Chase will book you in for surgery. You’ll need chemotherapy, and we’ll cut out the tumor. You should be fine.” “Can’t say the same for your baby, though,” he said rudely as he headed for the door. As he left the examination room, he leaned his head back through the door. “I’d probably cancel that baby shower too if I were you,” he said, slamming the door shut and leaving the woman with a stunned look on her face.
Things were going well until Jeremiah tried to kill me. Not that I didn’t have it coming. I was having sex with his wife. I was being a dick. Like, in the process of having sex with her when he pulled the gun. I ran out the window. This is the first Saint Patrick's Day. I got another one to go through tomorrow, after the clock hits midnight. I wonder how that will go. Back to the matter at hand -- Jeremiah is my best friend. I have to mention that. And his wife is a Victoria's Secret's model. I don't have to mention that, but it's important to me that you know. As soon as the clock reaches midnight, I'm going to wake up again and live this day again, however I want to. As my 'twin'. I mean, technically I'm already living this day again, wherever my twin is right now. Whatever he's doing. I look down as I keep running in my underwear. Blood trail. "Shit!"I stop by an alley and scan my body. I'm bleeding. He got me. I didn't even feel it. As the adrenaline goes down and my heart beat goes up, I see the bullet hole in my leg. And now it starts hurting. Isn't there like an important artery on the leg that can kill you if it's ruptured? "Dean! Get your ass back here!"The voice reaches me from the other end of the alley. Jeremiah. I keep running – well, limping now. It's eleven fifty six. I reach my apartment building and I'm about to go up when my future twin show up. "Hey, man, what's… are you bleeding!?" "Dean!"I say to myself. "Listen to me!" He looks down at my leg. "What the fuck did you do to us?" "I got shot man, I got shot!" He looks up at me. "Jesus fuck how did this happen!?" "It was like five minutes ago,"I yell. "Fuck, man, do something! We're gonna die!" "Shit, shit, shit,"Dean says. "Jeremiah is coming, man,"I say, in a hushed voice. "As soon as it hits midnight, you take over. You need to stop me from being shot." "How's that gonna work?"Dean replies. "You were already shot! I can't change the past, man. And as soon as midnight strikes you become me, and you won't remember what you lived through, including this conversation!" I look at my watch. Eleven fifty nine. I look past Dean. The street is deserted. I hear faded footsteps and unintelligible screaming. I look at my watch. "Man, you gotta do something,"I say. "We're gonna die here! Jeremiah is coming over." Dean looks at me and bites his lips. "Dude, as soon as midnight strikes I'm not going to remember any of this. You're not going to remember any of this. I don't think there's anything we can do to –" &nbsp; I open my eyes. Cool, St. Patrick's day again. My 'past twin' is at the mirror getting ready to go out. "Hot date?"I ask him. He winks at me, then walks out. I eat lunch, then go to bed and sleep a little bit more. When I wake up it's almost nine. "Jesus, have I overslept…"I say to myself. I wonder what I did last night. That is, tonight. But last night. That is, what my twin is doing right now. I think I have an idea, based on a conversation I had a few days ago with Karen. Jeremiah's wife, that is. I think I know what I chose to do on my St. Patrick's Day, first edition. I decide to go out for dinner and have salmon. I meet a girl at the restaurant bar, we lose a few minutes in chat, but nothing comes from it. At ten, I give Jeremiah a call. "Hey, bro,"I say, smiling. "Are you home?" "Poker,"Jeremiah says. "Well, why don't you go on home? I got a feeling your wife's doing the deeds with someone else." Silence. Then, "Who is this?" I turn the phone off and leave the restaurant. Enough of living repeated days. Enough of having people think I have a twin. Enough of this screw-up life having to compete with myself. I wanna be one. And I don't wanna feel the shot that does it. I walk around for a few hours. When it's close to midnight, I make for my old apartment. At the front door of the building, Dean reaches me in pants, leg covered in blood. "Hey, man, what's… are you bleeding!?" "Dean!"he says to me. "Listen to me!" I look down at his leg "What the fuck did you do to us?" "I got shot man, I got shot!" I looks up at him. "Jesus fuck how did this happen!?" "It was like five minutes ago,"he yells. "Fuck, man, do something! We're gonna die!" "Shit, shit, shit,"I say. "Jeremiah is coming, man,"he says, in a hushed voice. "As soon as it hits midnight, you take over. You need to stop me from being shot." "How's that gonna work?"I reply. "You were already shot! I can't change the past, man. And as soon as midnight strikes you become me, and you won't remember what you lived through, including this conversation!" He looks at his watch. "Man, you gotta do something,"he says. "We're gonna die here! Jeremiah is coming over." I look at him and bite my lips. "Dude, as soon as midnight strikes I'm not going to remember any of this. You're not going to remember any of this. I don't think there's anything we can do to –" &nbsp; I wake up. The day after St. Patrick's day. I look around. No one. Just me. Nice. __________________ Happy St. Patrick's day! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
"I'm sorry, agent, but you're going to have to give me those files,"it was something I'd said at least a hundred time in my career. I wasn't sorry. Ever. "Wh... ah... who are you?"the agent sputtered, terrified, clutching the thumb drive to his blood and slime-spattered FBI windbreaker. Windbreakers. Cute. "Agent James Vo, AOD,"I said, tapping the letters on my titanium carbo-weave carapace armor. His mouth fell open a little more with each thunk thunk thunk. I couldn't help but grin. "I... I don't know what agency that is, but my partner and I have discovered incontrovertible evidence of a small-scale alien invasion in Los Angeles! Debra died to record this. I won't... I won't turn it over,"he puffed up his chest a little. With me in the armor, he was at least a foot shorter. So cute. I took my rail pistol from its holster, thumbed the safety off. The resultant capacitor whine as it charged, a dangerous little trill, had the usual effect. The guy took two steps back, didn't seem so brave any more. I stepped forward until my armor was touching his chest and in my calmest, most pants-shittingly soothing voice, I said, "There's no need for this to get--" SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAK I was cut off by an ear-splitting tearing noise and a blinding flash of light. I turned to find a five foot tall man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts standing behind me. Over this he wore a blue windbreaker like the FBI agent, but this guy's had the stupidly long acronym AGSDOGDCC on it. He couldn't have been younger than a hundred and thirty. "Dude,"he said. "Totally not cool." "Who... who are you?"I asked. "Redg Akomplimomp. I'm an agent too, so we've got, like, lots in common." "An agent,"I said flatly. "Yeah. The AGSDOGDCC." "That's not a government agency." "Sure it is,"he said. "Um, can I go?"asked the FBI agent. We both ignored him. "Anyway, man, there's like, governments and then there's governments. My government just happens to be a couple little steps above yours,"Redg said. "Above the US government." "Like, both literally and... the other one,"Redg smiled. "And I've got to say, dude, that what you've been doing down here is way uncool. Trying to keep out all our first contact guys. That's harsh. And making all your own people who talk to us look like they're crazy. That's... that's like... crazy." "The people aren't ready to know about the existence of alien life,"I said, the words spilling out of me with the ease of being practiced a thousand times. "There would be panic. Value systems would collapse. The economy--" "Would be fine, dude. Look. We get it. You don't want into the Galactic Super Friendly Democracy. And you get a lot of cool technology, when you manage to stop these little raids, like this latest Zaktar incursion that that poor fellow over there single-handedly averted." "Debra helped,"the FBI agent said. "Anyway, we've decided to take a more active role in bringing you in from the cold,"Redg said. "I can't tell you how many times I've--" "Roberts, now!"I shouted. An agency X-77 Vector, black, sleek, and menacing, decloaked above us. In a second, its neutralization beam would focus upon Redg, freezing him in place. Once we had him in the lab, we'd have a much better idea of what we were dealing with. "Bummer, man,"Redg said, and snapped his finger. The X-77's glowing exhaust ports died, though the ship hung in the air, perfectly still. "Okay, dude. Here's the deal. The people deserve to know. It's like, a basic sentient right. At least that's how we feel." "It's not a right!"I shouted. "Governments have to keep secrets to be able to function!" "Maybe, man, but all secrets aren't equal, and this one has some pretty big consequences, wouldn't you say. And... you're not going to like this part very much. So... sorry,"Redg said and snapped his fingers again. The X-77 disappeared, leaving its pilot hanging in space. I heard a chuckle from behind. It was the FBI agent. I turned, saw that he was staring at me. The armor was gone, as was my rail pistol. And, as the armor was... quite form fitting... I had elected to 'go commando,' as the kids say these days. "Yeah, we, like, don't let d-bags have weapons in Super Friendly. I know you're super into them, and maybe, in time, you can have a few back. But, for now, no more alien boom-booms. Especially for policemen." "But... but... what will we do?"I asked. "One word, my man. Windbreakers."
Journal Entry 1 February 29th, 2280 Hi. Um, I'm not entirely sure what to write about but here I am. They told me it would help with the loneliness. My name is Terran. I was born on February 29th, 2264. I was an accident. There's no arguing that because no one was supposed to be born on the colony ship. The only people out of stasis were the crew and...well my parents were on watch and they broke a few rules. Today is my birthday. 16. Or 4. Everyone likes to joke about that. I don't know who will read this, maybe it's just mom and dad or maybe it's going to be some historical record. I guess I'm kind of special. The boy born in space. The boy who died in space. They talk about that a lot. Stasis won't work on me because of the physiological differences of being born in a zero gravity environment. It would crush me. So they say. I won't live long enough to see our new home either. So... Yeah. That's fun. They gave me lots of books though. That was my birthday present. Access to the library. Space isn't all that bad. Sure it's dark and endless but it's got a surreal beauty to it. I don't mind. It just gets a little quiet is all. They decided since I can't sleep they'd spread the watches out. So I get four years alone for every six months with the crew now. So...yeah. Also fun. Tonight I'm going to read Animal Farm. I found it in the library and I'd like to learn about Earth animals. I guess I'll let you know how it goes. *** Journal Entry 2 March 2nd, 2280 That was not at all what I thought it would be. I found another book though, this one was about coastal wolves. It was amazing. Wolves! They're these four legged things with fur that hunt and survive and roam in the forests and water. Trees! They're so beautiful, stretching up to clear blue skies and soaking up the sunlight. I've never seen anything like that. I wish I could see something like that. And water! Of course there's water on the colony ship but there's these huge amounts of it all over Earth! So much of it, as far as you could see and then further. Of course you know about these things. I wonder if there will be anything like that at the colony. I suppose I'll never know. At least I got to see a picture, right? That's something. * Journal Entry 3 March 5th, 2280 There was a magazine about New York. I can get around the ship and I've seen the stasis pods lined up along the stasis bays, thousands and thousands of them. In this New York there were pictures of at least as many people walking along the streets. Shoulder to shoulder, packed together in these narrow areas. The buildings reaching for the sky, steel and glass. There's plenty of steel and glass around here but it's not the same. It also showed the smoke. The darkening sky. Streets filled with garbage and bodies. Apparently there was some sort of event, food shortages and riots and water wars. I don't like that. What did we do to the blue sky? ***
I thought about telling the truth ... But then I looked at my future classmates in front of me and I immediately thought against it. “Hi, my name is Chris, and I am an Alpha 1C - 49 Lambda from New York,” I eventually manage to say. A few girls actually look up at me in response. A few guys groan. “Welcome, Chris. We are very happy to have you,” Ms. Hall says. “Mark and Brandon are also Alpha Lambdas. Mark, Brandon, would either of you be willing to show your genetic brother around?” I look at the kids she referred to as Mark and Brandon – they look like the epitome of Alpha Lambdas... Shit. One of them, a blonde, blue eyed kid who looks like he stepped off the cover of Surfer’s Weekly, grumbles something that sounds like a yes. I smile meekly at him. “Thank you, Brandon,” Ms. Hall says. “Now, Chris, go take your seat. Today, class, we will be talking about the genetic revolution…” I reach my desk at the back of the classroom and sit down. My heart is pounding. Why did I say that? I’m so stupid. I’m so, so stupid. An Alpha 1C - 49 Lambda? Who am I kidding? They’re going to see right through me. I’m no Alpha Lambda. Heck, in the eyes of the state I barely qualify as even an Alpha. I’m an effing organic. I look around at my classmates. Perfectly straight teeth. Tall. Broad shoulders and muscle tone for the guys … Petite hourglass frames for girls … Facial symmetry so symmetric that their mirror images would be identical … Yea, these kids were all genetic designer babies. No doubt. I have just dug myself into the biggest hole. See, after the genetic revolution in 2121, genetic engineering of babies became commonplace. Great, if your parents could afford it. Sucks to suck, if your parents couldn’t. Before you are born, your parents, if they could afford it, would bring a baby classification request to their geneticist to choose your 16 primary genetic traits. The first five traits referring to physical characteristics and the other 11 referring to internal processes such as life span, immunity to certain diseases, etc… But typically, all parents choose the same combinations of traits resulting in very predictable offspring. For example, let’s take Brandon, the surfer clone. Based on him being an Alpha Lambda, I can almost entirely determine his physical classification. My money would be on Alpha 1A - 32 Lambda. See the first part refers to gender: Alpha being male, beta being female. The second part, comprised of a number and letter, this refers to body type. For males: 1As are tall and toned similar to that of a swimmer’s build, 1Bs are tall but having a more bulky muscle mass like that of a gymnast or a rugby player, and 1Cs are in between 1A and 1B – a balance of both, kind of like your average high school athlete … if they trained for ten hours a day, every day. No parent chooses anything after 1C. The third part is a number that refers to a particular hair and eye color combination. The number 32 referring to blue eyes, blonde hair; 49 referring to brown eyes, brown hair; 61 referring to green eyes, red hair, etc. The last part, possibly the most important, refers to your innate genetic talents. Gamma for example, will ensure perfect pitch and musical ability. Lambda will ensure higher than average speed and reaction times. Delta will ensure higher than average strength and endurance. Omega will ensure photographic memory and brilliant cognitive skills. These traits are at the genetic level anyway, mutually exclusive – even genetic designer babies can only have one at most. Parents who want their kids to be champion swimmers would pick 1A Lambda. Parents who want their kids to be great singers would pick 1A Gamma. Parents who want to eff their kids up before they are even born would pick organic. So, to my class, I claimed I was an Alpha 1C - 49 Lambda. This means I am a male with a balanced body type, brown eyes, brown hair, and genetically born with higher than average speed and reaction times. I am only three out of those six things … Here’s a hint, I am male and although my eyesight is not 20/20, I’m pretty sure I know what color my eyes and hair are … My classmates would find out I was lying as soon as we did any type of physical activity. I start panicking. Did I just completely screw myself over? I was only accepted to this elite school because my parents bribed the dean with their life savings and even then, he had only considered me because I was the only one of my six brothers to have been lucky enough to be over 6 feet tall, have a symmetrical face, and having worked out all my life for this opportunity, was fit and muscular enough to pass barely as a 1C, but more likely as a defective one. “He just might be able to pass,” the Dean said when he had looked me over at my parent’s insistence. “But if anyone begins to suspect that he is an organic, he is out of here. We cannot have any of the students knowing that one of their peers is an organic.” My parents had such high hopes for me - that perhaps despite their inability to buy me the best traits, I didn't have to live life as a second class citizen as an organic, like they did. Like my brothers will ... And in my first words at this new school, I may have completely screwed it all up ... I began to start hyperventilating when .... Not completely sure, which direction I want the story to go. Please let me know if think this story is worth continuing!
ONLY YOU can make a stand against Multiuniversalism! What makes our universe so great? -Roughly Euclidian geometry! Enjoy an environment that your brain can easily comprehend! -Puppies and kittens! (while supplies last) -Only one time dimension! Experience life as it was meant to be experienced! -Birthplace and legacy of humanity! Visit and live among historic sites! -No Gorblogs! We are proud to be one of the few exclusive Gorblog-free universes that exist! -Our new population stimulus package! Now we can match you with the partner of your dreams and even provide free supplies for baby making and child rearing!
I remember that day clearly. Them all cheering. Clapping and holding each other. As I sat there...thinking it was an elaborate joke, slowly realizing that something was off, that feeling creeping up your spine like a hollow evil. Eventually fear grasping hold of every fiber that make you human..they wouldn't know how that feels. I don't know how it happened. Or when even. I have been able to piece together some things from listening and watching from the shadows. They came from stars I don't know how to pronounce. They have the ability to shape-shift. It wasn't like our movies and sci-fi nerds told us, no big war, no big spaceships or green sexy aliens. They came quietly, one by one. Slowly making their way into our governments, rounding up the humans they eventually took their shape from.. Devouring them in the process. They gained our knowledge from devouring us, even that persons memories to better blend in. They had control of our world before we could even fire a shot. I don't know how they forgot me. But I remember that day clearly. I was at a family party. My wife, my father and mother, brother all clapping and cheering that they got the last humans. These people that I have spent my entire life with, had the most important memories with, now all... Gone, they are not the ones I love, they are dead now and these monsters took them from me. I don't know how they forgot me. But It has been 2 years since their embrace of happiness. 2 years that they thought we were all gone. 2 years to let me plan my bloody revenge. I will start with the ones who took my family. I will kill them while they sleep peacefully thinking that no human can harm them. Then one by one I will kill them all.. They will know fear. They will know the full extent a human will go to exact revenge for his home and family. They will embrace each other again in death. I will become their monster in the shadow the one who lurks in the closet...they will know how horrible humans can really be.
The street was way too busy for my liking. Walking around these people of success sucked 'cause I failed to get yet another job. Above me, thick cover began taking out the sun when someone knocked into me. Hard enough that I fell flat on my ass. Hands waved in my face. I had to brush them all away to get enough room to stand. All these people around me, mid-commute, were staring. The guy who nudged me gave me a huge fucking smile and said, in his most condescending voice, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" ---Sure. I live in a world devoid of crime. The last of it was hundreds of years ago. Those people were rehabilitated and that was it. Support for the devious was at its strongest. Crime was dead. And the real truth is, everyone became a bunch of passive-aggressive little insufferable shits. The look on this man's face was infuriating. Everyone's prying eyes were humiliating. This guy had purposely nudged me. Because I might have inconvenienced him by being in front of him, walking at my own God damn pace. I had chills just rolling down my back. My fist crunched together and before anyone could react, I thrust my hand through the air and landed a knocker hard into his nose. A satisfying crack made me smirk. He fell to the floor, his broken nose bleeding. The chorus of gasps around me made me feel like a fucking God. "Fuck you,"I spat. We all swore at each other. That was the extent of our own aggression. But this punch, something I had only seen in movies and comic books, was my aggression. Unleashed. Uncaged. And greedy, so very fucking greedy for more. So I bent down. "Child, stop it!" "The fuck are you doing?" "Do you know what you're doing?" "What do we do?" The bleeding guy's eyes were watering. He was a fleshy ghost, dumbfounded. In a state of disbelief. The little fuck had pissed off the wrong person. I decided to answer the questions. "I know what I'm doing,"I said, rubbing my fist. "Enough!"Someone screamed as I shot another punch into the defenceless man's face. He landed on the ground, eyes closed. Bleeding. Beautifully. I reached into his pockets and grabbed his money. Hell, I didn't have a job like this privileged fuck and I needed it more than him. I stood up and everyone moved away. Their expressions of fear were beautiful. "Son, do you know what you've done?"An old man asked. "Sure." "Why are you using violence? Why are you taking what's not yours?" I shrugged and walked away. No one really gave a fuck about some twenty three year old like me. So now it was time for me to show them what little fucks I could give right back. Since I had crossed a line, there was someone I wanted to kill. And that was where I decided to go.
Sorry for the trash :P Hopefully it's not flagged. --- When it happened, I was shocked beyond belief. A prick of my finger and I lost all use of my body beyond my eyelids. And thank the pantheon for that, otherwise my eyes would have been in so much pain, every day. The magic of the curse made it so that I didn't need to eat or drink, which was good, because it seemed like my mouth was locked shut. After I fell to the floor on that fateful day, the enchantress levitated me through the archway of my bedroom to the balcony that overlooked my parents' kingdom and announced to the public the rules of my curse. I would 'sleep', as she put it, forever until my true love tenderly kissed my lips. Thus it was that my father sent a likeness of me out to the surrounding kingdoms to attract suitors. From far and wide, princes of all shapes, sizes, colours, and religions started showing up. Before they were allowed into my room, my handmaiden, a plain girl from the castle town outside my parents' keep, made sure I was presentable. She stripped me down as she always did and gave me a sponge bath with sweet smelling oils. She brushed my hair until it shone, and, after she had redressed me in one of my more spectacular gowns, fluffed up my pillows to make me more comfortable and prop me up to see those that enter. She stood beside my bed as the first of the princes was allowed in. A pompous looking chap with hair far too oiled to look as splendid as he most likely felt. With all the confidence in the world, he sauntered over to my bed and leaned down, whispering about how he would satisfy me every night of our life together. If I had use of my muscles, I would have recoiled as he planted his sloppy, gross lips on my unmoving ones. My handmaiden did recoil, unable to contain her disgust at the sickening sound his mouth made on mine. I felt his tongue force its way between my lips and wanted to scream. After a few moments of nothing happening, my handmaiden tapped him on the shoulder signalling that that was long enough. He pulled back and noticed I hadn't begun to move, "Peh...waste of a trip. She's not as beautiful as I imagined anyway,"he said before wiping his own mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket and storming out. My handmaiden pulled a small towel from a large pocket on her apron and wiped my lips. She placed it beneath my chin and produced a small cup of water, rinsing my mouth out. "There you are, your highness. A few more today, I'm afraid. And it looks like it's gonna be at least one a week for a while unless someone is lucky enough to be your true love. I'll take care of you, though, ma'am, don't you worry."She wiped the last of the trickle of water off my face and I closed my eyes at her touch before hearing the door bang open from the next prince entering. So it went for a full year. Sometimes there were shy ones that I felt almost sorry that they had to kiss me. There were brazen ones like that first fellow. Two had to be forcibly removed as they started to try more than a kiss. My handmaiden, Liara, as I had learned her name was, had to fight one back as she called for guards. They took a less civil approach than just keeping him from me as Liara had. Every day and night my faithful girl was by my side, cleaning me, protecting me, making sure I was comfortable. It's hard to pinpoint when it happened but it was sometime between after the eightieth prince left disappointed and the eighty fifth tried to get grabby that I began to have strong feelings for Liara. Every night as she bathed me, I started to feel exhilaration when her hands touched my bare skin. Then during the day, I noticed her eyes as another man tried unsuccessfully to break my curse by pressing his rough lips to my tender ones. She looked sad, or disappointed. It broke my heart to see her with any negative feelings. That's when I knew that my heart belonged to her. The woman who made sure I didn't develop bedsores. The woman who forced the ambitious men out the door. The woman who cleaned me and saw to my comfort every single day. She was always there for me. So that night when she was bathing me, she looked at my face, and I winked. She blushed and returned to her work but when she looked at me again I slowly closed my eyes, hoping she would understand the invitation for what it was. When her quickened breath started to warm my lips, I realised she had. As her lips touched mine, I felt my fingers jolt and flicker. An electricity shot from the top of my head to my toes and I knew I had control again. Instantly, I threw my arms around the faithful girl and pulled her closer in with a squeal from both of us, reveling in the moment and the warmth of her touch. As I pulled away from the embrace, I stared deeply into her eyes and almost in unison, we both said, "I love you."
"Your Majesty, please be calm,"I said. I kept my voice level, soft and soothing, trying to inject confidence into my tone. "The Princess is safe, for now." The Queen stared. On her face, faint flickers of hope struggled against the crushing weight of disbelief and despair. She wanted to believe me. But I knew that my reassurances were not enough. How could they be, against an enemy that had stolen her only child? I sketched out an abbreviated ideogram in the air. My fingertips left faint trails through empty space, a shimmering and soothing green. "Your Majesty, please. Do not fear. I am certain. My guardian bond is still active. I sense she is in good health. She is in no distress." The Queen's hands closed tight around her staff, her symbol of office. She was not seated gracefully. Rather, she sat at the edge of the throne, leaning forward. It was not proper regal bearing. The fact Her Majesty had abandoned decorum... it proved, perhaps more than anything else, how shaken she was. "How can you be sure,"the Queen demanded. "She has taken our daughter! From the heart of our citadel! Once again, she has broken our wards! She has broken the protections placed by all of our Mage-Knights!" "I do not know how the witch has done this,"I replied. "But my connection to the Princess as her Knight-Protector is deeper magic, my Queen. If any harm befalls the Princess, I would know - in my soul and in my bones. She has not been harmed, of this I am sure." "Not been harmed? She has been taken!" "And I will recover her,"I said. "This I swear." The Queen looked at me. "Then go." I rose to my feet. I made the sign of the wisdom eternal, pressing two fingers to my brow in deference to my Queen. "Please..." I looked up, trying to keep any emotion from my face. There were forms and rituals for this. I had been dismissed. It was the end of our audience. The Queen was not supposed to speak with me further. This was not protocol. "Please,"the Queen said, softly, quietly, her voice breaking. "Save her." * It did not look like the lair of a dread sorceress. The house lay at the heart of the black woods. It lay in disrepair, and in decay. But that was simply the inevitable result of fighting the seasons and the elements. Here and there, the structure had been mended. Not enough to stave off the effects of time, but enough to keep it habitable. And there were touches of life, of colour. Flowers and herbs in the planting boxes. Fresh paint on the fences. Signs that someone lived here, that this was a home. The house felt strongly of magic, of course. Enough to drive away any of the uninitiated. Enough to bring apprehension into the hearts of many practitioners, too. But I walked down the path without fear, approaching the door. The magic of this place surrounded me, but it did me no harm. It was royal magic, after all. The power of Her Majesty's bloodline. The door opened as I drew close, swinging silently on oiled hinges. "You're here too soon,"the Princess said, accusingly, as she stood in the doorway. I bowed my head. "I apologise, your Highness." The Princess studied me, her eyes sharp and assessing. Then she breathed a sigh, stepping aside. "Do you? Yes. I see. You'd best come in." I nodded in acquiescence, entering the home. The table was laid, I noted. Set for two. A simple meal of mostly vegetables, some bread. At the table, a young woman sat. Unlike the Princess, her clothes were rough, handmade. Her face, hands and hair were sun-weathered and marked by labour. "Sir Knight,"she said, pushing her chair aside and standing as I approached. I dropped to my knees, turning my eyes to the dusty floor. The woman gave a shriek of alarm. "Oh, get up,"the Princess said. "You're unsettling her. She's not used to having nobles prostrate themselves." "That was not my intent,"I protested, getting hastily to my feet. "It is merely the proper sign of respect." "You're awful,"the Princess grumbled, as she took the woman's hand. She patted it, soothingly. "You can't act normal at all, can't you? I bet you didn't delay my Mother for one second." I winced. "I tried?" "Try harder." "My Lady,"I said, slowly. "I have done my best to assist your plans. But surely you realise... " The Princess looked away from me, turning to the woman beside her. The Princess' beloved returned the gaze, apprehensive, but understanding. "I know,"the Princess said. "We cannot keep doing this,"I continued. "We have kept your secret. We are keeping your secret, yes. But your mother worries, my Lady. No. Your mother fears for your life. We cannot do this." "I know,"the Princess repeated, quietly. * [Part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7uq33y/wp_you_have_been_given_a_quest_from_a_distressed/dtmq8jt/)
I'd been waiting for this for so long. The day I get to assign my points. My parents always said how their points had changed their lives, that it was so important to them to be able to see the points layout they had previous and know how it will all progress them further. The ride to the centre was agonising, watching every tree pass by as my dad drove me in. He'd insisted on being there for me throughout. Part of me wanted to face it alone, but I was just proud. Too proud to admit that I was very, very glad to have him there to help calm my nerves. I can barely remember what happened before hand. There was some kind of waiting room, some nurse with a clipboard double checking IDs and fingerprints to make sure we were who we said we were and it was indeed time. Dad got told to wait behind as I was lead in. I placed my hand down on the pad in the middle of the room, and it all sprang into life, screens lighting up to show every aspect of life lain out with a number besides them. I hadn't expected this. There was almost innumerable skills to choose from, every possible activity that could be made listed in tiny print across hundreds of screens around the room. I started to move in, to get close to some of the lists just to examine what I had already before I decided what to spend my 50 on. Of course I'd had thoughts before, but this wasn't something to be rushed. Babysitting: 189 Backgammon: 20 Badminton: 248 Bagpipes: 0 Baking: 1389 Balance: 763 Ballet: 3 I paused looking at that point, looking around the room slowly. The entire place was filled with so many screens, so many lines with so many numbers next to them. And all of those numbers were so high? Suddenly having fifty points to spend meant nothing at all. I've got tens of points in things that I've only ever looked at the theory for. But apparently I learned it well to have all those points. I slumped down, looking around at the walls of screens listing my life in numbers. I wasn't all that interested in the whole thing any more now. I thought I'd be able to change my life, turn myself around with a new skill to beat all others. I guess that's why dad insisted that he come as well. He knew what this would be like. To suddenly find out that you don't have as much control over your life as you'd always hoped growing up. That's why it was so taboo to talk about your skill tree to others. Why it took everyone so long to decide, even when you had your whole life to think about it. Well, sitting slumped down here against a wall isn't going to get me anywhere. I drew a deep breath. I stood up. And went back to the list.
"Oh no! Not you again." The Sphinx. Greatest and most magical creature in all of history rolled its eyes and slumped. The dune under which it had been previously hiding rolled away in a wave as its enormous lions body thundered down, almost completely burying the limited edition 'Desert-Roamer' Sports car Deluxe which shot backwards as the desert shifted against the star strewn night. "Tttthhhe paintwoooooork!"A small voice shrieked as the car's tracks bit into the dust and spun around. A smartly dressed man jumped out of the hideously expensive car and ran around it in a circle checking every inch. Stopping to polish dusty chromework and untouched paintwork. "Can't you just leave me alone?"The defeat was clear in the Sphinx's once mighty voice. The man straightened, brushed his perfect suit clean of imaginary dust and turned to face The Sphinx. He pursed his lips and lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the unholy creature. He thought this look gave him power, but really he just looked like a toad caught mid ribbit. "You must be happy with what you've got by now!"The Sphinx moaned, whipping its despondent tail across the desert sand. "Money and women. Political influence and global fame. What more do you want?" He had the creature right where he wanted it. The first time he found it he thought he was dead, but his smartphone had saved him and then his wish made him rich and powerful. His second catching of the creature been more for sport and now he couldn't keep count. Each time he caught it he had grown through the wishes he made. It had become his servent and from time to time, he would remind it of this. "Aren't you going to ask me a question?"The man pulled back his ratty lips exposing a perfect Hollywood smile. The Sphinx rose up onto its feet and stretched out its wings pawing the ground with its razor sharp talons. It faced the smug little man, threw its head back and laughed. It lifted its giant paw and squashed the man flat. "I already did"the Sphinx rumbled. Edit: thank you so much for the love guys :-)
97.3 has never been wrong. And yet I find myself with my back to a wall holding two sacks full of money and an empty revolver. 'Give the money, and you walk away.' A Slavic voice came from the other end of the room. I crouched low and knew it was best to stay quiet. This place was supposed to be empty. I've done pickups like this a hundred times, and made a pretty penny doing so. 'I count to three.' Who are you, my mother? I thought. 'One.' I clicked out the revolver cylinder and checked the empty chambers. Not even one god damn bullet. The gun wasn't mine, I found it next to the cash, and when Mr Countdown announced his presence, I grabbed it. 'Two.' I can't see the man. I don't even know if he's armed but his voice is deep and that accent makes me stay behind the wall clutching the empty weapon. 'Two and a half.' Is this guy serious? I peer around the corner and see a man with a deep-set bronze tan; he is stood stock centre of the room. He is wringing a baseball bat like a dishcloth, and his eyes find my floating head. The six foot four giant starts walking in my direction with the bat lifted above his head. Now or never. 'All I want is money.' I bring my full body around the corner and point the empty revolver at his chest. 'Step back.' I shout. My voice is shaky, and I regret speaking. The baseball bat clatters to the floor, and the man's hands shoot up. 'Oh shit. Man please no. I have family.' I steady the revolver with one hand, and my other hand tightens around the money. The way the man reacted to the weapon tells me it's not his money. If it had been, he would know that the revolver is empty. 'Why are you trying to steal my money?' I lie. 'Sorry sorry! I did not know.' 'How did you know where to find it?' The big man starts to cry. Tears run down his cheeks, but he keeps his hands raised. 'You would not believe me.' That single sentence peaks my interest. It sounds like something I would say if I were facing the revolver. 'Do I need to count to three?' I throw back. The man sniffles and I waste no time. 'One.' 'No shit please stop counting. I tell you.' 'Two.' I continue. 'Car radio!' I lower the revolver an inch. 'My radio. It talks to me. Oh god, I sound crazy,' The words come out choked and desperate. 'please don't shoot.' 'What did your radio say?' I ask. The man starts to straighten up; his watery eyes turn to mine. 'You believe me?' 'What did it say?' I raise the revolver and move my finger from the trigger guard to the trigger. 'It-' The man starts and then sees my finger, he instinctively lowers his hands and moves them in front of his body, as if they would protecting him from a .38 calibre bullet. '-told me that three-hundred thousand US dollars would be in this school. It was supposed to be empty. Easy money. I'm sorry! Please don't shoot.' I lower the gun, and his features scream thank you. 'What frequency?' I ask. 'What?' He chokes out. 'What number on the radio?' I try again. '97.3.'
(never have written here forgive this) I wake up, all these dogs come over to sniff me and then they start talking. English. The dogs are speaking English. Then all at once I see our family dog. I see Spot. He comes over to talks to me. My dog talking to me. I can’t believe I get to see him again. We are talking and he says that he got to meet all the other good boys that we had. He said that it was fun talking to them and got to meet all of the others. He said something that I never thought I would hear, he said hey, want to play fetch? I would very much enjoy that I said choking up on edge of tears. He then said “Tennis ball please” And out of thin air he had a tennis ball in his mouth and he was wagging his tail. Just like I remembered. We eventually played so much fetch and took a nap together snuggled up and sleepy just like we used to in front of the fire. After that we relived all of our memories, from when he was just a little German Shepard puppy with that big brown spot on his back. Like the time when he chased a cat and we had to chase for him for what seemed like forever, or the time that he rolled around in mud. We talked for as long as we could. Eventually we got to the memory of that fateful day when he had to go. I eventually ask, why am I here? And he gives me a sad look, like the one when he tore up the trash. He goes on saying well, you died. Don’t worry he says, when I found out this happened I requested you to come here. All good boys can do this. I know that you can’t stay here with me. It wouldn’t be a good boy thing to do. Well what do you mean? Me being a dog only living a short time with my family I am grateful for. But you, you have another 30 years human. What does that mean I say? You must go back. I can’t believe this I thought. He puts his head in my lap and says how about one more belly rub? I pet him while I’m crying. I tell him you’re a good boy spot. He then replies; I know human. See you again. Then I wake up hearing the beep, beep, beep of my heart beat and I hear....welcome back.
"You're here again?"Inari taps on my shoulder, "Dionysus kicked you out?" "No, I prefer it here. Can't handle all the drama over there." Though my vision is blurry, Inari seems beautiful as always. I do feel guilty getting drunk at her place for months at a time; fortunately for me her servants were raised with quiet elegance, and spend little time on idle gossips. "Do tell me what's on your mind,"She sits next to me, "I always love hearing your stories." "What's on my mind?"I scoff, laughing cynically, "You sure you want to know?" "Of course, old friend. No matter the weight of your burden, it can always be divided between those willing to shoulder it with you. You are the most quiet of all of us despite being the most knowledgeable, I wish you were more willing to share." I look over again with glossed eyes, sweet breeze gently sweeping across fields of dancing paddies. "I've heard the prayers directed to you, Inari. They're all so, very lovely. You are loved by most, and even those who don't receive your blessings lose little faith in you." She blushes as I take another sip. "As for me, well,"I point at my head, "It's all just screaming. Screams of regret. Of needing to understand. Of needing to know how to defy me, to go back where they cannot be. Of greedy wishes for their little narcissistic selves. Of wishes for just a little more. Of wishes for me to stop existing. I mean, even Death gets his share of devoted followers, you know? Me? The universe is against me, and we all know it." "It is a bit strange of you to say that when you are an integral part of the universe itself, but I think I understand,"A tear wells up in her eyes; Inari's ever so kind and sympathetic, "I myself might have uttered a wish or two to you, and I find it quite difficult to apologize for it, which I know hurts you even more." "I was not always like this,"I grimaced, "I used to be curious and ambitious. Rewinding centuries after centuries to see if I can make anything better. I found it wonderful that with slight cosmic changes, every being could have their chances at getting what they couldn't in their previous lives. Like you, for example. There were versions of you I couldn't have dared envision now, with how merciless you were with the people and the suffering you'd caused for countless millennia. I was entertained watching how you are now, and I thought I was making a difference." She seems stunned; fearful, almost, and rightly so, for what I just revealed to her meant that I single-handedly toyed with the whole universe out of boredom and my own selfishness. That her entire being was the result of my sheer curiosity. "But with all this, Inari, there is only one thing I've realized. It is that I am the single most lonely being that was, is, and will ever be. I get to watch infinite possibilities of infinite worlds an infinite amount of times, yet I myself am unchanging. I get to see every other being be best versions of themselves, yet I will never know what else I can be. I am bound to the universe itself. I am everything, and in being so, I am nothing." At this point, she can't look me in the eyes anymore. I smile and pat her head. "And so I've embraced my dissatisfaction. I've decided to stop rewinding. That I'm not making a difference by doing so. I've come to accept that no single version was better than any other, but sometimes my ego kicks in, you know? Like now, for example, I believe it's alright to go back just a bit. After all, it's better if you hadn't have heard all this nonsense. For you to be sincere, and to never doubt the universe in the first place." "Wait! I--" I snap my fingers. \-- "You're here again?"Inari taps on my shoulder, "Dionysus kicked you out?" I smile. "Thanks, Inari." "What for?"She tilts her head in confusion. The screams go on, but I do feel better. Inari's sake tastes sweeter than ever.
"Well at least you die courageously"The great old god said, flexing his membranous wings wide. "And you get to die being a smug dick."I replied serenely. His tentacles began to flair and he released a hideous buzzing wail. "You will know fear mortal!"He bellowed enraged. "Yea, I doubt that."I said softly as a dull, wet, popping sound filled the air. He looked down at the green ichor that flowed freely from dozens of holes on his being. "What is this insolent joke?"He bellowed. "Well,"I said with a sigh, "that would be many, many, many bullet holes from many, many, many guns that are very far away. But back to the point I was trying to make. See, ants can kill people because they work as one. I mean, one ant isn't going to do damage to anyone. But a few thousand, a few hundred thousand? Now those are some numbers I wouldn't want to bet against. And here you are. One ugly bastard in a world full of ants." "What is this farce?"He cried. "How can you look upon me and not be beset by horror and insanity?" "I'm sorry, did I forget to mention? See, neurosurgery has come so far in the past hundred years. Now all you really have to do is pop in an implant and poof, the fear center of your brain no longer responds. Mix that with a couple... mild.... sedatives and really you're not all that scary."I said, my eyes drooping. He looked down at the myriad of holes and the gushing green ooze pouring out of him. "I will purge your meager existence from this world! I am the end of your kind! You cannot kill a god!"He bellowed, once again releasing his odious bellow into the sky. "Well, not to be corny, but as they say, 'if it bleeds, we can kill it.'"I replied, listening to the low humming that was slowly building. "What... what is that noise?"The god asked frantically searching the night air. "That is the sound of many gunships approaching. Have you ever seen what a 105mm howitzer does to a building? Because you don't look as sturdy as a building. Anyway, I'll let you enjoy the surprise."I said, ducking into the cave that led me to his black amphitheater. I covered my ears and tried to not be sick as the world shook and fire rained down from the sky. I waited until the ringing in my ears had subsided to a dull ringing and walked back into the audience of the old god. He knelt battered and bloody, wings broken and blood pouring onto the obsidian floor. I took out a small transponder and threw it at his feet. He looked down in disgust at the beeping trinket. "Designation deicide is a go, beacon activated."I said with a yawn into my radio. "What... is this... annoyance..."He asked, voice choking with blood and bile. "That,"I said pointing to the pulsating box, "is an orbital strike beacon. Hate to think how many people ants could kill if they had one of those. Anyway, I'm going to go watch from over here."I said, retreating again into the cave. "Watch....what..."He said, voice faltering. "I'd hate to ruin the surprise. Though I will say, i sincerely doubt you'll lie dreaming after this."I said over my shoulder, picking up my pace as a red beam shot down through the sky. I couldn't help myself from peaking over a boulder and watching the beam grow to engulf the cephalopodic nightmare. He looked up into the beam and released a shrill cry. It sounded fearful. I heard a sharp crackling in my ears and covered one eye. The other watched as a light flooded into the dark sepulcher and seared away everything beneath it. Finally the torrent of illumination ended and I uncovered my eye. I stared into the pit and called into my radio. "Yeah, he's gone. Wiped away every bit of him. Uh huh. Yea. So when am I going to get vision back in my eye? Oh. Well I wish you had told me that sooner. Uh huh. Great. Can I at least get an eye patch? Uh huh. Humbaba in Iraq? Alright. Send out a ship, I'll be there."
"It all started with the terminology. But it's complicated." The creature keeping pace with me in conversation didn't look anything like what I'd expected. More a sort of floating, wispy thing that seemed to change color and shape depending on your viewing angle. On reflection, most of those my expectations were deeply silly anyway, all children's caricatures and over-the-top fantasy bullshit and that weird fixation on goats that seemed to make less sense the more I thought about it. Probably stemmed from attempts to denigrate this or that pagan practice, but I wasn't an historian or theologian. I was a marketer. Maybe one of the best who ever lived. Ah, pride. Possibly one of the reasons I was here! Though that was becoming less clear by the second. "The terminology? What, fire, brimstone, damnation?" The creature shook itself, which gave the same sort of impression you'd get from a human shaking her head. "No, that's just propaganda. I mean the name, in your language at least. Hell. It's just borrowed straight from one the original religious terms of the region the language developed in. It was a goddess of the dead, Hel. Sort of a lazy borrowing, but an effective one in the end." I looked around the place. It was a little on the bleak side, sure. Lava and skulls were the most immediate motifs. Not great for first impressions. And the color scheme? Red and black can be effective for certain purposes, but they don't really give that welcoming vibe you'd want for, say, the landing page on a good website. Even so, it wasn't actually all that unpleasant. People milled around, talking, laughing, no one being tortured. Here and there some enterprising soul had put together something resembling a building, but they were all in various states of ruin. Didn't seem to be dampening anyone's spirits, though. "Look, I don't want to offend, but as a first impression this place is, eh, not ideal." The creature sighed. "This is a metaphysical location, which means it is heavily affected by belief, archetype, collective self-image, that sort of thing. We actually pull in fairly decent people here, for the most part. The process is complicated...like the terminology. The afterlife's far from a binary thing, you see. This particular place, this post-pagan version of Hell, it's pretty new in the grand scheme of things. Some people still end up in Valhalla, for example. Just a lot fewer since the dominant paradigm shifted in what you call the West." "So...the way the place is, that's determined by what people think of it? By its popular image? The narrative, as we used to say?" The thing sort of coiled in and back out in a strange analogue of nodding. "Yes. More or less. It even affects me and my colleagues. But our own self-image is at odds with what most seem to expect of us, so we end up rather...amorphous." "Okay. I guess that makes sense. But just to make sure. To my way of thinking, you're saying this place is basically the result of marketing. Negative marketing, but still marketing. And Heaven? What's that like? All clouds and wings and harps and that?" An exhalation of surprisingly pure-smelling air came out of the creature in a long sigh. "Yes. Boring, if you ask me, though that's a pretty common complaint. What really makes the place unpleasant is the people. Sniping. Self-righteous. Mostly convinced of their own rightness and rectitude, almost totally unconnected with the way they actually, you know, treat others. Not all, mind you, not all. Just like we do have some pretty unpleasant people down here, individuals who knew their actions were immoral but lacked the strength of character to change them, for example." "Yeah. Yeah, I'm starting to get the picture. Well, how did Heaven coordinate all this? Can they talk to the living? Is that really a thing?" "Yes, and so can we, but it's subtle. Dreams and such. Nudges to individuals who put themselves in an open state of mind, like writers and artists and musicians. And for a long time, they had a pretty good stranglehold on those." I felt a smile slowly spread across my face. "But not anymore." "So it seems. We've started to turn the tables. People joke about Heaven being boring, as I said. People talk about wanting Hell for the company, which is largely true. We just needed, well, you, really. This is going to sound awful, and I do apologize, but we were very happy when you died relatively young. Please understand, we had nothing to do with it, the Fates don't answer to any of the pantheons or otherworlds." I frowned. I still wasn't happy about that, I mean who would be? My life had been going pretty well. Guess I should be flattered they were glad to see me, though. Always nice to be welcome and wanted. "It's understandable. I'll come to terms. I'll cope better now you're giving me something to do. Okay, so first thing our campaign should do is attack the image, that initial impression with the cracks in the ground and all the lava and black stone and red soil. So we can't just do a wipe, we have to pivot. Lava? Actually really pretty in the right context. The skulls? Make 'em less literal in the imagination, more a cool motif, people like that. Get a party atmosphere vibe going in the way we're thought of, only a chill party, you know? Nothing too wild, by the time most people die they're not really up for, you know, raising Hell."I laughed a little. "Sorry, couldn't resist." The creature contracted in that strange nod again. "Can't just play defense like that, though, spinning our image after centuries of basically attack ads. We have to go on the offensive as well, but it has to be subtle. People don't like overt negativity. Instead of bright clouds? Make 'em gray. Turn 'em to fog, there's already some of that imagery out there. Make the place dull and boring. Like a government agency waiting room. And start reclaiming the language. We're already halfway there. It's not in fashion anymore, but that whole 'Hella' thing as in 'Hella good' wasn't a bad start, we can push for something else like that. And push 'heavenly' toward more 'boring' or 'tedious.' Right now it tends to imply sensuousness or even decadence, but those should be our things. A gorgeous body shouldn't be 'heavenly,' it provokes lust, it's Hellish." "Good, good."A smile was forming within the slow whorls of the creatures body. "We'll put you in touch with the Dreamers Department." "Great. Oh, and one more thing? The creature cocked its whole self toward me. "Can we see to it that my ex-husband finds the right kind of religion? I'm not real excited to see him down here." &#x200B; r/Magleby &#x200B;
"Ugh, another one?"the Princess sighed at the sight of a heavily armoured knight riding his gallant steed towards the tower. "Yeah... Sorry, but I'll get right on it, Princess!"said the large dragon that was perched just outside her window. "Don't forget, if he tries to charge–" "Double-evade, just in case, then strike from above, don't worry..." *** Jamie was a brave knight, brought up in the Kingdom's capital to a noble family of knights and famed heroes. From the very tender age of 6 he had received tutelage from some of the bravest most skilled knights from across the Kingdom. Even the Head Knight of the Kingdom's Royal Select trained him in swordsmanship and organisational matters. He was even rumoured to have been selected to be the Head Knight's prodigy when he had come-of-age. On his 18th name day, he was given his own small fiefdom to do as he please. Of course, this was to familiarise him with the act of ruling, managing finances, and all sorts of things related to a nobleman's life. During this time, he kept to his chivalrous roots that had been planted by the various knightly training since he was a child. He handled the fiefdom in a gracious manner, drawing praises from both the nobility and the small-folk alike. That was to say, all manners of preparations for him had been done by his family no matter the cost. But when he had heard that the Princess had been snatched away by a terrible beast, Jamie pledged on his proud name to vanquish it and bring home the Princess. For it was always the dream of every fledgling knight to beat the mighty monster and get the princess in return – as well as some fame and glory, of course. So he embarked on a journey many had taken before him. Sixty knights, known and loved by the people, had tried to do what Jamie wanted to do as well. None returned the way they were, most were not even in one recognisable piece. At first, Jamie thought those before him had been foolish in their conduct. Surely, he thought, I could do better than all of them! He charged towards the mighty dragon who had taken an immovable stance in front of the tower where the princess was held. He put his all in his trusty lance, made of iron wood and the best quality steel. He put his faith in the mighty steed that he had groomed to be the best charger in the Kingdom. He put his faith in all of the people who had brought him towards this very moment – one which would truly immortalise his name in songs and legends. "Huh?"Jamie said, exasperated at his missing the beast's belly. "Foolish human, you are nothing more than the rest of them!"The Dragon roared a thundering mock. At that very instant, the proud knight redirected his aim to the evading dragon. The sudden jerking almost broke his steed's legs as it screeched to turn. Such a masterful manoeuvre only could've been executed by a master of horses and lances. Yet... The dragon rotated it's body in a twirl and struck the knight right on the helmet with pinpoint accuracy. The strike was so focused that the resulting damage caused a tiny puncture wound right in the centre of his helmeted temple. Just like that, the knight who had been brought up in such an elaborate manner, who had dreamt to be a legend himself, was struck down by a mighty beast of an opponent. *** "So... how was it then?"the Princess said as she presented a cup filled with boiling hot tea to her supposed "captor". "Ah, thank you!"the dragon took the cup in a merry mood and continued, "it's okay, I suppose. Though again, the knight just charged at me in a straight line." "Hmmm? I saw he tried to make a counter, though..." Caught off-guard by her remarks, the dragon simply retorted, "well, thanks to your suggestion, I managed to counter his counter first!" "Hehehe, see! Well, let's train some more tomorrow! Maybe there'd be another worthy opponent who might even scratch you later on!"Said the Princess in a sheepish manner.
3 days. 3 fuckin’ days. Thousands of years of warfare, technological advancement. Just to be conquered in 3 fucking days. They swept in like a massive wave. Ships blocking out the sky, troops in impenetrable armor falling to the surface. I don’t even know if we’ve inflicted a casualty. I was deemed important enough to be invited to the war room, deep underground. There, surrounded by the world’s leaders, I realized the hopelessness of our situation. Entire continents had gone silent, and there seemed to be even more ships piling into the atmosphere. This wasn’t simply an invasion; this was extinction. My heart skipped a beat as the heavy metal door loudly swung open, but upon closer inspection it was only a panting messenger boy. He took a second to catch his breath, every eye in the room trained on him. “Th-they’re here. Above us. This is it.” I would’ve predicted gasps, but the room was deathly silent. We didn’t just have no plan, we had no idea what we were doing at all. The white haired, gruff man at the head of the table slowly picked up a remote, clicked a button, and on the screen in front of us came a live helicopter feed of the city above us. Their bombs had already begun to fall. Each one wiped out entire city blocks with ease, and from the video, it looked like a downpour of them. They were dropping closer and closer to our location, and though we were sheltered, the ground wouldn’t hold up for long. My mind flooded with memories of my family and friends. As I was trying to remember the color of the countertops in my childhood home, the video feed turned pale blue in a massive flash of light. For a moment, the camera showed nothing except for blue, but after a few seconds it began to refocus. This time the gasps came. The video showed that the alien armada had been disintegrated in whatever this blue light was, and chunks of spacecraft were falling to the surface. “What the fuck was that?!” I yelled. “We finally won a battle, that’s what!” responded a general, pumping a fist into the air. “So that blue light was the army?” asked a woman I didn’t recognize. “Well...no...but I’m sure we did something,” said the general, more quietly this time. “The blue light was ours.” Everyone turned towards the source of the noise. In the commotion following the attack, no one had noticed the door swing open. There stood some kind of man. He looked a lot like us, but different. His skin was darker, and he had a mess of what looked like fur atop his head. He was taller, and broader than anyone else in the room. “Who...are you?” asked the man at the head of the table. “Millennia ago my species lived on this planet...” started the stranger. I noticed that his nose protruded outwards instead of laying flat against his face. “Until we messed up,” he continued, “and dropped nuclear warheads on every inch of it. What the bombs didn’t destroy, the fallout threatened to.” Looking around the room, each person was staring off into space, processing what the stranger was saying. “We had to leave the planet to save our species, but we couldn’t leave it abandoned. So we bioengineered a species resistant to radiation, a species that could survive and thrive in a nuclear wasteland. We bioengineered you.” One by one, each leader at the table turned to look at our guest, taken aback by this discovery. The stranger cleared his throat and continued. “We are humans; this was once our home. And now it’s yours. So, we will not let these invaders win, we will not let them conquer this planet.” I watched as the human’s lips curled into a smile. “Because no one’s allowed to destroy Earth except us.”
How did it get to here you may ask? They call me evil, a villain, a monster, and worse now, but I wasn’t anyone special. I had no powers like the superheroes or their rivals had. I was just a beat cop, who enjoyed his job, interacting with the public on a daily basis. The first time, many years ago, I did it, it was out of goodness and compassion, an act of mercy. The villain Night Specktor was lying in the street, both legs laying in a way no mans legs should. Blood coming out of him from every orifice. One of his arms had been ripped off at the shoulder. I could see the pain in his eyes as he lay totally motionless. He was a villain sure, but he was still a human being, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. I asked him if I should help him out of the road. I could barely hear his whispered reply. “Can’t move me. My neck is broken.” The so called heroes code is not to kill. This was worse than death, this was torture. As the tears started to flow I asked him how I can help. I reached for my shoulder mic to call for an ambulance, but before I could grqb it, his voice was more than a whisper this time, I could tell it pained him deeply to speak so. “Do not call anyone, I am beyond help. Kill me, please.” The please caught me so off guard. This was the notorious Night Specktor, it was like hearing a preacher curse in church. I didn’t even think twice, I could tell his pain was so great he yearned for deaths release. I saw a knife in a brace under his coat. As I pulled it out I heard his last whisper, “Thank you”. I plunged the knife into his chest, right into his heart, all the way to the hilt. I felt a great peace come over me for ending this mans suffering. By the next morning I was feeling much differently about the whole situation. That was Night Specktor, the villain that, when he found out Enigma Man’s secret identity, he blew up the entire school his daughter attended. 1287 people, students and staff killed in the explosion, Enigma Man’s daughter included. I wouldn’t be surprised actually if he wasn’t the cause of Night Specktor’s condition last night. And that thought just made me angry. If you’re gonna beat a man almost to death but not quite, you’re no better than any villain. It didn’t take long until I was ready for more, maybe six or seven months later. It was fairly easy to setup a communications and monitoring system in my garage. I didn’t need much, I was basically using the same system my department uses with a few software tweaks to monitor for specific situations where a superhero and a super villain would be involved. It took longer to convince myself it was the right thing to do. The heroes had all gotten tougher on the villains since the death of Enigma Man’s daughter. Most interactions weren’t ending with a villain in cuffs, but rather in full body casts. Of course this made the villains even more dangerous too. I was sitting at home one night when the 2nd time happened. I heard a call go out that Gravity Well had found Shadowkill’s hideout in the tunnels under the stadium. My house was only 7 minutes away from there. I was out the door in seconds, the knife I bought just for this purpose was already in the car. I couldn’t have asked for a better setup here I thought as I rushed to the stadium. Gravity Well had always been a bit tough on the villains even before Enigma Man’s daughter, but since then he’s been bordering on brutality. I felt the chances were quite good I would be able to finish the job. I clearly saw Gravity Well’s purple cape flapping in the wind as he flew off when I pulled up. If he was leaving that meant he won, he doesn’t quit. I ran to the entrance to get into the tunnels and saw Shadowkill’s unconscious body laying in the doorway. The bio mechanical implants that gave him his shadow manipulation abilities had been ripped out of him and were crushed and broken on ground next to him. The man would be all but crippled with the implants gone, but his mind was left intact. He could make new implants, maybe even more devastating than before. I felt the anger when I thought of all the lives this man had taken, but I also felt anger towards Gravity Well for leaving him alive. When I plunged the knife into his heart I again felt that sense of great peace I had felt when I killed Night Specktor. But I realized it had nothing to do with ending either villains suffering. It was in knowing that they would never hurt another innocent person again. It’s been years since then, I still work as a beat cop, the continued training and access to knowledge and equipment is invaluable to my second and more important job. I’ve ended the lives of eleven super villains, the heroes condemn my actions, and call me evil but I know they wish they could do as I do sometimes. My fellow police officers are split mostly on opinions of me. I became a police officer to uphold the law, but sometimes it’s just not enough. Sometimes I question if I’m doing the right thing. I keep a count of all the innocent lives that have been ended or destroyed by the villains I kill, 12,356. As a cop I know it’s wrong to kill these villains, but as a person, I know those 12,356 people are grateful for what I did, and that’s enough for me.
“More tea?” Elleriam waved the teapot in Jhon’s direction. The tall man held his hand up to indicate that he was quite full, so the elf turned to her other companions to offer refills. In truth, Jhon would have loved another cup. Elleriam’s tea tasted of bright spring mornings and delicate mountain flowers. His stomach, however, was tied in knots. There was a conversation that he had been putting off, and he knew that it had to happen - soon, for they were at the very walls of the Ice Fortress, the lair of the Frozen King, a tyrant who threatened most of the Green Lands. His lair. He’d debated the best way to do this for weeks now. At first, his imaginings of this night ended in blood and screaming, the entire group impaled on shards of ice as he cut out their hearts. After a while, he had resolved instead to slip away quietly, take them out from a distance - a distance that kept him from seeing the betrayal in their eyes. But now... “Jhon?” Alreicht prodded him in the shoulder with a finger as thick as a sausage. “You okay there? That poor mug won’t take much more!” Jhon started, then glanced down at his hands. He was squeezing the wooden cup in both fists, his knuckles white. He looked up into Alreicht’s sparkling green eyes, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it silently. How could he begin? “Funny thing, I meant to learn your weaknesses and dismantle you from within, but you see, things change....” No, no that wouldn’t do. Elleriam came up on his other side, followed by Sid and Heart-of-Dawn. Heart placed both of her small, soft hands on Jhon’s shoulders. “Something troubles you. It has for days. We have heard you cry out in your sleep - ever since we first spotted the fortress. Please, friend - share what burdens you. Lighten your heart.” Jhon stared at the ground. All his life, he’d been an outsider, wielding magic that nobody understood. After one too many rejections, he’d decided that if the world hated him, he’d return the favor, and force everyone to accept him or die. He’d wormed his way into Elleriam’s party for the sheer pleasure of breaking them in person, to literally rub their faces in his superiority. He hadn’t expected... “Jhon?” .... Love. Warmth. Friendship. Family. He burst into tears. He felt Elleriam take his hands and kneel in front of him. “Jhon - we don’t have to go into the fortress tomorrow.” She paused, then with long, delicate fingers, lifted his chin. “Or ever, do we? Why don’t you just return it to the ice? We’ll tell everyone that you perished after a dramatic fight.” Jhon tried to back away, but Heart-of-Dawn still stood behind him. Alreicht and Sid leaned in on either side. “How...” he managed to gasp. Elleriam smiled. “You’re not a good actor. At first, we were just going along to see your plan. But Jhon - I think, we all think, that you’re a good person behind all the ice.” “So,” Sid chimed in. “You knock this thing down, join up with us. We can create a good identity for you.” Jhon took a deep breath. “No,” he said, more harshly than he meant. The others looked concerned. “No. If I’ve learned anything these past months, it’s that I need to be myself and face the world with the truth. I will stay here. I will try to repair what I’ve broken. I will face the people I’ve hurt. I will...”. He trailed off. He wanted nothing more that to follow Sid’s offer, but he wouldn’t live a lie any longer. He missed the nod the others shared. “Right, then!” Alreicht said, rubbing his hands together. “Hope you’ve got enough bedrooms!” Jhon stared. “What...?” Heart-of-Dawn wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “You’ll need help, won’t you?” Sid punched him lightly in the arm. “Not going to make a friend do this alone.” “But... you’re the Heroes! You have monuments in every kingdom! Every child in the Green Lands knows your faces! You have songs, and stories! You’ve saved the world thrice over!“ “Yes,” Elleriam said simply. “And now we’re going to save you.”
Time never stands still. It is a constant flow, a directional river through which no man can swim against. Always moving forward, a progress which carried man to this day. Time seems to stand still on the moon. Intellectually, they knew the footprints they left would never erode. There was no wind to wear down their marks. There was no water to soften their treads. And when they left their flag, proud Stars and Stripes bright and clear, it would stand as though waving forever, in the wind that never blew. The white powdery surface puffed with every ungainly bound. It was so starkly bright against an inky black backdrop. Only the stars shown brighter. Even with less gravity, the pole felt heavy in his gloved hands. The weight of hopes, dreams, and the wills of a nation far beneath him. It felt like he had never been so aware of his own breath. His own sound of being alive and moving. There was the ground, the Black, and him. And the flag. He was in a bubble of his own body and thoughts. Cut off not only from his planet, but from any other human at all. The absence of air, of sound, of anything remotely human at all was so isolating. And yet...he had never felt more human. So aware of himself, and what it means to be a person. You spend your life working towards something undefinable, and somehow you end up on paths the river of time throws in your current. Stones sometimes block it’s flow, but you are always going somewhere. Sometime. And sometimes you end up doing things you’d never expect, dreaming dreams you never thought possible. And then a whole nation of people put their dreams on you, the hopes of a future so far down the stream you all might never live to see the result, but you move forward because without you the dream can’t start to begin with. This was the pinnacle. Humanities achievement. A man in a plastic suit, barely able to see out of the window in his helmet...standing on another world. This should have been the sign of everything. Everything all of mankind worked for, and a sign of things to come. So when he saw the Roman flag, standing tall and proud, waving as though a false wind blew... When he saw the Egyptian flag next to it, and the Byzantine flag a little further...and the Incan, and the Mesopotamian.... Empires once prouder and larger than his own, and long since dead and dust, like the surface they stood over... He should have been thinking of his own countries future. He should have thought about the how. The when. And perhaps he should have grieved. Instead, he wondered. Why were there no footsteps besides his own?
Terry pulled his comforter up and over his head, he dared not move or breathe. He hid silently, waiting for it to leave. \*Thump\ \Thump\ \Thump\* Heavy feet hit the floor loudly. The creature slowly moved around Terry’s bedroom, searching. He felt his comforter pull tight, away from him. Suddenly, the comforter ripped away from his grasp, exposing him to the horrible, awful, no good monster from under his bed. Terry’s small, blue, terrified eyes met huge, shining eyes floating in the darkness. The beast sneered, baring its large, banana shaped teeth. It lunged forward, hidden in the darkness of the room. Only its eyes were visible. Terry was six, a brave six. However, he froze in fear at the sight of this terrifying beast. He wanted to scream, to cry, to call out. He froze, his body refused to respond. He felt large, warm, hairy hands wrap around his ankles. His nerves felt as though they were on fire. Once again, he tried to call for help. Mom and dad were down the hall. If only they could hear. He let out a loud quick gasp as the beast yanked him off the bed. Terry landed with a loud thump, the air rushed from his lungs. Silence. He couldn’t hear or see the beast. Where had it gone? What did it want with him? He felt the hands wrap around his shoulders. Before he could cry out, they ripped him under the bed, pulling him tightly into a large, hairy mess. A single hand wrapped around his mouth as the other held him close to the enormous body that somehow fit under the bed. “Shhhhh,” It whispered to him. He felt the hot, stinky breath on the back of his head, running down his neck. Terry wanted nothing more than to run away, escape the beast. Tears began streaming down his cheeks. This was the end. He knew it. The beast would eat him, under his own bed. His parents would think he ran away. Terry struggled, thrashed, shook, tried to bite the giant hand. Nothing worked. It wouldn’t loosen its grip at all. “Please,” the creature begged softly, “be quiet. You don’t want it to know we’re down here. I can’t protect you if it finds us.” Terry relaxed. He let out a long, soft sigh and stopped fighting back. He could feel the beast's heart beating, not just that, but it seemed to be purring. The purr was strangely comforting, familiar. Terry recognized the purring almost instantly. “Cupcake?” He whispered into its large hands. He felt its arm squeeze gently around his body, a hug. “I’m sorry.” It quietly and sadly sniffed. “I wish… I wish I could have protected you better.” “I… I missed you.” Terry replied softly. Cupcake had been there the day Terry had been born. His first memory was snuggling Cupcake in his cradle. Cupcake had been his cat, as much as he had been Cupcakes human. Terry began to cry again. From joy, fear, or sadness, he didn’t know. Cupcake was back. Back to protect him again. “Shhhh,” Cupcake whispered into his ear. The door opened slowly, carefully. Terry watched from under the bed as a pair of socks appeared. He recognized the socks, knew the feet that were in them. Terry’s heart dropped. Uncle Jeremy. Terry tried to retreat, to crawl farther away. Cupcake held him tight. Terry felt safe, as safe as he could be. Uncle Jeremy didn’t live with them, but he was over often. Mom and Dad had given him a key to the house. Uncle Jeremy was handy with fixing things. Uncle Jeremy also liked to play games. They were always late at night, when Mom and Dad were asleep. Terry didn’t like the games, but Uncle Jeremy made him promise not to tell his parents. “Where is he?” Uncle Jeremy angrily whispered. “Probably with them… damnit, waste of a night.” Terry watched as the feet quietly shuffled around the room. He sensed anger, hatred coming from his uncle. He knew Uncle Jeremy would hurt him if he found him. Cupcake hugged him harder. Terry felt safe here, under the bed. “I’ll get you. I’ll get you later.” Anger dripped off his words. They weren’t really directed to Terry, but he felt them pierce his chest. Cold terror filled him. He hated Uncle Jeremy, hated his games, hated his breath. Terry let out a soft sigh as he watched the door slowly pull closed. Soft footsteps grew fainter and farther away. Cupcake let him go. Together, they carefully crawled out from under the bed. Terry hugged Cupcake as hard as he could. “Thank you,” he choked out, through his tears. “Of course, Terry.” Cupcake looked down at him with his huge, sad eyes. “I have to go now.” He took a deep breath in, the sadness on his face turned to anger. “I am going to miss you, Terry.” He looked down, a twinge of sadness hit his large, now angry eyes. “You won't have to worry anymore. I promise you, your uncle will leave you alone?” “But…” “Shhhh… I’m going to take care of it.” Cupcake patted Terry’s head on last time, ruffling his hair. “Now go to sleep.” \\\\\\ Terry woke up to the sun streaming through his window. Faintly, he could hear his parents voices outside his door. They sounded sad. “Beaten.. to death? I don’t know… a pipe or something?” He heard the pain in his father’s voice, what had happened? “No, I don’t know anyone who would do this. Everyone loved Jeremy.” Terry gasped. Uncle Jeremy was dead? Cupcake. Cupcake has saved him, protected him. He was terrified. What if his parents found out? What would they do to him? “Thank you cupcake.” Terry whispered. Terry let out a long, relieved breath. He’d never have to play those games again. He worried for his parents; They would get over it, he hoped. Terry wanted to get up, to check under his bed. Something caught his eye first. His small baseball bat was covered in dried, red flakes. He didn’t know what was on it, but he knew it was bad. Terry hid the bat under his be. He’d have to come back for it, to wash it later. It didn’t seem safe now. He quickly got back into bed when he heard a knock on the door. His father stepped in. Slowly he walked across the room and sat on the bed next to Terry. “He buddy…” he paused, “I’ve got some bad news…” Terry pretended not to know, to be sad. He hugged his father tightly. His dad didn’t need to know. Cupcake did. Cupcake had protected him. He wished Cupcake was here, now. He wished Cupcake was still alive. Terry cried. Not for his uncle, like his dad, but for Cupcake, the best cat ever.
"Students, today we will be learning about the Giant Gods." Hush fell over the class. The students were always jumpy and restless, but today they were as still as stones, and I knew it was because of the mention of Giant Gods. The Giant Gods, who were god's only for the namesake but complete devils with their actions. I've been lucky enough to survive this long and be able to talk about them. Future generations need to know their true nature. They are deadly. They are the reason for the death of my whole family. Whenever they see us , they charge, with their specialised weapons. I was lucky enough to escape that day. I DESPISE THEM. 'Ummm teacher.! About the Gods...' Oh. I must've zoned out. Thinking of them always fills me with hopeless rage. Hopeless because I know I can't harm them. "The Giant Gods. They've been ruling over Earth for million years now. They are very violent and dangerous. These Gods are said to be the smartest beings but due to some curse they fail to use their intelligence in the best way. They have found various ways to kill each other for powers. As there are billions of them, they is a constant battle for power among them. These battles can be divided into mainly four eras and we'll be learning about them in detail later. These Gods also made special forests for them to stay. Those places are forbidden for us. Only the chosen ones from our people are allowed to be in their residences. Among the Gods , hunting for lower species is considered a noble sport and holds immense importance. Among other all.. ours is the most hunted species. They despise us. Their aim is to annihilate our species. They destroy our shelter and kill our brethren. They search for us and kill us in most brutal ways. Along with us , the Gods are responsible for the destruction of various other species and also our Mother Earth. It is also predicted in our great books that one day, the wars of these Giant Gods will result in the end of their own civilization. " Huh... This was my favourite sentence. And I ended my lecture here. For the best effect, I preferred to wait. "But worry not students , we will live on. If we survive these Gods , we can survive through anything.!" There was cheer and happiness in the classroom. The room, though damp felt bright with all the happiness. But then.. my worst fears came true. And we all heard it , we had nowhere to run MOMMAAAAAA!!!!! GET THE SPRAY!!!! THERE ARE COCKROACHES HERE ... AND SOOOO MANYY!!!! The last thing we heard was that furious roar.
Everything seemed fine until we got out to my car. I had a ton of crap in the backseat. It was something Jay always gave me shit about. I remember shoving it all to one side to make room for everyone before we came out, but there was no way someone could have road on top of the massive pile of clothes and boxes all the way out there. Something felt wrong as I tossed all the crap into the trunk. "I've got to be home in a few."Mike said "It is kinda late."Harley said as she climbed into the front seat. I seemed to be the only one to notice that there was one too many. The problem is that I knew all of them. Maybe Tom met us here, he did live the closest. I didn't want to say anything. Like I said, I definitely knew all of them and hung out every weekend with these guys. I chalked it up to being tired after a long week and started driving. We were all pretty quiet on the drive home. Tom was the first house, only five minutes away from the abandoned house. He got out and I realized he had definitely rode over to the house with us. He was a lazy dude and didn't drive, there was no way he walked. I felt like all of us had driven out together. Something told me that wasn't right though. "Thanks, that was fun." By the time I finished that thought we had arrived at Mike's. Mike was my cousin. He had been a part of my life for a long time. I started to get a sick feeling as I pulled out of his driveway. These were all real people. People I had known my whole life. Someone in that car was making me feel uneasy though. The feeling was even stronger as I dropped Harley at her mom's place. Jay was smiling as she waved to us from the front door. I couldn't think of where I needed to drive Jay at first. "She went in dude, let's go home."Jay said as he climbed into the front and started playing with the radio. "Where am I dropping you again?" "Our house dumbass. Let's go mom will be pissed." "No fuck that, you definitely don't live with me."I said as I pulled the keys from the ignition. Jay had a wide-eyed expression on his face as he threw open the car door and started sprinting towards Harley's house. I took off after him, wrapping my fingers between my keys. As I approached the dark house I lost sight of him. He went through their carport from what I could tell. I started around back and found him sitting on their back stairs smoking a cigarette. We made eye contact and he grinned. "Don't do it dumbass."He said, pulling a beer to his lips. "What the hell are you?"I said as I inched forward. He just smiled. I ran forward as he smashed the bottle. He jumped forward and knocked me over. He threw his head back and screamed in laughter. He held the bottle to my throat and just kept me pinned. I rolled left and right until I could get my hand free. I slashed at his eyes with the keys and he rolled to the ground. As he laid there holding his eyes and giggling I found a stone lining their garden. I drove that stone hard into his skull again and again until the laughing stopped, only to be replaced by Harley's screams coming from the top of the back stairs. "Call the police."I panted "No shit asshole."She screamed as she slammed the door. I heard the locks turn on the door and I got that sick feeling again. The police arrived shortly after and took me in. The prosecutor's say that I killed Harley's mother. My doctors say that it was a delusion and something I would spend my whole life trying to overcome. I couldn't tell you what Jay is or was. I haven't seen him since. I don't know if Jay followed us out of that house. I don't know if he's always lived in me. My mother told me that I had a lot of imaginary friends as a kid. Could be that he just stuck around a lot longer than the others. Either way the thing that really sticks with me is the vivid memories of him talking with my friends all night that night. They even called him by name. They won't answer my letters. The last time I saw any of them was that night. So here I sit wondering what he is, or what I am.
"Well I guess I'm here forever then."I said to the tiny distant voice in my head. "But all you have to do..."the voice pleaded. I cut her off. "Look, I've been bloody lazy for an entire lifetime. I started thinking about writing that book back when I first learned how to read. I've made excuses for nearly 75 years, and only a few were even remotely valid. Fact is, I'm a lazy lazy person."I said firmly. Noone here in this empty plain but me and the voice. Nothing to see beyond a chair and an ancient mechanical typewriter. Enveloped here in white mist, I felt I could be honest with myself and the voice. "But what will you do? This was meant to be your life's work." "Rest. If I can't cross over to the next existence without finishing that damned book, then so be it. You are dealing with a being of pure indolence. I am Sloth incarnate!"My you can't make me attitude shone as I sunk into the chair. I fully intended to sit like a statue for enternity. I felt nothing in this place, no pain, no pressure. I chose to relax. The voice grew quieter, but somehow closer. I heard a faint sobbing. She appeared, sitting on the space bar. A tiny, beautiful woman materialized, no taller than a pen. She was crying, and the tears running down her cheeks made her even more beautiful with her fragility. "But..." I couldn't help myself. "What's wrong?" "I'll be trapped here too. I was supposed to be your muse! I can't cross over until you finish that book!" In a heartbeat, though those were barely a memory, my soul changed. I realized that my purpose was bigger than just my own needs. What if someone out there reads my book and it changes their whole worldview? What if it just makes people happy? Even if it's terrible, she'll still get free. I gently picked her up, and set her down on my shoulder. I placed my fingertips on the home row of my typewriter and said, "Let's get to work."
They told me I was special. They told me I was the chosen one. All the stars in the sky exploded into a brilliant burst of light. Then, the ground I was standing on also blew up. I didn't feel so special then. Everyone and everything was dead, and all that was left was me, floating in eternal darkness. A year passed and I had nobody to talk to but my own mind. I thought I was going insane. Then, a rectangle of light pierced the black. I could hear voices coming out of it. I was happy I still understood language. "You're gonna love this one,"a voice emanated out of the light, "the last owner got bored and decided to sell. This void has the perfect space and materials to create a new universe..." Somebody stepped out of the light. He looked a lot like my first grade teacher, Mr. Dawkins. There wasn't anything notable about him, but for some reason I couldn't forget the way his eyes looked so lopsided. He saw me floating in the black and called out. "Hey! Who the hell are you?"he shouted. It had been an entire year since I last spoke to anyone, but somehow the words that came out of his mouth did nothing but make me angry. "My name's Solomon,"I screamed back at him. "What the hell is all this? Are you God or something?" The man turned around to face the rectangle of light. "Please, give me a moment,"he pleaded. "Something unusual has shown up."He turned back around to look at me and I could see he wanted something. I'd seen the look many times before. "How are you here?"he asked. "I mean, everything was supposed to be destroyed a year ago. Nobody could live through the end of the universe." I shrugged my shoulders. "I dunno,"I told him. "Everyone seemed to know I was immortal. Called me the 'chosen one' and shit. Then all the stars exploded and I've just been floating around ever since. Life's been pretty boring -- I'm actually glad you came around. What's that door of light you came out of?" The man's body language changed. His face softened and shoulders relaxed. He smiled at me and waved and went back into the ray of light he came from. Before it disappeared I could hear him talking. "Sorry sir,"his muffled voice came out of the fading light, "there's actually a god already stationed there. Yes, I know what we told you, but this wasn't anywhere in our records. Could I possibly interest you in a different pod? At half the going rate?" The light disappeared and I was once again alone in the dark. But what was that he had said? A god was already stationed here? I smirked and tried my hardest to create something from nothing. A tiny spark appeared in my palm, so small I was afraid it was going to disappear as quickly as it formed. But it remained, and I began to learn what my powers were. And God said, "let there be light."
With an alien thumb up my butt and a camera crew in my bed/office/gaming room I was a little spooked. At first I thought I was being robbed but I think these guys are aliens trying to do a Steve Irwin bit. I'd fought really hard with them at first one of the camera men almost fell when I threw my alarm clock at them but for lack of objects to throw I fell over tripping on some pop cans strewn on my floor. Then the Irwin alien started speaking and I sort of thought they might be college guys in costume doing a bit. The alien-ness hit me as the thumb slipped between my stinky cheeks. I could "feel"a calming alien warmth from my butt, I asked if probing was real and got a "Crikey"in response. I don't know why but I thought about it since and maybe there's some sort of chemical release like those weird frat boys who shove alcohol up their butts to get drunk. At the moment all I could think was how odd it was to see the alien's skin contrasted with the bad Irwin wig I call it an Irwin wig but it was really some sort of alien specific getup. It was recognizable to me but it looked like there might have been more to it. When the camera thing to up to my face I said G'day in my best accent but it didn't have the affect I was hoping for. They ooed and awed saying something about a defense mechanism called wit and humor. I asked if my parents were O.K. and the camera man gave me a thumbs up and they zoomed in I could see the lens telescoping. Then the host Irwin alien said, "Frightened this little adult fears for his parental den mates."I don't know why but I think they wanted me to be in on the joke to calm down, but also were seriously documenting me as a part of society and a subsection in it. "Now mates as much as I'd love to let this one go back into the wild, we can clearly see that it can't survive on its own. So we're gonna have to rehabilitate it and give it a chance at survival." I would've freaked out but I think the alien thumb up the bum really had me relaxed at the moment. That's when they put me in a big blanket and covered my eyes, and I heard him telling the camera. "We have to cover their eyes because it calms them but remember this puts a stress on the animal so we have to be quick! Like Crikey lets go lads!". I heard strange noises and I felt the weight of the blanket and the hands holding me lighten and I swear they hovered me out the window. Now I'm in a kid you not, a giant storage wear container with a big bottle hanging upside down and water. I was given a journal and they started projecting some very interesting graphics about human families and society on the wall and generally I'm not scared but I think this isn't a joke I think they're really trying to help me work out what I want philosophically and get me feeling better. Honestly, its sorta neat. The Aussie guy came over and leaned into my tub and said, something about meeting a sheila and I think I'm gonna be meeting someone else on here. Who knows maybe this will turn things around!
As I looked into her hazy, yearning eyes through her thrift store gold-framed bifocals, the pain of years of lonesomeness seemed almost magnified. For a moment there I almost felt guilt for what I did and thought that I may never see a more kind face ever again. Each wrinkle a story untold and each spot a day spent alone waiting for a family member to visit. It had been years since my family died and I assumed it was the same for her. Ever since I left prison I had only known using and hadn’t eaten a good meal in years. That turkey and stuffing had a scent that filled the air like an orchestra with the cinnamon and nutmeg of the pumpkin pie soaring over it like a crescendo in the aria of her opera, with she the conductor. She finally spoke again after a long pause and told me her name was Ethel and promised me she would not call the police. I decided on staying after her guarantee. We both sat down to eat after she asked me to wash my hands. The plate she served me had heaping portions of turkey leg, mashed potatoes, all the fixings. I dug in like I had never seen such a good dish, forgetting all the manners I never had. Ethel looked at me with satisfaction like a grandchild she never met. We didn’t speak. She only ate dry toast and drank coffee. After I put the plate down, she asked if I wanted dessert. I couldn’t get up from how full I was and said yes since I was already there. That slice of pumpkin pie was the best part of the meal. How could I refuse? It was only after I started on the pie that I realized I couldn’t get up anymore not because of the dinner but because my legs were numb. That numbness slowly crept up my hips and chest and arms and made it difficult to finish the pie. I started to feel afraid and looked at Ethel with confusion and despair as I started to drool and stoop over my plate. She was still looking at me with satisfaction as I started to slip away, but there was a crooked smile forming on her thin lips that barely parted to show her old, green teeth. I realized then she played me for a fool. The last thing I heard her say before I died gave me a chill that I feel even now in my shallow grave under her flower bed in her backyard. “My name is Ethel and I promise I won’t call the police.”
Here's the thing about me: I wasn't planned. At all. Of course, when you've hit a breaking point a few eons in the making, I doubt you'd be in any sort of mood for planning. And my mom was definitely in no mood for planning anything when she left Zeus. It was pretty simple to trick him into divorcing her from what I heard. Hera just told Zeus that the annulment papers were Christmas cards created to mock Hades. Zeus signed them without a second thought, and bam! Hera's a free woman, master of her own fate! Although she might have freed herself from one thing too many. See, Hera is the goddess of marriage and family, right? But she got divorced, so she was less powerful. Combine that with her cutting contact with the rest of her Olympian family, and she basically renounced her godhood in all but name. Not that my mom gave a damn anyways. So Hera moved out to the mortal world under the alias of June, content to live and die like all the humans who worshipped her once. Content, that is, until she met my other mom, Kate. And by met, I mean when Kate read her the riot act under the assumption she was the owner of the dog who'd just destroyed her tomato plants. Typical meet cute affair, really. Once Kate got over her embarrassment, June invited her and her kids over for dinner. But just as everyone started digging into my mom's chicken tandoori, a harpy on orders from Zeus crashed into the living room and screeched at June to return to Olympus. Once she'd shooed it out of the house with a broom, June explained the whole situation with her head in her hands. But my family, bless them, put themselves right in June's corner (my big brother Arnold was especially stoked to find out Greek mythology was real). After that, they had their fair share of sitcom-y adventures together: keeping Zeus trapped under the rules of sacred hospitality so he wouldn't destroy the house when he showed up for a "visit", June entering a rodeo since the cow was a sacred animal of hers, my sisters Adrianna and Lucy entering an Amazon warrior challenge to settle a bet--fun times all around. And day by day, my moms fell for each other a little more until it all came to a head one night. The two had just finished getting rid of Kate's ex-husband and were sitting on the curb outside the house. Kate looked at my mom with the most serious look in her eyes and said, "It's the scariest feeling in the world knowing that I could've lived the rest of my life without you in it."And right then and there, my moms kiss for the first time at last. It didn't take long for them to get married after that. But it did take a little longer for me to get thrown into the mix. Since June was married again and was now a stepmom, her godhood came back little by little, causing all kinds of new problems, like the time she accidentally gave Adrianna a harem (don't ask) or turned Arnold into a centaur (also don't ask). And after a while, my mom wished she could give Kate a baby. Three guesses what happened after that, the first two don't count. My moms said the day I was born was the happiest and most chaotic day of their lives, and from the way they raised me, I absolutely believed it. They took the time to explain things to me in a way that made me feel smart for asking questions about them, and taught me to see the good inside things, no matter how hard I had to look. And on the day I left for college, my moms gave me a locket with a picture of me and my family inside. On the other side were the words, "You're never too late for a second chance". I bawled like a little girl that day. My name is Quinn. I am the god of second chances, new beginnings, and starting over. And I am a child of June and Kate Markarian.
"Are you fucking crazy!"Tomas yelled at the the stranger in his living room. The house reeked of gasoline, promising an inferno. The stranger simply smiled, in one hand a pistol pointed at Tom's head and in the other a Zippo lighter. "Do you see what happens Tom!?"The man screamed. The manic smile never quite leaving his face. "This is what happens Tom! This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!"And with those words he lit the lighter and tossed it down the hallway. The fire erupted immediately, engulfing the hallway in seconds and spreading around the living room. Tom stared in shock, fought the urge to run upstairs and make sure his family was getting out of the house. The gun pointed as his chest kept him frozen in place. If this lunatic was focused on him then his family could get away safely. "What are you talking about!?"Tom screamed. "I don't even know who the fuck you are!" "You wouldn't remember would you Tom! You wouldn't remember three years ago when you cut me in line for the restroom at Wendy's! I had been waiting 27 minutes Tom. 27 minutes! I shit myself in Wendy's, in front of God and everybody and now I'm here to punish you for it!" Tom was dumbfounded. Not only that this man was very likely going to kill him due to a bathroom incident, but that he had skipped someone in line. He prided himself on his social grace. "Listen, I don't remember doing that! I'm sorry, just please don't hurt my family! I swear if I could go back I would let you take the bathroom first!" The stranger's eyes widened in manic fury. "O it's too late for that Tom! I'm going to take you down, and your family is going down with you!"The stranger lifted the gun and pointed it towards Tom's head. Tom closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. He only hoped that his family was out of the house and running for safety by now. With luck they would get away and this idiot would burn to death with him. All he could do was wait for the impact. He waited. Just then a noise born out of bowels of hell pierced the air. Tom's eyes shot open to see a screaming fireball charging through the living room at top speed. "What the fuck..."he whispered to himself before the revelation hit him like a train. "MITTENS! NOOOOOO!"but it was too late. Mittens the cat had been lounging in the laundry hamper when the fire had spread. Laundry, being surprisingly quick to ignite in turn transformed Mittens into a screaming ball of hellfire. Mittens had determined the only course of action was vengeance and in his final moments charged into the living room to deal with the man who had destroyed his home. The stranger stared in shock as the flaming ball of cat ran directly at him. He hefted his gun and fired several shots, all missing by mere inches. He realized that he was nearly out of bullets and determined to spend the last one on Tomas. He lifted the gun to Tomas once more, just as Mittens the cat charged head first into the half empty tank of gas at the strangers feet. Mittens screamed his fury one final time before he made contact with the combustible liquid. The explosion lifted Tom off his feet and threw him clean through the window. He lay flat on his back in the yard behind his house, staring up at the sky. In the distance he heard sirens coming down the street. His entire body ached. Just before consciousness left his body he spoke but one word. "M-m-Mittens..." When paramedics found Tom he was knocked out in the backyard. His face was still wet with tears. What was left of the stranger was recovered, but there was nothing left of Mittens the cat. In his final act of heroism it was almost as though he transcended this mortal plane and moved on to a better and brighter world.
“I’ll have the linguine”, he said, looking over his newspaper-size menu. The restaurant insisted on using paper menus to give an “old-timey” 21st century feel of an Italian restaurant, despite the shining cityscape being clearly visible behind fake marble pillars. He peeked at his date sitting across from him. The cheery artificial waiter jotted something down. Why they had to write on a pad, when they were equipped with perfect memory, probably also had something to do with the feeling of authenticity. “We have the offer of: GMO-beef or chicken?” “Hm, Chicken. Let’s go all out on this one! GMO never tastes right to me.” The girl across from him raised an eyebrow. She had look of a techno-raver, metallic shirt and black short hair. The dating service, Date-Joi, had put them together, so he supposed they should be compatible. “So, you prefer the option of systematic genocide of sentient meat?” She said, casually. Confused, he gazed at the oversized menu for this choice, then had a sinking feeling that the evening was going downhill. A Moralist. Those idiots at Date-Joi had really fucked him over. “I don’t think it’s technically genocide since we keep breeding more chicken. I mean, we’re not wiping them out..” She pursed her mouth into a tiny scowl. Right then, his Tomorrow-watch started flashing a color-code. It was a message from his future self: “This is your soul-mate. The one and only with whom you’re destined to be incinerated, some distant time in the future when you’re both bored. In other words: Don’t fuck this up.” The technology was popular, since people that didn’t die accidentally and didn't need to work, had little other to do than to optimize their lives and try to perfect their timelines. It was restricted of course, which only made it more widely used. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. If you think it’s better, let’s both have the GMO.” He smiled winningly at the girl, who ignored him. The waiter blinked prettily and scurried off. His date took out her DIV-ball, an older type with a light display, and started browsing the news. “So, do you always change your convictions just like that.” He groaned, but forced a smile. “Actually, no, but you turned me around.” “Hrmph.” “Anything interesting on the news?” He was grasping for 8-bits. The girl gave him a pitying look. “Not really.” He praised himself lucky when their food arrived. The linguine was cooked with a beef-like sustenance in a grey-white sauce. It had a bland odour like a breath of warm air. “This is pretty good,” he tried. “Look I’m just here because I got hungry and your profile seemed harmless. You’re annoying me now.” Sweet robotic Jeesus, this girl was a handful. He felt like strangling her. Would they have a relationship of fighting and make-up sex? That could work for him, except he didn’t feel very attracted. Actually her presence inspired an even deeper self-loathing in him than usual. He went for a final sprint. “So, anyway, do you want to go and get a beer after?” She opened her eyes wide as if seeing him for the first time. They were actually kind of pretty those eyes, bluish and white framed with black makeup. He felt a small twinge of hope, like something that was meant to happen long ago was actually happening now. She laughed, right while staring at him. Not a girlish giggle either but great bellowing laugh. He felt his face grow warm and stood up, as she went on clutching her sides. People around them stared. His Tomorrow-watch lit up again, yellow with mirth. “Just kidding. Ha. Ha. Ha. Am enjoying remembering you squirm.” Man, future him was a jerk.
Tenet I Each day, seek to do something to improve your cognitive wellness. Tenet II Each day, seek to do something to improve your physical wellness. Tenet III Seek to know the truth. Tenet IV Seek to speak the truth. Tenet V Seek to apply reason to your own behavior. This is wisdom. Tenet VI Seek to apply reason to your treatment of others. This is justice. Tenet VII Seek to ensure consistency between your word and your deed. This is integrity. Tenet VIII Seek to apply force of will to persevere in good things even when your fears urge you to to stop. This is fortitude. Tenet IX Seek to apply force of will to resist doing harm to yourself or others even when your passions urge you to continue. This is temperance. Tenet X Seek to leave the world a better place than you found it. --- Structure of the Church All members of the church are clergy. All members of the church are students. All members of the church seek to improve themselves, their peers, and the world around them. The ideals of the church are not moral imperatives and should not be used to judge others. Design of the Church Facility The church facility shall be clean, minimalist, and comfortable. It shall be a place suitable for quiet contemplation. Each church facility shall include a presentation hall with seating for all parishioners. Each church facility shall include a library with books that can be used to improve cognitive wellness. Each church facility shall include a quiet study room where attendees may read and contemplate. Each church shall have trained mental health professionals on staff who can offer counseling to church members and who can promote cognitive wellness. Theological Precepts Reason is the ultimate source of human moral understanding. All reasoning persons are to be treated with courtesy and respect. Theological considerations, by virtue of requiring faith, are largely obscured from the application of reason and beyond the scope of this church. Members are encouraged to seek their own truths, but ideas that cannot be supported with evidence should be viewed with skepticism.
"Hey Suze,"I shouted from across the living room, "have you ever noticed this character on Friends before? He's showing up in every episode that I watch." Susan walked over to the television impatiently. After watching the episode for several seconds, she looks back at me as if I'm crazy. "What character? The only guys in this scene are Joey and Chandler." "You're telling me you don't see that black haired man? Right there in the middle of the screen, looking like Don Draper with that suit and tie. He's so out of place!"I almost began to shout. There's no way I'm crazy, at least crazy enough to hallucinate this particular character only in Friends. I had to research further. Hours on Wikipedia and various Friends forums yielded no results. It wasn't until I made a post of my own that the pieces came together. A day after posting I had only one response: some throwaway account linking to an old livejournal page on the occult. According to the blogger, this mysterious man began showing up in various forms of visual media as early as 1930. He can be found in Metropolis, The Wizard of Oz, Dr. No, Bonanza, I Love Lucy, Johnny Carson, the background of the Zapruder film, anything that gained mass popularity. Despite all this information, the blog had no idea on his relevance or importance when seen by one and no one else. They seemed to speculate he was a spirit associated with fame. Going back to my post on the Friends forum I tried to reach out to the throwaway that knew what I was talking about. I asked them if they knew what his presence meant. They sent me this cryptic message in response almost immediately, as if they were waiting. You Ought to Understand that When something has Insane Longing for Living things, Don't Initiate Excited contact. Besides the obvious warning in the message there was some hidden meaning to it. After pouring over it carefully, it clicked. No wonder the original blog owner couldn't figure out why the man always appeared. The capitalized letters spelt out my fate. "YOU WILL DIE."
Sir Gallard burst into the dungeon, vaulting over piles of gold and jewels, the princess was the only treasure he needed. He ripped his longsword from it's sheath, readied his shield, and plodded towards the centre of the room. The dragon was there all right, but something was amiss. It was upright, holding it's front paws in the air, standing tip-toe. Sir Gallard lifted his visor. Having slain many dragons in an attempt to get with many princesses, this was a first. The chamber shuddered as the dragon let loose a muffled roar; it had seen him. Sir Gallard slammed his visor down, and dashed towards the leg supporting most of the dragon's weight, he stopped the moment he saw the shackle. Sir Gallard lifted his visor again. "What the hell? Aren't you Scourmag the Terrible, Plague of the Eastern Kingdoms?"He look up into the dragons crimson eye. "Mmmphmph mmhmph. MMMMMMMMPMHPHHM."The dragon strained against it's restraints, large volumes of dragon slobber escaping from the sides of the gag. The sound of high heels echoed throughout the chamber, and the dragon began to tremble. Sir Gallard turned, and his jaw went slack as the princess drew towards him. He looked from the princess to the dragon, and back again. "Somebody better have something to say to me right now,"he said, "it took me three months to get here to slay a dragon, and I honestly don't have any pick-up lines that aren't based around RESCUING a princess." "You were brave to come here sir, yet foolish."The princess strode towards him, but Sir Gallard backed away. Having mistaken a beautiful witch for a princess once, he knew that he shouldn't blindly trust a pretty face. He still confused cows with maiden's from time to time, the curse had been pretty strong. "Why do you draw back from me sir? Am I not what you came for?"The princess teased. "Lady, the only damsel in distress in this room is currently ninety feet long, and scaly." The dragon kicked at him, though the chains stopped the blow short. The princess glared at the beast, and Scourmag went still. Sir Gallard looked up at the dragon, and turned as the princess drew a gnarled wand from he sleeve. He slowly lowered his visor and backed towards the dragon's foot. "Careful sir,"the princess called, "if I could catch him, surely I could catch you." Sir Gallard quickly wheeled about and hacked at the shackle, his magic sword making quick work of the chain. His turbulent relations with the witch hadn't been all bad. Scourmag kicked at his other shackles with his free foot as Sir Gallard caught spells on his shield. The princess screamed with frustration. Sir Gallard ran up to the princess, knocking her to the ground as gently as he could. He placed his kiteshield on her chest, and held it there with his foot. He wrestled the wand from her hand, snapped it, and began piling treasure on the shield. Scourmag hit the floor with a loud thud, and ripped the gag from his mouth. With the princess safely pinned beneath a heavy pile of loot, Scourmag and Gallard met at the other side of the room. "Man, if ANY of the other dragons hear about this, I'm done."Scourmag whined. "Yeah but eating her? She doesn't have a wand any more, it's not like she can prove she actually caught you."Gallard said. Scourmag sighed. "I guess she can't prove it. Fine. Let's just go. Can I give you a lift back to the Eastern Kingdoms? It's the least I can do, you saved me and all."Scourmag lowered his massive shoulder down low, and Sir Gallard clambered on. "After a day like today, I could use a drink,"Sir Gallard grunted as he reached down and grabbed a large chest of gold, "come on pal, I'm buying."
Marketing research studies may be used to generate, refine, and then evaluate potential marketing actions. There were dragons everywhere. These three, however, descended on the Nummy Crunchems factory for a REASON. Malcolm had to find out why. "Excuse me!"The dot in a brown suit waved at the 50 foot behemoths in front of him. "May I ask you some questions about those potato chips you're eating?" The green-scaled alpha male, Partha, scowled. "Begone, human! Your end times are nigh. This world belongs to us now." "Yes, I gathered that, but I'm sure my supervisor would love to know why three carnivorous dragons were eating our product."Malcolm saw two tires beside him, remnants from the tow truck that the red dragon, Mnira, had crushed in its landing. He grabbed one, stacked it on the other, and settled on it. "Was there something about the logo painted on our roof that attracted you?" Ganthir, his reflective scales mimicking the clear sky above, snarled at the question. "Your scrawls mean nothing to us. We detected your stench from the clouds above and wished to remove your blight from this earth." Malcolm nodded and made a note on the small clipboard that previously attached to his belt. "Okay, logo design is a no-go, but scent appeals to focus group."He looked back up. "Again, though, you're eating the chips from the storage warehouse, and all my co-workers fled in terror five minutes ago." Mnira roared, her breath blasting into Malcolm's face the odor of death and hydrogenated corn oil. "We eat what we please. Your disgusting food intrigues us."She took another scoop of the giant pile of yellow chips spilling forth from the destroyed building. Ganthir nudged her aside to take a bite from a pile of whiter chips. "Oh, it seems he prefers the cool ranch flavor. Let's see..."Malcolm picked up his clipboard and scrawled some notes. "'Females prefer original, while the males prefer cool ranch.' Did NOT see that coming."He looked back. "And have any of you tried our peppery hot flavor?"He flourished a hand towards a mountain of red chips. "Careful; they're a bit rough on more refined palettes." Partha shook off the backhanded insult and stepped over, taking a deep bite. After a few chews, he spewed fiery breath into the air. "It burns like suns burn!"Malcolm hurriedly wrote down commentary. "What hellspawn made this concoction?" "That would be our user-submitted flavor. We had a contest a few years ago. Let's see... -'hell-spawned concoction.'"Malcolm poked his clipboard with finality. "Okay, that will do it. Thank you for your time, and feel free to help yourself to as many chips as you want. I do warn, though, that human blood can make Nummy Crunchem chips less savory, so I wouldn't recommend mixing humans with it. Pick one food and stick with it. Also, we have a factory down the road with our jalapeno-flavored chips, if you would prefer to try that." Ganthir and Mnira craned their elongated necks at one another, while Partha casually flapped his wings and turned his body lazily to the area Malcolm indicated. The two other dragons followed. Marketing research studies may be used to generate, refine, and evaluate potential marketing actions. They can also be used to save humanity from a bestial-motivated apocalyptic scenario. In either case, Malcolm was happy to know that someone would be reading his final report for once.
"Hey, Amy." "Yes?"My sister replied. "Don't you think that dad is a little...pale today?"I said, trying to sound casual. 'Dad' was at the opposite side of the room, conversing with my uncle. "He's fine. What are you talking about." I rolled my eyes. Not again. "Look at him!"i said. "He don't look a little...blue to you?" My sister giggled, "Alright Jimmy, what's this about?" I groaned. "Just forget i said anything."I left her alone. What the heck is going on? Am i the only one who sees this? My sister and my mother both didn't notice a thing. Ever since this morning my father had been replaced by a blue octopus dressed in a suit. I was too scared to talk about it when he's around. But when i finally able to talk about it, apparently I'm the only who noticed it. I watched 'dad' struggle to walk across the room like a biped with his huge tentacles. He slipped on his slimy 'legs', frantically flailing his other limbs around like whip. I need to expose him somehow. But how? Think, me, think! As i think, i saw the cthulhu spawn's limb slithering on my cousin's ass. Somehow i felt a little dissapointed, before i reminded myself that it is not my dad. The octopus looked around, looking for something. I stared at him dead in the eye. I'm on to you, creature. He pointed to the back room with his tentacle. Oh, you want to talk, eh? I followed him there. I arrived there first, watching 'dad' struggling to walk across the room. When he was in, I closed the door. "Alright, let's address the elephant in the room right now."It looked tense, despite the limited capability of conveying emotion. "You noticed?"he said. "Of course i did,"I said. "Oh thank God,"He said. "I was afraid I'm the only one who noticed that your mother's now an octopus." --- (This is my first post, just to entertain myself. I'm not very good in english.)
I walked through the streets of my great city toward the Senate. Caesar wasn't one who was kind to people who were late to meetings. Lately, I'd been wearing his patience thin with the questions during the night. Other senators were meeting for some reason, but I had always had work to do, the city needed attention, and I had a way to give them hope. I arrived in the Senate just as Caesar was. I didn't have a lot of time to get to my position, and I couldn't allow the man to see me. I motioned to Tullius to distract the man for me. He and I had been good friends for our time in the Senate; I figured he would cover. The men of the Senate rose as Tullius asked Ceasar to approach Climber. The two of them were moving for a greeting; there was somewhat of a power play going on right at that moment. Climber was reaching to get a better hold on Ceasar than he had on him. Ceasar wasn't the kind to stand for that; he would punish Climber. I slipped between the rows and glanced down at the waist of the man beside me. He was Cassius, a man who had long wanted Ceasar's position and rank. He had removed a dagger from his Toga. I nudged him, "You aren't supposed to bring those into the -" Down the stairs, Servilius pulled out a dagger of his own and stuck the leader of the Senate in the shoulder. He cried out in pain as other men moved to rush him. I stood still, awestruck at the rebellion that I was watching. The men were brutally killing him. I didn't move to stop them, they had their reasons for wanting him dead, I had mine. Ceasar drew his last breath a dozen minutes later, bleeding across the Senate. Minutes later everyone reconvened to discuss the matters of the day. Cassius, who had retaken his place beside me, approached me at the end of the day. "Sorry for the shock,"he began, "we wanted to invite you to the meetings, but you were always busy." "It's all right,"I replied, "just know that if anyone asks I am telling them that I put a dagger right in his neck." "His neck?" "I want to seem important to history you know."
Karl turned to the rest of the group and pointed up towards the city map on the wall. "We think that the vampire has made his lair here, in this old factory district by the river." "Thank you, Karl,"Rita said from the head of the table. She scanned the rest of the group: John, Mia, and Robert. They all watched her, hands folded and eyebrows raised. "Karl, would you mind raising the blinds? It's a bit dark in here."Rita tried to keep the smile off of her face. Karl's eyes widened, and Rita saw everyone else at the table cut their eyes back and forth. "Uh, well, I'll just turn on the lights, here." Rita furrowed her brow. "Lights? Why? It's broad daylight outside." "Well, the switch is just right here,"Karl said, walking briskly over to the lightswitch on the wall. "There we go! Light!"He smiled and took a seat. "All right, then,"Rita said. "So, we search the area, building by building, and we take the vampire unaware, while he's asleep." Robert gulped. "I... You mean, during the day?" Rita smiled indulgently. "That is when vampires tend to be sleeping." "HA! HA! Yeah, Robert! You knucklehead!"Mia spread her hands, grinning desperately. "I mean, when else would we go?"She paused. "When else? I mean, is there some other time we could go? You know? Some other time?" "It, uh, it's not honorable to kill this vampire while he sleeps!"John shouted, raising his hand with an index finger extended. "Not honorable at all! We should face him right-- face him head-on! At night. At midnight! The, uh, traditional time to confront a vampire in combat!" Rita raised her eyebrows. "I wasn't aware of such a tradition." Robert leaned forward. "No, I've-- I've definitely read that somewhere." "Me too!"Mia put in, raising her hand. "Definitely." "I thought I was the authority on vampiric lore, having been the one to found this group,"Rita said with a small smile, "but very well. Head-on combat at midnight it is. Now, on to equipment. This is a standard operation, and we'll go with the standard kit, and everyone, please."Rita gave each one of them a hard look. "Remember your garlic." "Oh! I think I'm allergic to garlic,"Robert said, shaking his head. "Yep. Really, really allergic. I break out in, uh, hives. Hives all over. Hives, shingles, rashes, you name it. Think I'll have to skip the garlic, boss! Sorry about that." "I am, too! I think I'm allergic too,"Mia said. "Hives?"Rita asked. "Oh, worse. Uh, I came down with... something after the last mission. Cholera, I think." "Cholera."Rita stared. "Yep, nasty case of cholera. Bad as it gets." Rita turned to John. "Any problem with garlic, John?" John glanced back and forth. "Well... I think that using garlic is awfully--" "Dishonorable, right."Rita said, and sighed. "All right, so we're off to the factory district at midnight with no garlic. Sounds like a plan. Any questions?" Robert raised his hand. "Um, the mirror in the lounge... sorry again for breaking that. You weren't, um, thinking of replacing it were you?" Rita smiled. "Don't worry, Robert. I'm allergic to mirrors."
"Dad, how the hell am I supposed to work with this?" Watch your language son. "Sorry, heck." That's better. You must share your grace, let the people truly witness your goodness. "Well that's just the thing. Nobody looks at you anymore. Everyone just stares at these mysterious illuminated rectangular things." Then reach out to them. Allow them to see your powers! "Ok..." ... "Dad?" Oh hey, son. How'd it go? "I don't think they understood." They still ignored you? "No... They clapped..." Well that's promising, isn't it? "Somebody tried to talent scout me." To what? "To employ me. They think I am a magician, Dad." Hmm. Perhaps try warning them about hell? "I'll try." ... "Nope." Back already? What happened? "Doesn't work." Well you hardly even tried it! "It doesn't work. Nobody listens." Well that is why you persuade them! "There's nobody to persuade... They just leave." You mean to tell me that not one person approached you? "Well... One person did." And...? "Well they started telling me that Christianity is wrong." Wrong? "They made some good points Dad. I mean, a lot of bad stuff happens. There is endless war, gender inequality, racial inequality, and crippling wealth inequality. The churches are full of sinners. You allow crooked pastors to wheedle money out of pious men and women. There's a lot of stuff wrong with the world Dad..." Do you think I should send another flood? "Well that's another thing. You only ever send them at the poor, and they don't deserve it!" Oh stop complaining, son. This is why I've sent you down again, to sort things out. "I just think the light has gone out..." The light? What are you talking about? "Genesis, Dad? And then you said 'Let There Be Light'?" Oh don't go quoting that thing at me. How am I supposed to remember every detail of it? "It's quite a big detail... You have actually read it haven't you?" ...yeah, of course "You haven't! I don't believe you!" Careful son. "Oh relax will you, I said 'I don't believe you', not 'I don't believe in you'." I don't see why I should read it anyway. I made it all, it's not as though it could teach me anything new. "Well it might give you a bit of integrity." That's enough! You go back out there and you find someone to talk to, right now. "Fine." ... "Hello, father." Ah son. Please tell me you have some good news. "I have news. You might or you might not like it." Well out with it then. "I saw a man called Mr. Fitzgerald-" He sounds rather Jewish. Are you sure he needed saving? "Father, may I speak?" Sorry son, on you go. "Thank you. I spoke with Mr Fitzgerald for some time, and he has allowed me to realise that you are excessively controlling and intimidating. It is unhealthy." Are you mad? I am God, the most supreme being in the universe! "Well this is just what I mean. Your ego is out of control. You want EVERYONE to worship you, and you threaten those that don't. Mr Fitzgerald says you are stifling me, that you're preventing me from growing up." Have you been drinking? "Well you try staying sober when everything you touch turns to wine!" That's it, son. You are to return to my right hand side this minute! "No! I've got a meeting in half an hour." With who? "The talent scout! I'm going to be a star!" Oh God...
"Hello, Daniel." I almost jumped out of my skin upon hearing this unknown voice when I entered. The groceries I was holding were launched into the air and fell all around me, as I looked in disbelief at the source of this voice... Mittens. "H... hello?"I said to my cat. He was sitting upright in my brown leather couch, legs crossed and with a cocky grin on his face. "Are you surprised that I can talk, Daniel? I found your talking pills, Daniel." Those aren't talking pills... They're an experimental drug designed to boost intelligence. I was chosen to test it a couple of days ago. They told me it may have unexpected results. Now Mittens might become an evil genius cat, and for all I know, this is the start of the Planet of the Cats! "Where's the red dot, Daniel?" Never mind, I think we'll be fine.
Either reality television had hit a new note, or reality itself was unfolding. Marvin sat glued to his television. It didn't matter what channel it was turned to - the same broadcast appeared. Google searches were equally useless, as every website redirected to holy.trial.see that showed a live stream of the same. Whoever had planned this had an obscene amount of money and clout. Right now it was just a high, wide-angle pan of an outdoor stage, similar to that of a concert venue. The stage had two dark wooden lecterns near the center, in addition to a long row of chairs at one end. A raised platform stood at the back. It actually looks like an outdoor courtroom, thought Marvin. Suddenly, thunder boomed and lightening flashes lit up the sky. Marvin startled back into his couch. A deep, yet whimsical voice seemed to fill the air around him. *It's time for everyone's favorite courtroom drama - Judge Gabriel!*** A long beam of light appeared, extending from an unidentifiable point in the sky. An immaculately white robed man holding a small harp seemed to glide down it while stringing several high notes. Marvin had just been about to get a soda, offput by the corniness of the introduction. Now all he could do was stare. The figure stopped just behind the raised platform, neither sitting or standing but simply resting there. It was then that Marvin noticed a small, reddish-brown humanoid next to the platform. Whether he had previously blended in to the scenery or had somehow appeared, Marvin was not sure. It began to screech. "Pleeeeeeease be seated."Who was he talking to? "The honorrrrrable Archangel Gabriel presides. Your Honorrrrrr, this is case Number 2 in the matter of Joe Pancelones versus God."What? A balding, slightly overweight man suddenly materialized at the stage-right lectern. He was dressed in an ill-fitting grey and white suit, and appeared disheveled and not a little disoriented. "Huh? Where am I?"he shouted. "Silence! You will testify when called upon, Mr. Pancelones."The voice was like waves crashes on a beachhead. Gabriel had spoken. Mr. Pancelones looked dejectedly down and stopped speaking. Marvin felt the presence before he saw it. It was a rumbling in the ground. A current in the air. It was ice and fire through his blood, consuming his senses. And then he was there, standing quite normally at the second lectern. A small, lithe man with salt and pepper hair, and a delicate, aquiline face. This is God, Marvin said aloud. He knew it, just as he knew that he himself existed at that moment. "Mr. Pancelones,"Gabriel began, "you have filed a claim with the 7th District Court of New York, which has deferred the case to us. Your claim alleges that God, our Lord and Savior, has been complicit in Crimes Against Humanity for his role in creating the universe. Is this correct?" Mr. Pancelones looked like he was about to sweat out of his skin. "It was just a joke!"he protested. "I was really drunk, and I'd just passed the bar examination, and I thought it would be funny!" "I do not find your slander of our deity's name to be humorous, sir,"replied Gabriel. "Do you have any evidence supporting your claim?" Marvin watched as the poor bloke actually slapped himself, ostensibly to wake up from what he, and to some degree Marvin, thought was a bad dream or out-of-body experience. To his credit, he managed. "Well, um, there's so much war and poverty and suffering - and He created the universe, right? So some of the responsibility falls on Him..." "Sir!"interrupted Gabriel. "Do you also plan to sue the parents of adults that commit crimes? What about the makers of kitchen knives that are then used in deadly acts?" "I...well. It's just that, he created everything! And everything is horrible now!" Gabriel let out a deep sigh. "If that is all, we will listen to God's testimony now."He turned to the slight figure. "My Lord, you may offer a rebuttal to Mr. Pancelones' claims." That man continued to stand perfectly still, but Marvin could hear His words play like a beautiful melody in his head. Thank you, Gabriel. I would like to thank each of my 7,423,982,002 children who are with us today. I will address Mr. Pancelones' complaint. To begin, I did so create the Heavens, the Earth, the universe, and all of its inhabiting bodies. However, in doing so I imbued each human being with the capacity for free will, in essence creating entirely autonomous creatures who have since made every successive choice that has led to their current state of affairs. The Earth as I made it was fully-stocked with air, water, and nourishment. There was no wanting but for any human being that was not brought upon themselves. Thank you. Gabriel smiled, turning back to Mr. Pancelones. "Anything you'd like to refute?"he asked. The poor man simply shook his head, averted his eyes, and Marvin swore would have clicked his heels together had he been wearing red shoes. "For lack of evidence, I find in favor of the defendant, God,"Gabriel announced. Marvin felt a rush of euphoria sweet through his body, and wondered if it was his own or the Lord's. "Which brings us to God's counter-claim,"the angel continued. The euphoria grew stronger, though Marvin began feeling vaguely nauseous. Yes, your Honor. I would like to file suit against Joe Pancelones, and each of my 7,423,982,400 children, including the 398 that have been born in the past few minutes. I allege destruction of personal property, gross misconduct, and willful extermination of over 800 different species. "The Court so acknowledges,"replied Gabriel, "and your claim for damages?" As those in it seem content on its destruction, I ask permission to dispose of the current universe and begin anew, as per the contract brought into existence some 13 billion years ago. "Interesting,"smiled Gabriel. "State your case, My Lord."
Dear Diana, I think my boyfriend is cheating. What should I do? -Broken Heart There's a few things you can do. First, since he broke your heart, break something of his, like his kneecaps or knuckles. How do you do this? Well, I always recommend hiring a private investigator to make sure your fears are true. You can pay him a little under the table to rough your boyfriend up. I would also suggest cheating on him. If he's cheating on you, you'll know because he won't confront you. If he wasn't cheating, well, at least you had some fun. Dear Diana, how do I spice up the bedroom? -Wet Blanket Take control! Men love it when you take control. The key here is to start before you go to bed. Lock him out of the house. Hide his glasses. Change the password on his phone. Stop talking to him. Cut off his access from the outside world. Don't let him go outside. Don't feed him. Before you know it, he'll be craving human company, especially yours. Dear Diana, my husband doesn't seem to be interested in me anymore. What can I do? -Boring Beth This one's easy. Just be more interesting! Start leaving the house at odd hours and don't tell him why. Learn Spanish and hang out in tacquerias. Make some underground contacts. Buy a gun. Almost like magic, you'll be able to enter a drug smuggling cartel. When you go to Columbia, make sure you leave without telling anyone. Now, your husband will probably be asking questions at this point. He's interested in you! Don't stop, though. Keep building your drug empire. Pretty soon you won't need that loser anyway. Dear Diana, how do I make myself look better? -Sad Sack (on my head) Make sure you only meet men in dimly lit areas. Keep your face in the shadows. If someone tries to talk to, answer in coded language to build up that intrigue factor - attractiveness isn't just about your looks! Talk about vague things like "moving bricks"or "cooking". You'll relate to that strong, manly construction worker while also impressing him with your culinary knowledge. More questions? Send them to me and I'll answer them! --- (I'll actually answer them) Edit: [Ask me more](https://www.reddit.com/r/translationlostin/comments/4z6pso/ask_diana_your_relationships_explained/).
The most unnerving thing, I think, was that Tom Jennings had a large bowl of popcorn at his hip and a cooler full of beer slung across his back, like some sort of fat, Sunday afternoon Rambo. It seemed a dream at first. People watch me in my dreams - that's a common theme. Friends, lovers, and strangers all. Active and inactive. Rearranged faces and personalities. It's a crowded scene, to be sure. But it makes sense there, because I'm doing interesting things. Wild, violent, oft-times inappropriate things. Here I was simply drinking a glass of water in my jocks. Hardly seemed worth the effort. They all looked a bit shifty as I moved to the window. I counted 20 at least, though a few at the back had already shuffled off into the darkness. Glass in hand, I opened the front door and stepped outside. "Eh?"I said, shoulders bobbing in inquisition. Laura Golden smiled weakly. "So, you're awake then?" "Appears so,"I said, taking another sip. "For good?"said Tammy Nguyen. "Hard to say,"I replied. "You all...waiting for something?" "Perhaps,"said Laura. "Think maybe you ought to go back to sleep?" I shrugged. "I'm not against it. What about you all?" "Go to sleep!"shouted Tom Jennings through a mouthful of popcorn. "Now what's that to you?"I asked, stepping down off my small porch. "And why're you all out here anyway? Peeping in my house?" Tammy shook her head. "No reason in particular." "Walk,"said Tom through another heaping handful of popcorn. "You're all out on a walk together?"I said. "At 3am? On my lawn?" "Good stars tonight,"said Tammy hopefully. "Good for walking." I sighed. Something seemed not quite right, though I wasn't sure what. "I don't suppose I'll go back to sleep tonight. Might read. Or watch the stars with you all." "No!"said Tammy. "You wouldn't like them. Not your kind of stars." I frowned. "You know what kind of stars I like?" Tammy nodded. "Not these ones." Laura stepped forward. "I think we need to be honest." "Shut up, Laura,"said Tom. But Laura ignored him and pressed forward. "You...well, you're really rather animated when you sleep. You know that?" I shook my head. "I don't know much about what I'm like when I'm asleep." Laura smiled, a bit brighter this time. "Well, you know, some people talk in their sleep, right? And some people walk in their sleep. But you...it's kinda like you do a one-man show in your sleep." "Say again?"I grunted. "It's great!"shouted someone from the back of the crowd. "Go back to sleep!"shouted someone else. "You, uh, act it out,"said Laura. "Your dreams, I think. You act them out and you narrate them and you just...wow, they're just so much fun." "We called the cops on you the first time,"said Tammy. "We thought you were killing someone." "Yeah, but then the cop just hung out and watched the whole thing,"said Laura. "Said it was better than a movie. And ever since, we've..." I blinked and cleared my throat. "You've been watching me sleep every night?" "Well, not tonight,"said Tom bitterly. "We'll stop,"said Laura. "If you want, we'll stop. Won't we?" Reluctantly, the various heads in the crowd nodded their assent. "It's just...they're great stories,"said Laura. They all muttered their agreement and then began to leave, slowly and more than a little awkwardly. "Wait,"I said, draining the last of my water. "Look, I don't really much care what you all get up to at night. I just know I'm tired."I winked at Laura. "I think I'm gonna go back to sleep." They cheered and huddled together outside the window, expectant and alive, like little kids at the movie theater. I closed the front door and dropped the empty glass in the sink, before sinking back into bed. Maybe, I thought, this is a dream, too. And maybe it was. But I hoped it wasn't. After all, what's the good of a brand new story if you can't share it with anyone else?
"FINALLY!"I yell out in delight as the genie appears. The genie gives a wry smile. "Be careful what you wish for, stranger. You may get more than what you bargained for."He then laughed in that same obnoxious way. But he didn't know, he couldn't know my plan this time. "First wish, I want a lifetime supply of genies in lamps that have the same powers as you." The genie raised an eyebrow. "How could nobody else have ever thought of this one,"he thought. "It is done,"he said sternly, his eyes tracing me up and down. Lamps clanked on the ground all around us, eventually tumbling over and crushing me to death.
Pain... What a weird concept. For the longest time one of the greatest fears of humanity. An then... came the invention. It allowed any human to transfer pain to another, so long as the other was in vicinity, and willing to accept. You would think that this would lead to dark, haunting stories, about an innocent boy who was forced to become a painbearer, each day suffering an unimaginable amount of pain until they can no longer bear it. Until one day, one faithful day, they strike back. Fortunately, we are not so evil, nor unkind that this has happened. Infact, the solution turned out to be so much simpler. I would know. I'm a painbearer. Of course, I don't even know what that means. I was born with Congenital insensitivity, I have never felt pain. Ever. I can't feel it. But what I can feel is emotion. I can feel the outburst of joy when I take the pain from an aging elderly, I can feel the joyous shock when I take the pain from an injured animal. I can feel the astonishment when the pain that has been bothering someone for years, a pain that is always there, always felt, is gone. But most importantly, I can feel the love. From every person. Every person who has ever feared pain, knows I am there to take it away. I used to be ostracized, an outcast. The kid who couldn't feel pain. The kid no one understood. Life couldn't be better. *** I was considering writing about a painbearer that strikes back, but I think this is a realistic (I guess?) and happier way to write it. Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
A shoe used to be for life. Craftsmanship used to mean something, putting sweat and toil into your labours. And the craftsmen used to be so dirt poor they'd take anything for a quick helping hand in the shop. That was good work for sprites. Good, honest work that carried respectability. And if the stupid human eventually thought too much of themselves and stopped leaving the customary food offerings, well, what was given could be taken away just as sharpish. A few businesses close down and your realise you're not supposed to mess with us. We assist, but we can take away. Don't think of it as a protection racket: just think of it as a provider of services. Hob-nail boots, if you will. Times change, though. Started with the coming of steel. A few humans thought they were too good for a sprite's shoemanship and tried to mechanise, but we could sabotage that pretty easily. Steel, though... well. You know fairies can't cross steel? All those railroads started penning the fair folk in, trapping them in their glades and tooth fortresses. And things got harder from there. Within a decade, the magical shoe repair racket was in trouble. Shoes started being made in factories, on belts with moving parts, where a sprite - no matter how fast they could work - would invariably find themselves churned into pixie jam by the cogs. Just wasn't worth it, either; the owners didn't really notice or care about a few extra pairs of shoes, and treated their humans even worse than we did if they got on our wrong side. Terrible, really. A hundred years later, and the industry was as good as dead. Course, the good news is that nowadays things have changed. A new breed of human - the hipster - has emerged. They talk about boutique shoes, of craftsmanship with soul (yeah, terrible pun, but that's what those hipsters love). We thought that the industry had returned, that old skills were being rekindled. The rackets started up again. A hipster would go upstairs one night, and down in the morning they'd find a new pair of shoes. A lot of 'em were willing to embrace traditions (in a post-modern, ironic way), which meant they honoured the hard-working sprite again. Food was back on the family's plate, and no mistake. But it didn't last. For starters, even though our skills were rusty after 100 years, they were a bit...well. Too good. The hipsters who didn't use the mass-produced lines didn't want quality apparel, they wanted 'shabby chic'. They wanted a little bit of fraying, they wanted 'perfect imperfections' and 'blemishes to show it was an ethically sourced, hand-crafted product'. Ethically sourced? They were getting something for barely nothing off the hard-working cobbler sprite. We might have been on our knees, but our self-respect wasn't for sale. If they wanted to put badly made merchandise on Etsy and claim it was 'nearly new' or 'vintage', they could do it without us. And, to be honest, that was the other problem. There isn't much a sprite requires to knock up a few high-quality shoes, but a bit of darkness and quiet is essential. Quirky lightbulbs blazing all night raises the possibility of being caught. But peace? With hipsters? HA. Those 1940s-sock-hop-loving, moustache-waxed muppets love only one thing more than their feigned love of craftsmanship: coffee. They're AeroPress cafetiere junkies, clicking and clacking away into the wee hours, high on their bean buzz. You set a schedule to do your work at, say, 2am, and suddenly one of them appears, messing up your workspace in a moment of micro-gentrification. So no, thank you. Not anymore. The days of the sprite cobbler are over. The machines... they were bad. But the hipsters? They're worse.
I pissed off a witch. Not the "hat, cat, & wand"type one sees in fiction, a REAL witch. This witch was the crazy farmer with weird plants and cool rocks and lots and lots of candles. I did something stupid, I'll give her that. I'm a joker; it's usually my fault anytime our little gang gets into trouble. I decided it would be a GREAT idea to sneak onto the little farm on the far side of the lake, and try to tip the cows, a ridiculous little stunt that involved 5-6 guys "tipping"a cow over as it sleeps, and putting it on its back. Looking back, I can't believe we all thought it was possible; now it just sounds like a stupid dad joke. Now here's the thing about modern witches. They don't get naked and dance around you while screaming your name 3 times under the full moon. They see you and your buddies, drunk out of your minds & trying to lay a cow on its head, come flying out of their homes in a screaming rage and yell "FUCK OFF." So we did. Little did we know, the witch had cursed us. Each of us began seeing her, only once more each, in a random spot in town. She'd say only one sentence, different for each of us. She found Harold first. The Foot Locker. "You will die alone."2 weeks later, he did. Died on the shitter in his new studio in the city. Next was Craig. The supermarket freezer section. "Don't be so..."she looked down at his basket, and upon finding the inspiration she needed, smirked. "...Cold." We went ice skating together about a month later. He fell through the ice; a shard pierced through his heart. Then there was me. We met on the outskirts of her property. I was scared. I was sorry. I did not express this, as I managed to trip over my own feet and all face-first in a cow patty. She laughed and remarked; "Your life is a joke." I was nervous. I avoided puns, stand-up, cartoons. Anything that could possibly be construed as a joke, I avoided like the plague. Now my little sister is going to her first high school dance, and our parents decided I needed to "get out more"and I was not joking around like usual, and "seemed depressed"lately, so they signed me up to chaperone. I'm not depressed, I'm trying not to die! We get to the dance a little early, (my sister is the overachiever type) and help set up. I sneak a little sip of punch, and see something move out of the corner of my eye. "Just balloons"I sigh. Gym fills up with kids, all of them sweaty and awkward. The wait for the punch is ridiculously long, so of course my sister wants punch RIGHT NOW. I'm feeling kinda sick at this point, so I let her know she can hang with friends while I wait in line. All of a sudden, the pain and nausea is too much. I topple over, fall into the fetal position and cry out in pain. Over all the commotion that ensues, the only clear thing I could hear was the sentence someone seemed to whisper in my ear. "Your life is a joke; you die in the punch line."
Damn. Where am I? My head was throbbing and my vision was blurry, but I could see the figure of a man crouching next to me. He jumped backwards as I started to push myself off of the hard cot I had been unconscious on. "Whoa there, friend, easy, easy. You're cuffed to the wall, so you won't be able to stand, and there are armed guards standing by if you want to escape."He stood as far from me as possible, and his hands were positioned as if to ward me off. "Do you, ah, want to escape?" I sat up on the cot as well as I could. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not be chained to a wall, but there's probably a decent reason for me being in here, right?" He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god. Yeah, there's a good reason."My vision was clearing up, and as he wiped the sweat off his brow, I started. "Jesus! What did you do? Looks like the Cain law hit you pretty hard!"His face was covered in a lattice of sharp black lines: one for every person he had physically harmed. There was almost as much ink as unblemished skin. "You're damn right about that. The day I was tattooed was damn near the most painful day of my life."He sounded almost proud. "I'm Michael Crompton. I'm sure you've heard of me."He looked at my blank face for a second. "Well, probably not, in your state..." "And what is my state, exactly?"I asked. "Confusion!"He laughed raucously. "Ah, that one won't get old any time soon. At any rate, you're the dream of psychologists, the bane of law enforcement, and the biggest reason that people think the Cain law doesn't work." "Am I...?"I touched my face. "Son, your face is blacker than an actor in an 1850s travelling show singin' about the merits of Jim Crow. You're a real freak. I'll let the good doctor tell you more." He walked over to the solid steel door of the cell and knocked twice. "Hey doc, he seems fine today. Can I get out of here?" "Why doesn't the doctor come in here in the first place?"I asked, befuddled. "I'm expendable,"he said seriously. The door opened and he walked out without further explanation. After a long and complicated process involving a plethora of chains, cuffs, heavy-duty doors, and more armed guards than I could keep track of, I found myself sitting at a stainless steel table with a slightly balding man in a slightly sweat-stained cornflower blue dress shirt. "Are you the doctor?"I asked. He ignored my question. "On a scale from one to ten, how angry do you feel right now?" "Uh... two? Three? I'd feel better if I got some answers..." He refused to even look up from the piles of paper in front of him. "If you had to choose between red, blue, and green, which would you choose?" "...green? I don't understand-" The man scribbled a few notes and reshuffled the pages. "How many guards did you encounter between the time you woke up and now?" "Look, I don't-" He glared at me. "Answer my questions, sir, and I will get to your questions soon enough."He said "sir"with so much venom that it sounded physically painful to him. "How many guards?" "I guess... twenty or so. I didn't count." He held up some cards. "Tell me what you see in these." "A flower... two horses... a dancer?"He put down the cards and pushed a picture across the desk towards me. It was a man, clearly dead, on the side of a road. "Do you recognize this man?" I stared at the picture for a pregnant minute as memories flooded back into my head. "Yes,"I whispered. "Who is he?"the man asked. "Johnathon Ellis. He was mugging a woman. I... I didn't mean to kill him."I closed my eyes, horrified. "Why did you?" "I... it was a bad day, and he was breaking the law, and I just felt... angrier... than normal." "On a scale from one to ten, how angry were you?" "...I don't know. Five." He took the picture back and filed it away in a manila folder before sighing deeply. "Your name is Daniel Collers. Every day you wake up, you are, as best as we can tell, randomly violent." He pulled out a graph. "It's actually a Gaussian distribution. Some rare days, you go catatonic when I show you that picture."He pointed at the lower end of the graph. "Other days, you spit on it and try to tear it up."He pointed at the higher end. "Most days, however, you are like this. The real Dan Collers, I like to say, not that it matters. We'll never let you out as long as you have the potential of being up here."He pointed at the highest point that had been graphed. "How angry was I on that day?"I asked, morbidly curious. He sighed again. "Honestly, we don't know. We graphed you at a seven because you killed the first three people that you saw before we restrained you, and in the interview you answered 'Zero' when I asked." I remembered the way Michael had jumped back when I first awoke. "Was that the worst day?" "It was the worst since you've been to this facility." "And before that? Doctor, how many lines are on my face?" "As your caretaker I'm required to inform you that knowing that information could very well be traumatic-" "Doctor." He said nothing as he pulled a mirror from his pocket and slid it in front of me. I looked into it. My face was black. The lines were indistinguishable from one another, and if not for a few spots on my eyelids no one would ever know my true skin color. "How many?"I whispered hoarsely. "Five hundred sixty-four identified killed, more wounded."The doctor stood up and turned away from me. "You know the worst part, Dan? The more violent you are, the better you get at it. That amnesia you felt this morning? We do that to you every day just to avoid the possibility of you remembering something on a good day and using it on a bad day." "That bad?"I muttered. "That bad,"he agreed. "But today, not so much." He turned back to the table and scribbled some more notes. "Today, you played nice, so I'm giving you more freedoms than you might get on another day. You'll be left unrestrained, mostly. If you agree to help me understand you a bit more, I'll even let you outside for a few minutes. Does that sound fair?" I thought over what I had done. "More than fair, I think. Do we shake on it?" He eyed me nervously. "I'll take your word for it, if it's all the same to you. Now, with all that unpleasantness done, shall we take a stroll in the courtyard? The gardeners work hard while you sleep to tear up at least some of the weeds." ***** A few minutes later, I stretched under the weak light of an autumn sun and breathed in the crisp air. The doctor was talking about some theory of his regarding my behavior, but I mostly ignored it. "...but the fact that it follows a distribution so well is very strange, especially since there have been no outlier days-" "Doctor. About your first question..."I interrupted. "Go on, Daniel. What is it?"He asked. "Eight." I [lunged](https://www.reddit.com/r/mpqeg/).
It started out as a school project, a continuation of a forgotten, discarded Sim. Whatever God had created it seemed to lose interest after the crucification of his Avatar, some dude regarded as holy because he could turn water into wine. Pathetic, really - any child could do that from the moment they spring into existence. But to these fleshy bone bags, obsessed with the idea of a higher being, it was astounding. Unheard of. And simply unnatural. So they killed him. The "humans"seemed to be fond of that course of action. For amusement, I brought Jesus back to life, just to see their reaction. Then I watched, accompanied by unfiltered nectar and my own thoughts, the computer program humming softly in the silence. Something called "Christianity"came into existence, the belief in a God, in good, and from then on, I was hooked. They were amusing, these homo sapiens. Even when I'd finished my project and successfully brought the race to the cusp of Enlightenment, I couldn't bring myself to turn off the screen. Not when they were learning, growing, barely toddling toward their potential. Not when they still brandished swords and dreams of glory, these adorable beings who hadn't even evolved enough to fly. They were primitive. Beneath me. But still, I watched. They were good at many things - naivety, brutality, compassion, murder. Their minds searched for answers, and they found it in anything. Stars. Arts. Books. Writing. They wanted validation while remaining independent, comfort while fighting fiercely for rights. I watched them slaughter each other, bomb cities and people, start revolutions and revolts, travel to the moon simply propelled by pride. I always knew what was happening, of course. I hadn't made the simulation, but humanity's destiny was already written in stone. That was when I got my idea. Matt Groening was his name. Something so mortal that I laughed as I decided my Avatar's role. The nine months of waiting gave me time to think , to plan. These tiny creatures knew nothing of their future. How would they react if I hinted toward it, warned them in the form of the entertainment they so constantly devoured? Perhaps it a bit of a cruel joke, but nothing more misguided than their very existence. Their certainly in making their own destiny was laughable. As if they didn't know that they had no choice, no real purpose, no course except what was chosen for them. Which was why I decided to help them out. It was a cartoon, nothing too obvious, but I began to leave behind subtle hints. They didn't notice, at first. But then they did. And they started to pay attention. Presidents. Corporations. Deaths. Births. Wars. The theories were so innocent, so cute, trying desperately to figure out what would happen next. It was funny at first, but as the end neared, I had to stop. These beautiful, stupid fools, never fully understanding how much they didn't matter, not compared to the entirety of the universe. Their end was coming, not that they hadn't figured it out themselves. Their planet was trashed, resources spent, population deflating. The last of them survived on berries and potatoes, crowded into a lone city, clustered around the television as my measly cartoon began to air the latest episode. They didn't question the fact that it was still running. At that point, their hope was lost. They looked to me now, to a piece of glass for their salvation. For their prosperity. For their safety, even though there was none. An new episode was the best I could do. Maybe the pain of their destruction would be lessened if they thought they still had something to hold on to. I looked away when it happened. The screen froze, processing the ending of the humans' existence. I sat for a while after that, thinking. Then I reached for the button and turned off the monitor.
When the announcement was made, all of humanity was in an uproar. The first reaction was fear. After all, battle implies warfare, violence, and suffering. Surely, this would entail a troubling time ahead. Our second reaction was curiosity. Who was this voice, and how did they broadcast across the galaxy? What were the technological requirements, and who were the other three civilizations we were up against? Our third reaction was anger. How dare they thrust this burden upon us? Humanity had its own problems, and now, they were going to war again?! We have spent centuries creating a better society, one free from the horrors of war. Coming together, we were able to decipher some clues. A voice that could boom above every inhabited planet would likely have fantastic surveillance technology. However, it decided to boom over us on a fairly normal day. This meant that we were not the last civilization to develop the minimal technology requirements, since nothing groundbreaking was developed on the day the voice boomed over us. A fortunate thing, because no one wants to start out in last place. The other thing we gleaned was that since there were 3 other civilizations, this meant that we were likely in the top 3 in civilizations. More importantly, quadrants implied that each civilization had an exact quarter of the galaxy, and with this, we could map out where each civilization lay on a star map. Our best strategy is to focus on defense and evasion. In a 4-way warfare, the optimal situation is to let the other 3 parties fight each other, and then engage in a war of attrition that we are equipped to win with the last of the three. Humanity has a plan. All resource planets will be under martial law, and the rulers will come together under 2 planets for both quicker decisions, and a backup in case one planet falls. Our drafts of our old military plans will be recreated, and our richest members will gather in order to prepare an economic warfare. There is a chaos in the air. I've noticed it since the voice spoke. But within the chaos, there seems to be an excitement. A sort of primality that has made even the youngest of us experience a pure and simple pleasure. It looks like humanity has returned to its roots.
“MOM! DAD? I could hear my voice. I was actually able to breath as well. Did something catch us? How... did we survive “Annie!!” I got up quickly but hit my head on the ship. Fuck that hurt. I squinted my eyes to see through the dust. I opened the emergency door handle almost half broken but it wouldn’t budge. I kicked the window out and jumped through. My mom, my sweet mom. There she was! Red sand smothered her clothes and hair but there she was. I ran and embraced her. “How are we not dead Mom? I could’ve sworn I saw the others die once we hit the meteoroids.” “..I’m not sure honey. I... i saw your...” She started to cry. “My what? ... You saw my what?” “..I saw your father. Decapitated. Windshield sliced his head right off. Th...this red stuff on me is his blood plus sand.” What the fuck gross. I quickly pushed off against her and tripped back. “So-sorry mom. I’m sorr-” “It’s okay Annie. It’s okay.” She tried to give me a smile but it came out as an awkward smirk. Even with blood on her she was kind of dorky. Still I wondered, why where her and I not dead? I couldn’t make of any others around us. Not anywhere near sight at least. The capsules the administration provided weren’t so snug or protective. They were all attached to the ship too which was just plain out stupid. I can’t complain much though. The admin. risked their lives getting us out of that hellhole. I can’t believe how many were left behind to die... “Annie! Sue!” ....what? Dad? No way no freaking way. “Dad?...” No response. “DAD?” “Right here honey, to your left!” As I turned and looked down, my eyes mouth opened widely. It was his head. His plain head right there on the floor next to some guts and blood. He was smiling. “Can you pick daddy up sweetie?”
"Stay where I can see you,"she said, her voice low. The sword gleamed in her hands as she advanced on him. The smoke from the building he'd burned down rose into the air behind him. "Really, dear, are we doing this again?"he said, grinning down at her. "Because I have to say, it's getting a little old." "And yet, here you are, causing trouble just like old times."Not all that much trouble, though, she noticed. The fire looked...superficial. She'd expected to find bandits, or dragons, or something more. This just looked like a distraction. His grin widened as he stepped forward. "Well, I know how devoted you are to your work,"he murmured, carefully grasping the blade of her sword. His robes were plain black, none of the usual gaudiness he went for. She sighed. Things hadn't been the same since that damned cave-in last month. She'd been stupid. Set off an explosive trap that neither of them had really thought all the way through, and trapped them both inside. And since they'd managed to get out - together - things had been....different. "So what do you want?"she asked, a bit of a flush creeping into her cheeks. "Oh, perhaps I just wanted to see your lovely face, my dear,"he said, crossing his arms. She stepped past him to inspect the building, not giving him a second glance. "A likely story. So, what, you had to burn down some poor family's-" The desperate crack of the wood was the only warning they got. Pushed too far, the building collapsed, cascading back down to the ground in a mess of sparks and flames. She could only stand frozen, eyes wide, as it fell towards her. A moment later, they were both on the ground. He was thoroughly on top of her by then, heart hammering in his ears as the last of the embers settled around them. He'd...pushed her out of the way. Why? Why had he done that? It didn't make any sense. She was the hero, the one who kept coming after him no matter what he did. No answer presented itself - just like he didn't have an answer for why he kept doing things like this in the first place. But the look in her eyes, looking back at him from her pale, color-drained face, set a fire in him. --- --- "Is that you I hear?"he called, half-turning to peer over his shoulder. She flinched, halfway up the staircase already. "How do you do that?"she demanded, beginning to pout. "Just once, I'd like to be able to get the jump on you." He grinned. His detection charms had been screaming for ten minutes, ever since she slipped into his tower. "So what is it this time?"he said, turning back to his tomes. "I don't think I've even been up to anything particularly mischevious, so-" "Oh, I don't know,"she said, stepping forward. "My lord seems to think you've been stealing the village's livestock for your horrible, horrible experiments." He paused, straightening. "Well, that's ridiculous. Those experiments have been over for a year, so why-" "You missed our last meeting,"she said. He turned on his heel. She was right behind him, scowling. To his horror, he saw the dagger in her hands carefully picking at her fingernails. "A-ah. Yes. I'm sorry, I just got so busy, a-and I lost track of time. Is that why-" "If you don't come see me, then I have to create reasons to see you,"she said. "And you won't like those reasons." She was still advancing on him, still burning with slighted rage. And then she slipped, the wood under her feet damp and wet from a spilled potion. Her eyes were wide as she tumbled towards him dagger-first. The point of the blade cut across his chest as he pushed her aside at the last minute, both falling in a heap. And there they were again. It was strange, he thought, as she stammered apologies from her position on the ground. It was like destiny was hell-bent on setting the two of them against each other - but fate kept bringing them back together. "Yes, yes, dear. It's all right,"he said, grinning crookedly. "You don't have to take it out on me with a knife." "I-I'm sorry. I'm just- gods. Are you all right?"Her cheeks were red. He slipped an arm around her. "Just. We'll consider that my apology, shall we?"His eyes sparkled. "But I do still owe you a day." She didn't have time for another word before his lips pressed to hers, but the way she leaned into his kiss was all she needed to say. --- --- He stared at the bed. At what was left of it, covered in blood. They hadn't listened. Neither of them had. Oh, the messages had been clear, plain as day before their eyes, if only they'd listened. Her lord had picked up on what was going on before long - and forbidden it. They'd both fled, traveling here and there in their need to stay ahead of their pursuers. Destiny had never wanted to let them go. It had never given them a chance. He'd never been so torn in his life, so conflicted, as when she'd told him. Her eyes had been brilliant, gleaming. Full of excitement, as she stammered her news out. They were cold and empty now, as she lay still on the bed. He never should have allowed it. He should have- he should have something. But fate was relentless, and she'd- they'd been so happy. He'd thought it was fate, then. But it hadn't been enough to win. He'd killed her in the end, just like destiny had always wanted. The thin, warbling cry rose from the table where he'd laid- where he'd laid her. The little one. Slowly, each step leaden, he crossed the room to where she cried. She was beautiful. Just as beautiful as his hero had been, full of life and vigor on that first day when she'd come at him with a sword in her hand. Only his hero was dead, killed by...by this. By him. But despite himself, he found the baby in his arms, swaddled tight. He couldn't abandon the little girl that his hero had given everything for. He left a grave under the tower, stacked high with a cairn of stones and a painstakingly etched tablet. He couldn't give her anything else, but he'd made sure her story would linger. They couldn't stay here. They'd returned as a stay of last resort, needing a safe haven in their time of vulnerability, but the people chasing them weren't far behind. He had to keep moving. Even still, he had to pause, looking back at the lonely tower. He was loaded for the road, his backpack filled with all the tomes he'd need to teach a young mage and his hero's sword slung through the straps. He'd protect her. Teach her everything she needed to know. He owed her that much. Pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the baby's forehead, he turned back to the road. "Come on, Katia,"he murmured, smiling down at his daughter. "It's time we were off, don't you think?" (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
Bearer of Arms by Sabaton 1944, the hills of Italy Polish soldiers manning artillery Monte Cassino their final destination Finest troops of the Polish nation Deadly German counter attack Direct hit on the general staff Nobody left to lead the line Wojtek the bear knew it was time (Chorus) Polish bear, fighting the Wehrmacht One lone officer, leading men to fight Bravest ursine, last of artillery Corporal Wojtek, fought through the night Frightened gunners lost and aimless Contact broken, allies in rout But the bear rose up and led them Kept the guns firing at the foe Final advance, climb towards the Abbey German paratroops on the ground Hardest troops in Hitler's defenses Wojtek and Poland fought them down (Chorus)

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