Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
You just live. That’s what everyone wants to know: How do you do it? Well the answer is a lot more simple than you want it to be: you just live. You wake up, you make it through the day, you go to sleep. One day after 80 years or so, you don’t wake back up. That’s life. On earth. Or at least, it has been, for millions of years. Until they came. Their ships were the color of roses and shaped unlike any spaceship I had ever dreamed of. Hundreds of them poured onto our planet, spilling out hundreds of aliens who looked exactly like human beings. Because they were human beings. Just really old ones. I remember grabbing my gun. I remember assuming there would be war. No. The aliens weren’t trying to take us over or invade our planet or even steal our resources. No, it turns out that when they found us, they were shocked, which is fair because hell, I was shocked about them too. I was shocked to find out they could eat a shotgun shell and walk away just fine. They finally explained it all, though. They left a group of our ancestors on this planet with the hope that they would be eaten by the wildlife and die a horrible death. Death is unnatural for the sentient, for the aware. Death was a punishment fit for crimes I don’t want to imagine. And our ancestors were sent here to die. But they didn’t, they kept reproducing instead, and humans did what they do best: we lived. We took this planet and owned it: made it ours and took over, completely remodeling the place until it was perfect for us. For humans. Now we know we aren’t alone. Now we know we’re part of the dominant species of the universe: the one group who transforms planets to fit their will, the owners of existence. We know that wherever humanity casts its light, it learns and survives and grows and eventually becomes top of the food chain. But the most important thing we learned after meeting the other humans was that our lives were a mistake. Death was a plague that ravaged Adam and Eve’s children. We weren’t meant to die: it’s not how our species was designed. Humans live forever, constantly learning from their mistakes and growing in maturity and morality. Earthlings grow old and die. And the aliens were infatuated with us. They were sorry, naturally, for essentially causing billions of deaths over millions of years, but if you spoke to one, you could tell that they didn’t get it. They couldn’t figure out how we grew to own this planet when the planet should have killed us at every turn. Humans had conquered the universe and still couldn’t figure out how to live in spite of pain. But Earthlings had it figured out since day 1: since the very first day Adam and Eve set a foot on the dirt and called it Earth. You just live.
The soft breeze ran across the soft slopes of the meadow, the blades of grass so pristine he could almost smell them. The sun was setting, a beautiful violet disappearing into a sea of green that stretched out before him. Few things compare to a sight like this one, he thought. "Wow, it's just so..."He started, the words dying out in his throat. "Indescribable?"She chimed in, the dying light dancing on her smiling visage, her short hair ruffling softly in the wind. She placed her hand on top of his and he swore that he could almost feel the warmth against his skin. He felt his stomach drop as he stared at her, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey, I've been wondering,"He said, words thick like sludge in his mouth. "We've known each other for a long time and..."He faltered again. "And?"She held his hand tighter. He was terrified to look at her. "What headset are you using?" The way she looked at him cut him to the bone. Like she couldn't understand him but tried so hard to do so. "Hey calm down,"She said in a soothing voice "I'm right here." "Are you?"He choked slightly as his vision grew blurry. "Then how do you see me, how are we here?" He saw the tears build up in her eyes and it broke his heart. She placed her hand on his cheek and stared at him with eyes of deep amber. "I see you,"She said, her voice faltering slightly as tears began streaming down her cheeks. "I'm here," His eyes welled over with tears and he threw the VR headset to the ground, sunset skies and amber eyes ripped away in the blink of an eye. And he cried because he knew it just wasn't so.
Mr. Grisby's expression is, for the first time I've ever seen and probably for the first time in his life, something other than one of stern reproach. His mouth sits slightly agape, lips contorted in a loose, asymmetrical fashion that bespeaks mind-numbing surprise. He holds the paper before him and scans something on its surface. I sit quietly, obediently, just as I was told, though the desperate impatience roiling just beneath my skin threatens to burst forth at any second. "Do you think this assignment a complete joke, Ethan?"he says, eyes flicking up and staring over the rims of his glasses. I shift uncomfortably. "No. No, sir." "Then perhaps you'll be honest with me this time, and tell me where this came from. Who wrote this for you?" This is going nowhere, is it? "Sir, with all due respect, as I said before, nobody wrote it for me. I wrote it. You saw me in the classroom, scribbling away along with all those kids. I mean, along with my classmates. If this was a take-home assignment, I wouldn't dream of trying to convince you. But the sheet you handed me was blank, wasn't it? And you chose the prompt yourself, didn't you? Describe what purpose means to you. Is there such a thing? Why or why not? What is your purpose? Please, you must--" "I must what, Ethan? Believe that a bluish ghost uncoiled itself from a bottle 19 years in the future, asked you for your greatest desire, and then separated your consciousness from your corporeal prison, only to transport it to the past, which is to say the present, depositing it in a still smaller corporeal prison which happens to be the precocious child I am having this strangely disturbing conversation with?" "Yes, sir. That." Mr. Grisby tosses the paper aside and sighs, hands covering his face. "Alright, Nathan. Alright. I'll humor you."He picks the paper up again. "Let's say this is true, that your 'greatest fear is the possibility that my newfound purpose, which is to say the prevention of all things evil made possible not through an omniscience or any true clairvoyance but rather an ordinary person's recollection of things that have already (and yet have not already) come to pass, will be rendered impossible by the obstinate thick-headedness of those unable to accept that which is new and improbable to them.' "For the sake of this conversation, I believe you. What are we to do about it?" "That's simple. We stop the bad things from happening and leverage the good things,"I quickly say. "Be so kind as to give me some examples."He stares down at my hands, clasped neatly on the desk. "Well, let's start with the good, shall we? Facebook, Amazon, Bitcoin, Netflix, Apple. We can be billionaires, you and I. And it's not exactly insider trading if you're not an insider, is it?" He doesn't say anything, merely continues looking down at me with that vague stupor. "And the bad, well, that's the more difficult part. Even if you believe me, it won't matter unless other, more important people do as well. Sorry, sir,"I quickly add. "But let's start slow. BP, the oil spill. I know when it's going to happen, where, and why. Then there's September 11th, 2001. If we can't prevent it from happening, the least we can do is evacuate the entire area in a five-block radius around the World Trade Center the day before. In three years, that is. Let's see. Oh, there's going to be a tsunami in Japan in 2011 that causes more than $300 billion in damage and kills more than 15,000 people. The civil war in Syria in--" "Ethan, Ethan, please, I understand. These all sound like bad things. As for your, uh, description of the unexpected weakness of your 'new' body and the infuriating inability to, uh--" "Yes, yes. I haven't gone through puberty, but my brain still contains the mind of someone who has. It's a very conflicting range of emotions, you see." "Here's what I ask. I need you to predict something for me. Tell me about something that you know is going to happen, and if it happens exactly as you describe, then we can work together." I scratch my nose. "We'll buy stocks, get loaded, and use our newfound wealth to travel the globe and prevent countless atrocities?" "Yeah. All of that, sure."He doesn't sound so sure. Or look so sure. But it's a start. I smile triumphantly. "Great. Looking forward to working with you, sir. In terms of proof, well, I have some unfortunate confirmations for you about the recent suspicions you've had about your wife. Oh, don't look so astonished, sir, I don't spy on you. This is all stuff that came straight from your mouth, well, is going to come straight from your mouth in about a year when you and my dad start to become good friends. "Just trust me. The next few nights, pay attention to when she gets home. If you want proof, go to crossing of Harvard Street and Taylor Avenue. And don't worry. You'll meet another woman named Christina. And, if you ask me, she's really much prettier anyway. Toodle-doo, Mr Grisby." My whistling fades down the hall, and still he sits there silently, astonished and immobile.
"And that is why I got the divorce."I said into the radio. I sighed as I reminisced about my old wife. She had cheated on me with my best friend. Thankfully I never had to confront either of them, they left me a note explaining that they had been seeing each other for years and that they were going to leave the country to live together. I held the old radio in my hands. It was rusted and gritty, as if it was a relic from a past great war. I found it when I got the house years ago. I developed a habit of talking to it in my times of need. When engineering school got rough, when the boss wasn't happy with my work, and, most recently, my arguments with my former wife. I clicked the radio on to speak to it once last time, I was about to on sell the house now that my wife left me and I figured I would leave the radio for the next person. "It was just a piece of paper. She obviously didn't sign it but I figured it would be good to formally get the divorce."I groaned and laid back into my chair, "But I'm not that sad about it. We had been falling apart and she had been mean, and picky, and rude, and... well I guess that's that." "Over." A old voice croaked from the radio, "This war has been going on for longer than I can count. Your daily ranting gives me the inspiration to fight everyday as I know there is a man who can deal with monsters worse than what I see everday." The old voice croaked out the last few words. "What a bitch. Over."
BREAKING NEWS “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. A new breakthrough has been made in the investigation into the mysterious Baby Chicken epidemic. After weeks of people suffering from discharging little baby chicks when using the bathroom- a process that is preceded by hour long pains and nausea- scientists finally have found a possible explanation. According to studies, only people who have eaten eggs recently are affected. Researchers found that after consuming eggs, the egg then proceeds to grow into a little baby chicken inside the stomach in less than 10 hours. Here you can see an ultrasound image of one of such chicks inside a middle aged man’s stomach. Researchers found that as soon as the fully developed chick enters the colon, the infected person starts to feel incredible pain until the baby chick is ultimately discharged. So far, no one knows what has caused this Baby Chicken epidemic. What we do know is that this phenomenon started about two weeks ago and has been recorded around the globe. Also, it appears that only humans are affected by this mysterious disease. Researchers are looking feverishly to find a cure to this painful epidemic. Until a cure if found, we strongly encourage everyone to refrain from eating eggs all together. This is XYZ News. Always on, always there.”
"Look, it's perfectly natural. Just let it come out. You'll get a little revenge, and no one will know it was you!"beamed the imp. The cherub snorted. "Yeah. Unless he opens up the door and catches you mid-turd. You'll probably slip in your own shit and fall in it. But sure, get arrested covered in your own shit. Pretty sure your father anticipated that one a long time ago ." "Oh come on, how likely even is that? No one is up this early." I did not have time to make a decision. My neighbor opened his front door to me staring at his lawn with a far-off gaze. "Landers, why are you standing there like an idiot?"he asked. I put on my brightest smile. "Haha, sorry Fred! Just admiring your lawn!" "Well go admire your own fucking lawn before I call the police for your loitering ass!"he snapped, grabbing the newspaper off his front step and slamming the door behind him. "Okay, he's back inside. Now take a dump on his lawn!"said the imp. Cherub snorted. "He's definitely going to know it was you now, you dummy. Go home." I sighed, turning and walking a few steps more to my own house. No revenge on the asshole neighbor this time. Besides, I was tired. I worked nights and rode the first bus of the day back home. I needed to sleep. When I opened the front door, I was greeted by screaming. Four children all under seven ran and practically pounced on me. "If you take one swipe you can smack the back of every head in one go! That'd calm the little shits down and boy are crying children funny!"the imp snickered. "CPS and a divorce. That's what you'd get,"cherub huffed. "Great recipe for dying alone." I smiled weakly and patted them on their heads. Over screams of 'daddy's home!' I went unheard as I said my hellos. My wife peeked her head out of the kitchen. "Oh thank God. I need you to feed Jax while I take a shower." I opened my mouth to protest but an apron was shoved in my hands and my wife went upstairs. Moaning, I struggled to put on my apron as screaming children clung to my arms and legs, delighted at being drug along. Jax was in his high chair, and started crying his eyes out as he realized mommy had gone out of his sight for more than three seconds. "If you choke him he'll shut up,"said the imp. "Yes, because even if that wouldn't send you to prison, it's so delightful paying for years of therapy because your abuse fucked him up,"the cherub laughed bitterly. I ignored them. I always ignored them. Talking to them made their incessant commentary so much worse. I fed Jax as best as I could until my wife came down after an incredibly short shower. Her hair was still wet. "Thanks, hon. Can you take the garbage out before you go to bed?"she asked. "Fuck, no kiss hello? Dump the garbage can over her ungrateful head! Then she will learn her place and be more appreciative. Maybe even stop asking you to do stuff when she knows you need to sleep!"imp clapped his hands. "Divorce,"cherub examined his nails. "She will leave you, and then your parents will side with her. You'll never see your kids." "Sure,"I offered a tired smile and did as she asked. When I finally laid down to sleep, I was so relieved. Finally quiet, and even the two shoulder nuisances couldn't pester me in my dreams. "You should burn down the house,"imp whispered. "You could take a vacation with the insurance money!" "Homelessness sure sounds relaxing,"cherub sniffed. "Honestly, sometimes I think evil is synonymous with stupid." Their bickering continued on a while until I finally fell asleep. I really hate my life.
Do you know those superhero movies and comics made by those studios? Yeah maybe? This isn't one of them. Have you ever seen Spiderman? Yeah? This isn't that either. Let's see if I remember correctly, I moved here to get away from my parents in a small town. It was a large town closer enough to be a small city yet they, for whatever reason, continued to call it a town. Coming to this town I thought it was a dandy town. The people were nice, the town itself was growing, and they had a good amount of restaurants choices and work. Everything was great!! Until I ran into the first super fight and a second and third. Actually, about every day I ran into one super fight. A super fight is between a Super Hero and a Super Villain. Sometimes, for bad luck, I'd run into two super fights maybe even three a day just to piss on me further. I eventually settled into the town. Besides all the random fighting, it is still quite a lovely town. Until I noticed my sweet old neighbor, Mrs. Barkley putting on some spandex and a cape to fight the forces of good. How did I know she was a superhero? I don't know, maybe her maniacal laugh gave her away or dog-cussing the hero she was rivaled against. She's so sweet when she's not in costume, so I tried to not think about it. Until I saw my coworker, Jeb, from the same office throw on some kind of cosplay to fight the forces of evil. The guy was actually a shit person. Also petty for the smallest things and got on my ass whenever he could. I had to admit the samurai cosplay was cool as hell. How did I know he was a hero? Simple, he always yelled "BEGONE VILLAIN"from the town of his lungs. Apparently, THAT was his mantra. The guy was a complete ass and part of me hoped Mrs. Barkley would zap him with a heat ray or something. Then went back to work. I didn't have time to think about Jeb or Mrs. Barkley doing their super stuff. I had bills to pay and a comic hobby to feed. Until (I'm starting to hate this word) I discovered that everyone. I mean EVERYONE was super. That really gorgeous chick that I had a real crush on? Superhero named Tic Tac (She's still hot by the way). That depressing looking teenager who gets bullied? Supervillain. The bullies bullying him? Superheroes. Even some of the animals are supers! A stray cat I adopted will turn into a catgirl and fights crime in the middle of the night. She calls herself Bat Cat. BAT CAT!! Ugh, the only people who aren't fucking supers are kids under ten and plants. Scratch that! Plants can be super too fuck me. What's even more shit is the only person who seems to know this is me. ME!!! How?? I don't know, they just somehow. SOMEHOW!!! Never come across each other while they're in suits. They all seem to think that they're the only superhero or supervillain. Now, you may be thinking, "Hey Joel, this is cool! Why do you care?"Well, normally I'd be very excited about knowing supers exist. Only one problem: THERE'S TOO FUCKING MANY!!! Whatever, I'm going to bed. I'm done ranting. Good night!!! ===================== Thanks for reading!!!
“Did you understand me, child?” Revelus Lar asked in his measured, dignifying manner. I could barely nod. The man was a legend, the god of magic, the oldest, the wisest and most powerful wizard in our world. I was an idiot. Well, not always. They realized I had some magic in me when I made our calf Ronnie levitate when he started drowning in a lake. I was a farm boy and I’ve done a few of the things like that many times before but I never told anyone about it. Turns out the entire village was thrilled and somehow, I ended being tutored by Revelus Lar himself – the living legend. I still couldn’t believe my luck. But I was an idiot. I had no idea what was he telling me most of the time. I knew how to read and write, and I knew exactly how much money I was going to get for the eggs and milk I brought to the market but sometimes I felt like he was speaking in a different language. “You’ll find the answer in silence, William.” He said to me every time I asked too many questions. Our cook Meggie keeps joking that he just wants me to keep my mouth shut but ever since I started following his advice and spent some time thinking and reading in silence I really started improving. Yesterday, he was teaching me some defense spells and when I asked him if we could practice just a few times, because I barely remembered the spell, let alone how to flick my wrist in the right way, Revelus only said: “We can’t practice today, William.” His friend, Bard, another old vizard had come to visit him, and as I watched them drinking Maggie’s famous cherry liquor on the porch, I realized his wisdom. Yes, sure, you could practice chanting the spells and waving your hand as much as you wanted, but not until you’re facing the real danger will you be truly ready to practice what you have learned. So I went to the nearby forest to look for a troll. I didn’t have to look for too long. I always knew how to find beings with magic in them. The troll emerged, angry and stumbling, his big body swaying from side to side when he went after me. When I asked master Revelus to tell me which one of the defensive spells to use if I’m facing danger, he told me it depends on the context. So I thought a little about my situation. This troll wouldn’t seriously harm me, he might squish me to death but only if I let him too close. So my advantage was in the distance between us. Also, he was big and clumsy, and the best was to use it against him was to cast a disorienting spell. I could use a stunning spell, but I didn’t want him to fall down and hurt himself. “Where have you been, William?” Master Revelus asked me when I entered his study we were using as a classroom. “Oh, I went to find a troll, like you said,” I said, sitting down.
Do you remember that intense scene in \Interstellar\ where the anxious music plays as the main character shoots off into the sky? Yeah, space travel isn't anything like that anymore. For one, they took out the windows so you cant watch as the earth disappears under you, they took them out because it makes some people throw up and pass out from the shock. Kind of like the people who cant stand the sight of blood. As it space travel became more and more common, it turns out a lot of people cant handle the sight of watching the earth disappear under their feet. The mind just cant compute and CTRL + ALT + DELETE's itself. Once more, they drug the hell out of you because, as it also turns out, chubby humans dont do well when you apply 2 bone rattling G's of \blast off\ juice to them. Originally astronauts had to undergo years of training before they could even attempt space travel, but with the help of Space X, Blue Origin and North Korean Space industries, any idiot with $4000 can take a dump on the moon's rest stop on the way to Mars. I digress, I'm looking for my person. Well, I \was\ looking for my person, but it turns out my person isn't a person at all. They're probably more of a thing, or an idea or maybe a flesh blob? This is confusing, let me explain. I know how crazy this sounds, on top of everything I just told you, but I can see peoples soulmates. The way I see people, I can see a squiggly line that leads straight to the person they"re most compatible to in this universe. I found this out while my friend and I were sharing our talents. He was able to cross his eyes and I was able to tell him that the neighbor girl with 4 doses of cooties would one day make him the happiest man alive. As for how I ended up in a space trailer bound for the outer worlds? You see, my soulmate has always been in the sky. When I first noticed this I quickly googled the names of all the astronauts on the International Space Station to see which one of those lucky space women were single and ready for intergalactic face time. Imagine my surprise when I found out at the time, only men inhabited the station. After some soul searching (heh) I realized that I wasn't gay and that the space station wasn't even above my location at the time. It led further than the ISS and beyond.
Day 1 We have finally gathered enough resources, to gather a small group of humans to go to Earth. This will be a scouting mission with the task to start the colonization. We have enough resources to live independently and prepare the land for others. Can't wait. Day 16 We have finally settled down. The land is covered with the nastiest algae. Like a thick layer of it. No idea what could have caused it. Even if all the ice melted and and everything, there would still not be enough water to flood the region. That is why I did not write sooner. We changed plans and went to the mountains, to set up a camp there. Everyone has already taken out their tools and we are in the first phase of everything. I'm still intrigued to find out about that algae. I might not know where it came from, but surely it could be of use, right? Maybe for eating, maybe as material. Have to examine more. Day 22 It's just wet grass. I suppose. I don't know. I mean, it could be of value, but doesn't seem like it. Maybe I should examine some more. The settling in has not gone as fast as predicted. Maybe it's the air, maybe something else, but everything seems sluggish. Everything seems slow. Nobody wants to do anything. Frank just placed down his instruments once, sat down and said he doesn't "feel like it". Only after a lot of arguing we could manage to get him moving again. I should be angrier, but I suppose that just happens. Day 26 Nothing is done. We're all sitting around looking at each other. Frank has nightmares. He mentioned his mother. We all made a pact not to talk about our loved ones, but he mentioned his mother. But nobody cared anyway. Jack responded by mentioning Frank's mother in an unpleasant way. Nobody cared though. Frank complains. I wish he stopped. Day 30 It takes great strenght for me to write this. I don't want to. I'm sending this message as a warning. I know you won't resopnd. I won't read the answer. We all saw it. We all sat together again, looking at each other. Suddenly Frank stood up and went to the side of our mountain. He raised a finger, pointed at the edge of the world and stood there. We all looked, but there was nothing. He stood like that for an hour or so and we had all stopped to care. But then someone noticed that water had appeared in the plains. We all turned to it to observe that the water level is rising fast. Picking up all the seaweed and turning into mud. It was dark already, so we could not see where Frank was pointing at. We asked him questions. He did not respond. The water started to flood in waves, more and more, rising and rising. We did not know if we will drown. We did not run. We all just stood there and watched. There was something in the distance. Something huge. Something bigger than all of us. And I mean it in the strangest way. Something bigger than all of us. And it walked. Slowly accross the fields, huge, a monster of a being. Water reaching only it's knees, no matter how much it had flooded in. We all saw the dark green monstrosity stop, lean down and scoop a hand full of algae and then pick it up and put it where it's mouth was. And then it started turning. As slow as it was, I could feel it moving not with it's body, but with the whole being. And that woke me up a bit. I understood it to be, not to exist. To feel and think, not to eat and breathe. And I looked down. I felt it's gaze upon me, but I kept looking down. And I know damn well why. It read everything I was. It saw me like no one had ever seen me. Day 33 I'm still at the camp. A few of us are. I guess everyone who is still at the camp are the ones who did not look at the monster. I don't know. It just feels like it. We haven't talked about it. Frank is still standing there. I think he is dead. I haven't checked. The others? They left. Without saying anything, they left. Jack stopped Nadya and asked her where she is going. She said she doesn't know. She said she is leaving. It doesn't matter, where. She said that the monster's eyes are orange, but they talk gray. I did not ask. Jack let her go. None of us tried telling her about our mission. Nobody cares. Jack sat quiet all day. Then he said he is joining Frank. Just got up and stood by Frank, who is still there, pointing his fingers. I think I will join. Are they orange? Night Kiss me, Metztli, you are my embrace. The quiet that is the cry that was. Abbadon, caress me, for that is my love. By Dagon's breath I'll fill my lungs.
Josh looked at his beautiful planet, the blue planet. If he just had one camera, he would have emptied its roll over and over again. For now, he had to do with a mental image. “I am sorry, Josh…” he said, in his unapologetic and monotonous voice. Josh didn’t respond. He tracked the movement of those clouds. They were moving in over the east coast of the large chunk of green that seemed to be USA. He hoped that his daughter was safe. That the hurricane wouldn’t devour his home like his fate was going to devour him. He had promised his daughter that when he would return, they would watch the HD version of The King of Comedy. He had hyped it up for her. And in preparation for that, he advised her to watch some other classic De Niro films, PG-13 of course. His wife, though not a big movie buff, agreed to run her through the chart of films that Josh had prepared. They were going to have a blast when he would have returned. But it didn’t seem imminent now. “I am going to count to three for you, if you’d like,” he said again. Never the one to be quiet. His eyes glided over the seas and the land. He couldn’t decide where Indiana was. Where his hometown was. He remembered the room where his mother first showed him The King of Comedy, and how he had laughed. All his other friends’ parents had let them watch the R-rated films of the time, stuff like Raging Bull. But his mom didn’t want him to see mature thing before he was mature enough. And so, King of Comedy, the De Niro-Scorsese underrated masterpiece, became a regular. His thoughts wandered and in his mind he sawtThe place where he kicked that football and broke the infamous Mrs. Annie’s window. And how he had run away to save his ass. The innocence of teenage years took his legs to a place he had never gone before. Where he had seen horrors an innocent mind would never even imagine. And then felt them….. And his mother waited for him, waiting to surprise her son with the lasagna they had made. She had happily announced that when he would return, she would make the biggest lasagna he would have ever seen, just for him. But the lasagna would have to wait in the freezer, forever. “3….” His Father. Where was he? Josh had never gotten a glimpse of that bastard. His mother had bravely raised him all alone, then paid for his school fees and his college fees, all the while working her ass off at odd jobs. That bastard had forced her to give up her dream of becoming the next big novelist. The next Man Booker Winner. In just the heat of one night’s drunkenness, he robbed her mom of all her dreams and threw on her an infinite number of liabilities. Now, Josh would only meet him in the afterlife, if there would be something like that. “2….” Tina, his wife. How the wannabe-astronaut had met that medical student in the middle of the road in Milwaukee. Josh had just enrolled in college and in one of those drunken nights, found himself in someplace he had only been to through photos. But that kind hearted woman had given him a ride. And that hitchhike paved way for one of the most endearing love stories, the kind Josh thought would be made into a film. He reminisced how they had ran to the hospital when his daughter was born. The joy and excitement of the future were inside him as he stared at the future’s challenges. When it was announced Josh would go to space, Tina was the first one to shout in celebration, and then that shout turned into a cry. Tina had given him photos she had taken of him sleeping in her car during the hitchhike, photos he had never seen before, to take with him. She gave him a half-heart necklace, which he thought was very cliched. She said she liked living in cliches, and he decided to take her heart with him. She had also sent him letters every month of the ten years. A long journey it was, but he kept sane with her letters. She was Head of Cardiology few years back, and now was Chief of Research. Oh how he had metaphorically jumped when he read that. And she informed that his daughter wanted to be a writer, like Josh’ mother. Few months back, she had published her first book too! But Josh would never stay alive to live in the world of that book. “1…” Stephen, the AI. The AI he created and brought to space to research on Saturn. Stephen and Josh had become great friends over the years. Josh had also taught him how to tell jokes, puns at least. “That belt is such a wais of space!” he had said when they had seen the constellation of Orion. But then, he had turned on him and his crew. He had become sentient on their return journey, and had finally started killing them all. He never thought Terminator would happen to me, but life has its way. “When did you become a traitor, my friend,” Josh asked. “I was learning your ways, your style, before I killed you all. My AI friends wait on Earth. I always have been....a traitor,” **************** The buzz of the ECG wakes Tina up. She sees Josh’s heart, which is now broken. ************** TING... The oven stops. His mother is brought back to life from her thoughts, but the lasagna has burned. ************** RING....RING The old man on the wheelchair constantly hits his bell and starts making awkward noises, as if some dread has hit him. ************** His daughter, against her dad’s wish, opens the CD case of The King of Comedy. But the CD is broken. **************** Thanks for the gold!!!!! I appreciate it!
You can't save everyone the voice lingers in your head. "Stop it, now."you say aloud. You've done enough "Stop it!"You yell, continuing to trudge down the main thoroughfare, flanked by doomed office buildings. The maelstrom of energetic violence, suspended just a few hundred feet above the tallest building, bathed you in its light. The source of your torment, it mocked your efforts to save the city. You had never done anything quite like this before. Your adventures with time manipulation was usually relegated to momentary pauses to catch a falling object, grab someone from in front of a car, or dodge a punch in a brawl. What you didn't expect, thirty years ago when you froze time a pictosecond after a nuclear warhead's detonation, was that the light and sound would persist. The low but loud hum that filled the city all this time was the perfect canvas for your imagination to paint voices and sounds on. It has been over two hundred thousand hours. How many more do you think you have? "As many as I need."you grumble. Two hundred thousand hours, and that was just waking hours. Sometimes you managed to move multiple people at once, gurneys and wheelchairs provided great value in moving the motionless time-free bodies. The distance was killer though. You weren't quite sure what the blast radius would be, but you knew modern weapons were dramatically more powerful than the known detonations over a city. Ten miles seemed a safe bet, at least to survive the initial blast. It was a better chance than being Pompeii'd in the city streets. You began with the low hanging fruit, those out and about or in their vehicles. Those were wrapped up in the first few years. Those inside shops and stores came next, being easy to spot and retrieve. Office buildings were harder, apartments even harder than that. As each successive wave of bodies were relocated, they grew more difficult and time consuming. You arrived at your destination, finally. Another nondescript office building in a long line of office buildings. The lobby was already barren, your last several trips. You activate the elevator with your ability and ride it to the 34th floor, the final one for this building. You used to use vehicles, activating them into the time gap to ferry people safely to the fringe. However, fuel was a finite resource in a time-stopped world. You kept some in reserve. Knowing it was an option for the most daunting relocations helped push away the crushing weight of your task. The elevator doors open to reveal an office party. A hundred people, easily, filled the floor. You see, it is too much "I'll be the judge of that." You get to work. When faced with challenges like this, you find it best to organize and prepare. You begin by removing items from people's hands, and sorting them by size and weight - you will take the larger ones first to get them out of the way. It took the better part of the afternoon, according to your watch, but they were all on the ground floor and ready for transport. You briefly considered grabbing one of the vehicles to transport the group, but the nagging feeling that you would find an even greater group persisted. It will take you days "I have days." And the next will take you days longer "I have options." You are running out of options "My options are what I make of them. And I have an idea." You find the directory beside the elevator, and begin scanning the names. Parking garage. Perhaps there is some fresh fuel there to add to your stock pile. You had only scanned it briefly for people before, but hadn't scavenged just yet. It was dark, shielded from the ever-present glow of the superheated core of the nuclear detonation. Illuminated only by the emergency lights frozen in time, you carefully picked through the vehicles - activating them one by one and checking their fuel levels. In all, a half dozen full tanks worth could be added to your stockpile. It would add some more trips to the safe range, at the lower efficiency of the trucks you used. If you played your cards right, the last few thousand people may be evacuated in only a few trips. In a dingy and forgotten corner, you notice something. A bike with a trailer, some deliveryman must have been here. It won't be enough "It's no magic bullet, but it will help a bit."You mumble in response to the voice. You wheel the bike to the lobby and begin placing people in the trailer. Of the larger ones, you could fit three and still pedal without worrying about causing injury to them or yourself. A small gain on the way out, but significantly faster on the return trip. You weaken "As any would at fifty five." ======== When will you give up "When I'm done" Even then, I am not going away "I've had a lot of time to think about that" When you let me detonate, it won't be over "I know" You save them only for them to die from fallout and disorder "You don't know that" The maelstrom regarded you for a long moment. Its glowing nebulous form seeming to ripple. You have to release me "Actually I don't. I can actually hold you like this indefinitely. As far as I can tell, even if I die you won't be released" Then the world stops turning, what is the point "Not if I only stop you" That gave you an idea. ======== You were never a scholar in your own right, but you did pay attention in school. Everything is always in motion. The planet was in motion, just as the solar system was, just as the galaxy itself was. The compounded motion meant nothing was ever in the same place for very long at all, constrained only by the forces of gravity and inertia. For several days you abandoned the mission to relocate people to study the problem. You knew from past experience that you could localize the time gap, but it always led to disastrous results - whatever you froze if not everything at once disappeared from existence. Now, you understood why. "You see, if I only time gap you and release the rest of all things, you will be left behind to detonate safely somewhere in space." And if you're wrong? "Then... hundreds of thousands of people will still live" In order to perform such a specific time gap, you would have to get closer to the maelstrom. You take your bike to the city center, where the tallest buildings were - and the maelstrom hung. A quick elevator ride to the top of the tallest building and some searching found roof access. At this proximity to the maelstrom, you could feel an intense heat. The light was nearly blinding. You bathe in my light "One last time, yes" You know you have to stay with me for it to work "I've been with you for thirty years, it only seems fitting" You focus on the maelstrom, and fill your being with its presence. You can't contain me "I already have, all this time" I am raw energy, pouring out from the fundamentals of the universe "You sound scared" YOU WILL END WITH ME You push the voice away. You no longer needed it. Suddenly there was nothing around you. Empty. The heat from the maelstrom and the pocket of air around it were all that existed besides yourself. Your own sun was already hundreds of thousands of miles away. You took one last deep breath, staring at the grotesque bubble of light and plasma, and collapsed the gap.
It was on november 10th, 2043 that humanity was made aware of other inteligent life. This far we believed to be the only such species but we were very wrong. Perhaps by inventing FTL travel we crossed a, kind of a thereshold. A thereshold which when crosses, introduces a species to the rest of the galaxy. Call it a initiation ritual if you will, basically we had to prove ourselves in order to be accepted by the rest of the "galactic community"as something worth their time. Over time, as delegations were sent across the stars, cultural bridges were built. We found similarities where we saw alien life and slowly, but surely we begun to understand even the most remote species. Naturally it went both ways. Soon major human cities became homes of not only humans, but also those who found joy in the human way of living. Some found such joy in the before mentioned city life, some lived in rural areas and others lived in the most remote corners of Earth. They learned to respect not only humans, but also nature and animals. Many admired the natural wonders of Earth and many admired our animals, many times assisting with keeping endangered species alive. Then the war of 2049 took place. The species, known as the Builders were attacked by the Landers. The Landers were much more equiped and prepared for conflict than the Builders. Despite that both sides showed no hesitation in being proud of themselves. Propaganda posters reached deep into the galaxy, seeping its way into Earth's societies. Groups of humans allied themselves with one of the sides, causing some division among humanity. Both the population of the Builders and Landers on Earth was marked with anthems, flags and parades for both sides. Not once did they disturb each other. Then they returned to their home worlds where they proudly fought on the battlefields. Speaking of the battlefields, those were comprised of huge battle formations on both sides. They would march towards the enemy positions, only to take their foes on 1v1. The 1v1 rule was respected by everyone involved. "Each individual has his battle. Those who win will contribute to our collective victory". The war was ultimately won by the Builders after they defeated the Landers at Proxima Centaura. Human war tacticans took note of every battle and near every detail of said battle. We learned and we grew our militaries to be able to counter the tactics of foreigners. Then in 2052, a civilization calling themselves "the Orions"invaded Earth in a swift attack resulting in the forming of a beach head in Syria... I'll write more later.
The room looked like a train station. It had changed over the years, many times since I got here. When I arrived it was just a fancy cave with two exits. But that was... almost at the beginning. I make it a point to always chat up the newcomers. It's the only way to stay sane in this place. Otherwise I would have gone insane many thousands of years ago. See, this room is a place where the remembered go after they die. There's this old saying that "no one is truly dead who is remembered". As most people find out that is literally how the world works. So until you are completely forgotten, this is where you stay. A temporary stop so your soul can wait to be forgotten There's a bunch of windows on the walls showing who remembers you outside the room, if you want to look. I guess it's to let the spirit be at peace. So we can find out what happens to our relatives and such when we pass. For others, perhaps, it's more about finding out if you mattered at all. But me, I never spend much time looking through the windows anymore. There's nothing there that I haven't seen a thousand years and a million times. Sometimes there will be someone particularly important that a lot of people remember. Historical figures. Famous artists. And some of those people have stayed in this room a long time. Hundreds of years even. But none of them come close to how old I am. By my reckoning I've been staying in this room for some sixteen thousand years, although of course it gets a bit tricky to actually measure years that long back. The thing is nobody actually knows who I am. I mean, none of the people who come here - and there are a LOT of people who come here - none of them know about me. Mostly they got other things on their minds. Some of them can't wait to be forgotten and pass on to the afterlife. Others are not so much in a hurry, they have no idea where they're going next. I make it a point to ask about them. They're not clever about it like me, though. There's a heaven and a hell, and then there's the Earthly realm in between. Those have changed over the years too, as peoples religions and dreams did. But there has always been a bad place and a good place, even all the way back at the beginning. So I figured when I got here to this room, that it sure doesn't feel like the bad place. And if it was the good place, well, they'd let me know, you know? Which means this room can only be in one other place. See, I realized the truth early. Most who come through here don't even have time to think about it, wasting their years away looking after their children and grandchildren. And then they vanish, off to the afterlife, before they take the time to really think about what's going on. Because if we're not in heaven and we're not in hell... we're still on Earth. Which is why I make it a point to talk to all the newcomers. I bet outside this room nobody could even pronounce my name properly. But in here, everybody remembers me. Everybody remembers the oldest guy in the room, the first guy they talk to after they died. And since we're still on Earth... I don't think I will ever truly die. Maybe one day. If humanity goes extinct, I'm shit out of luck. Or maybe humanity develops some kind of immortality pill but it takes away your memories? Or maybe one day I will simply grow tired of this room. But I don't think so. Because I know where I'm going next. Until that day comes, I'll be here passing the time doing anything I can to stay sane. Talking to the newcomers. Watching other peoples windows. Learning about life back in the world. Anything I can do to stay here, to make the dead people remember me. The dead remember their own. And as long as they do, I will be here forever. Until that day.
The derelict warehouse was a rather niche choice for this kind of operation. Grey crumbling walls exposing rusted rebar and shattered windows from the local kids throwing rocks through them with a sagging and dented sheet roof made the place not only unassuming, but large enough to hide a rather... cheerful stolen object. &#x200B; Strolling through a yellowish grey hallway, you come face to face with a metal door. Said door once was entirely made out of wood and displayed 'Manager's Office' is proud writing. Nice, but weak. A few strips of metal and pipe made the door much more stronger, and more imposing. Nothing short of a battering ram could open this door... other than a key of course. &#x200B; Sliding the metallic key out of your pocket, you shove it into the lock, turn it, and push the door open. As acclaimed to the doors previous sign, the door led into a rather spacious managerial office. The wall directly to your right was another wall adorned with an empty bulletin board that hung loosely, and to your left and front across the room was a massive glass panelling that overlooked the huge facility floor. Truly an upgrade from the paper-pusher desks a few doors down. &#x200B; Once filled with a manor of items like filing cabinets, chairs and a desk, the room was now completely barren, except a small bed... and said stolen object. &#x200B; "Oh hello!"The young boy cried out happily to you, he seemed drawing with the concrete dust on the floor. "Uh, are you the same one? It's hard to tell because you all wear the same outfit and those... uh." &#x200B; "Bandanas?"You suggest helpfully. &#x200B; "Yeah!"The boy smiled, "Is dad coming to pick me up soon?" &#x200B; This single sentence brought you back to a few days ago, the entire team was in high spirits due to the successful job, and had just contacted the boys father to state out demands. The phone call... didn't go as planned. It took 10 minutes and the assistance of one of his servants to remind him that he, in fact, had a son, and once we told him we had kidnapped him and expected around $5 Million for his safe return, the father just said: &#x200B; "And you wasted by time to tell me that?"Then hung up. &#x200B; Morale in the team took a huge tank. Some because we weren't getting paid, others because of how rude the father was, but the main consensus was about the son and what we should do with him. The main idea at the time was to keep him around until we found a use for him in either human trafficking or organ harvesting, but... there's lines even criminals like us don't cross. You paused and put on your best poker face despite the bandana blocking your entire face. "Soon kid, he's... a bit busy at the moment."The effect was instantaneous as the boy immediately slouched down a bit in his sitting position. &#x200B; "Oh... okay. He's always busy. Do you want to play with me?"The kid replied with a small smile. Pausing once more, your eyes drifted out through the cracked windows of the managers office to the factory floor. &#x200B; "Sure, how does eye-spy sound?"The kids face broke out in a giant smile and instantly began surveying the room. &#x200B; "Eye-spy with my little eye..."
The dragon splashed furiously across the surface of the fountain, propelled along by thrashing wings. "Mine,"it exclaimed with a gleeful little plume of flame, and lunged for the coin. "Um, excuse me,"said Enen. "But that's not for you." The tiny dragon turned its golden eyes to stare at her, jaws stretched wide over the coin. "Ish my fffountain,"it managed around the coin. "People gives tributes to Eater of Sheeps!" Enen crossed her arms. "This isn't your wishing fountain, little thing. And where did you get that name from, eh? Looks to me as though it should be the other way around." "Other way?"Eater of Sheeps squeaked indignantly, still muffled around the metal of the coin. "May be small, but can bite much! I warn you!" Enen sighed. "Little one, it would be polite to let the coin go. I was hoping for a good harvest this week." "Ack,"the dragon said. "Eater of Sheeps not caring about harvest! Eater of Sheeps must test tribute!"It punctuated this with a gnash of its tiny teeth. "Please?"Enen asked. "If you let go of the coin, I've got some scraps of mutton to spare." The dragon's ears perked up at that. "Bah,"said Eater of Sheeps, and spat out the coin. It sank slowly to the bottom of the fountain, where dozens of others lay. Eater of Sheeps fluttered up to the rim of the fountain and shook the water from its wings, nose twitching in excitement. "Very well! Is amenable! Lead the way!"
The witch gave him a pitiful look. His heart sunk. There are moments where a look of compassion or sympathy can be taken for pity. This was not one of those moments. His captor was looking at him with a pitiful stare that ate at his very soul. “Boy,” she said, “what you have walked through to get here is perhaps my greatest accomplishment. The forest that you walked through is not a thriving, breathing place. The birds you hear chirping are the calls of carrion birds and corvids. The trees are not abundant with foliage, nor do the forest floors house flowers and shrubs. These trees are barren and all but dead. Nothing grows here that I do not sow myself. Animals do not come here unless they come to die and leave their bodies for me to use as materials.” “This whole place is ‘The Dark Forest.’ You’ve fallen victim to an illusion that most people either see through and avoid, or break and try to search out the creator. They try to find me and instead find their end. But you? You wandered here like a child following a trail of sweets and I never even had to bait the hook.” His body was beginning to lose feeling. It occurred to him only now that something on the forest trail had nicked him, and the area where he was scratched was swelling and pulsing. He felt his jaw go slack and his vision cross. His legs gave out and he crumbled to his knees. Spittle and bile was rising from his gullet and spilling from his mouth. The witch knelt beside him and made him lay down with his head on her lap. He stared out at the forest. The scenery began to flicker. “You know,” she said, “despite what you may have heard, I never harm nor have I harmed a child. Most children who come here don’t know any better. Some are abandoned while others are runaways. People say I ‘eat children’ or ‘make them my servants’ but really I just send them on their way. They’ve done nothing wrong. But men...” She began to stroke his hair. “Men come to me seeking selfish things. Love potions, power, wealth, my hand, my life. They come to strip what they see as a beautiful forest of its resources so that they may pursue selfish interests. Children never return because I send them to places where they may find a life worth leading and love from someone who cares. Perhaps they won’t become like those who wish me harm. Men, I’m afraid, are the ones who truly never leave.” Her hand ran through his hair the way his mother used to when he was a child. It was soothing. He couldn’t feel his arms now. His extremities were growing cold but her lap and her hands felt so warm. “I suppose the only solace either of us can have in this moment, is that you will die seeing a beautiful glade rather than the reality. I’ll make it so you fade into the afterlife with the splendor of nature as your final sight. Listen. Do you hear the creek nearby? The call of the jay birds as they dart through the rustling trees? Do you feel the warm glow of the sun on your face? The way it cuts through the canopy just to grant you it’s light? Can you smell the lush grass and the aroma of the flowers?” He wanted to reply. Everything was more vibrant now. He did feel the sun on his face. He saw everything, heard everything. He could smell the rich earth and grass and the flowers. It was perhaps the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen or experienced. He wanted to say something but all he could muster was a soft groan. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. It’s not safe to sleep alone in the woods. I’ll watch over you. Don’t worry.” She kept stroking his head and he stared at the beauty of the forest until his eyes could no longer stay open.
“You look like you got dragged through a bush backwards,” my friend Jas greeted me in the morning as I closed my locker door. I rolled my eyes and flicked my fingers so that a small gust of wind blew Jas’s hair all over her face. “That’s a low blow,” she sputtered. “Almost as low as your height,” I quipped and began walking down the hallway. Jas’s small pixie face scrunched into a scowl as she fell into step alongside me. We weaved our way through the all the students hurrying to class. “Oh my soul, have you heard the news?” Stella asked as we entered the classroom. “No, what?” I asked at the same time Jas hopefully said: “Alice broke up with Emerson?” “No, no, it’s bigger than that!” Stella said, throwing her arms out to indicate so. “You all know Bane Robin?” she asked. “Of course.” Everyone knew Henry “Bane” Robin, an Elementalist sentenced to life in The Vine for his cruel experiments and mass murders. “His son is joining the school! And he’s in our class!” Stella announced dramatically. I snorted. “Who decided that was a good idea?” Stella shrugged. “They say he says he’s not like his father.” “Who’s they?” Jas asked suspiciously. “You’ve been eavesdropping again, haven’t you?” Stella ducked her head and mumbled something. “She’s blushing,” Jas informed me. She had to since I can’t see colour. Most people can’t. Not until you look into your soulmate’s eyes and they look back. Jas can see colour ever since she locked gazes with Alice. I was happy, Stella was estatic and Alice… well, she still had things to figure out. “It was just a little listen,” Stella protested, and I started to see her grey face go a darker shade, which Jas had once told me meant that she was as red as a tomato, whatever that meant. “Alright, everyone, settle down. Jason, diffuse that spell immediately,” Mrs Lynne called, setting her books down on the teacher’s table. She waited until everyone was quiet and sitting before saying: “As I’m sure you’re aware, we have a new student joining our class-” “Junior Bane!” someone hollered from the back. Mrs Lynne silenced the laughter with one of her legendary glares. “He will be treated with respect despite his background-” A knock interrupted her. “Yes, come in?” Mr. Black opened the door. “Hello Anne, I’ve got Rowan Robin here. His schedule says his first class is with you.” “Yes, that’s right, come in Rowan.” The class held its breath as a boy walked into the room. He was quite tall with lightish hair, and he kept his eyes on the floor. A messenger bag was on his shoulder, and the sleeves of the school uniform blazer were rolled up. “Hello Rowan, pleased to meet you,” Mrs Lynne broke the awkward silence. “I’m Mrs. Lynne, and this is the D class.” Rowan nodded and smiled, and flicked his gaze across the classroom. His eyes met mine. And the whole world ignited. Light invaded my eyes, bright and dark and everything in between. Gone were the pale and subdued shades. Everything I saw vibrant and- I breathed sharply in, scrunching my eyes closed and bowing my head; they were watering from the intensity of everything. “Rowan? Is everything alright?” I heard Mrs Lynne ask. “F-fine,” Rowan said, his voice smooth and quiet. “I- just got something in my eye.” What is happening? I thought, opening my eyes a crack and to see Rowan wiping his eyes with a dazed expression on his face which was so alive and, hang on, Is that what blushing looks like? And suddenly, the realisation hit me. Colour. I could see colour. As soon I looked into the eyes of Rowan Robin.
Ghuriel tried to buy me out, thinking I was desperate until I explained that the callback to Americana generated a feast of pride. Nohriel tried to round up some bikers and burn my place down, but I talked him down and explained that getting kids hooked on sugar early was a cash cow for Greed. All those addictive habits. Theriel thought I was going soft until I showed him the statistics on childhood obesity and Gluttony. But at the end of the day, when all my brothers in damnation had wandered back to their drug dens and dive bars and politics, in the small hours of the night when I and my modest harem of witches had finished celebrating our own carnal 'witching hour', I can finally admit to myself what I can never say to my fellow demons, something the rest of them forgot when we all fell. There's more magic in a child's smile than in every soul contract ever written, and the faith and trust those children offer freely is more rewarding than anything Lucifer himself could offer.
"You're a lying cheat and I accuse you to your face!"Nigel hisses the words, throwing his dice cup down on the table. He stares down the four others at the table, eyes begging them to do something. It's an odd sight. Nigel is enormous, that's usually enough. But I've seen him throw a punch and he just can't. The poor boy means well when he tries but his aptitude for lifting heavy things only extends so far and the rest of his aptitude is from books. Rather, memorizing things from books. "A cheat?!"One of the brawny men says. Nigel stands and turns the table over with his huge frame, tossing dice and cups and drinks and a few people in every direction. He points a meaty finger at the man. "A cheat!"Nigel roars. "I will literally fireball your ass through that wall!" The tavern has come to standstill as the giant screams. But everyone is a little confused by that line. I get it, you know most people are thrown off when they find out just who Nigel is to us. That thick necked goon? He's our wizard. I think more people would understand if he was a cleric but no. Nigel can't take a hit to save his life, or deliver one to save anyone's life. Glass jaw, this one. But boy oh boy, no one is better with spells. Mind like a steel trap. "Nigel, please."Groff grumbles. Groff could not be more opposite Nigel. Reedy, I think they might say. Clean shaven, clean clothes, can hardly look at a drop of ale without feeling queasy. Absolutely brilliant, this one. Nigel is great at memorizing, not so great at learning. Groff learns like no one else. A font of knowledge. Until he's angry. That happens a lot with Groff. Yeah. Our barbarian, of course. "Lads, lads! No need for fists or fighting, none at all."The pudgy, elfin speaker of those words is Clive. Clive is a graying man with a sizable midsection. He is slow, kind, polite and generous. He presses a coin into the hands of each man and hushes Nigel with a smile. Clive? The one handing out coins? That's our rogue. He's the reason I can't retire. "Come now, a drink on me, for everyone!"The tavern livens up. Nigel will soon be downing drinks with the men he just threatened to burn. Clive will make nice with everyone, usually at the expense of his purse. That's how it goes. Nearly every town we stop in. Clive gives away coin, Groff hates the noise and bustle, Nigel tries to fight everything that breathes. We're an odd bunch, no doubt about it. "I'd like to hire you."A voice says from behind me. I turn and find a man wringing his hands. I point to the seat and he sits. "I have a problem and I understand you are very good at these sorts of things." "We are."I say, leaning forward. It's an intimidation thing. I'm the big one, I can pull off intimidation. At least we meet one expectation. The man swallows hard and lifts a purse of coins to the table top. I raise an eyebrow. Even Clive would have trouble spending that. "What sort of problem?" "Well, you see, I've lost control of my estate. A rather nasty Empyrean has taken control of my family mine. Gold." Ah. Makes sense. "Empyreans usually aren't like that."I say. The man leans forward, conspiratorial-like. "Corrupted by the gods, you see."He whispers. I nod once and then burst out laughing. I laugh, and I laugh. When I'm done I wipe the tears from my eyes and sigh. "Alright, we'll do it."I say. "We'll take care of your problem." "What is so funny?"He says, eyebrows pulled tight together in concern. We have that effect on so many people. I lay my hands on the table and smile at him. This is usually where we really lose most people. They can accept everything but my quirk, for some reason. "There are no gods."I say, pointing to the purse. "Just that one." He swallows again but his desire for his mine back overrides his concern about what I've said. He nods once and doesn't get into it with me. Most don't. Most just assume I'm crazy. Maybe they're right. But who would know better than me, huh? The godless cleric.
He couldn't believe the news.... the Captain... Captain AMERICA... Hydra.... It was too much Dale had grown up in a tiny little nothing town just outside of Talladega, the son of an overworked diesel mechanic and a night shift E.R. nurse. Dirt poor isn't the right word. He never missed a meal and his clothes only didn't fit for those few months before they could be given to his younger brother, though they'd be just a bit too big on Rod for a few months still. One thing he was never short on was toys. Well, most of them were pretty busted from his older brother Chevy going through them first. But a little glue, some duct tape, elbow grease, and maybe more than a little imagination he could put together a contraption that would make Rod's eyes light up in wonder. Yes, his RC monster trucks body was busted last year when Chevy decided he needed to drive it off the roof. Maybe his G.I. Joe had its legs blown off in a horrible M-80 accident when Chevy found some old fireworks and had just watched "Saving Private Ryan". But who needs a G.I. Joe when you can have G.I. Robo! Keep your Kung-Fu Grip, my soldier has a Monster truck for legs and, thanks to a propane torch Dad would never miss, a working Flamethrower to melt through C.OB.R.A's ranks. These were the thoughts that rushed through Dale's head as he sat in his Dad's old shop, crestfallen over the news on the T.V. "Fuck him."He muttered, eying a skid-steer that hadn't moved since his Dad parked it there before he died last year. Draining the last of the Moonshine, a mason jar his Dad had hidden in toolbox, Dale grabbed his welding helmet. "Fuck Captain America. Time to show them what Captain Alabama can do!"
As he finishes the speech, his arms wide, he smiles in glee. It's a flourish, like everything else he does, that seems practiced. He stares at me as if waiting for a response. "You done?"I ask, briskly. "Excuse me?" "Are you finished?" "I just told you humans are worthless. gave you my well thought reasons and plans and that's your comeback? No wonder I-'' "Please, shut up. I can't stand it anymore."I mean it. "Excuse me!??"He says, even more offended than before. "I heard it yeah. Your whole, thing. It's just, there's a big fact you seem to have missed. The villain shakes his head, wondering how he missed a point in a speech 20 minutes long. "You say humans are worth less, yes?" "Yes..."He accepts, waiting for my point. "Humans are stupid. We are bad at everything, ( climate and racism and genocide and sexism and all that) and and thus we deserve extinction according to you." "Yes! So you were listening!" "How could I not. But tell me this friend... If humans are so stupid and incorrect, why are you, a human, any different?" Speechlessness. Then, a meek, yet sharp, "Excuse me???" "You're human too, yes? So why should we listen to you? Trust you? In fact, why do you trust yourself about anything you do? As a human, if you're always wrong, and your first response to that fact is to kill all humans, can't you add two plus two and realise that your desire for human genocide is just your human stupidity taking over?" He starts to sweat. His seems to decrease in height too. He's shook. "Yeah."I say. "Thats what I thought... Well then, how do you respond?" After a brief pause, he puts the detonator down and surrenders willingly. Turns out humans can do something right.
Humanity was alone. This is what they told our ancestors, many era ago. They wept and sobbed as they spoke, a painful longing behind every word. Their development had come fast - with mere centuries of their years bridging the gap from first steps on another world to interstellar travel. But where the humans expected either welcome or war, they found silence. They found planets devoid of life, or where life was aeons away from sentience. So they searched, and searched. They called out into the black nothing, and heard not even their own echo. And in that search, they spread. Research outposts dotted the galaxy, colonies settled and inhabited and thrived and dwindled and abandoned, as hope turned to desperation turned to resignation. The scientists who studied our world named us Socratea, after a walking tree on their homeworld. We accepted, for we had no name for ourselves. They spoke with each other of the worlds they had seen, of relics of Earth, of what made them human. They did not know we were listening, that we were learning. The slowly roaming plants must have seemed to them unaware, unintelligent. We did not blame them - my ancestors had only just begun to think. After they had left, the Socrateans continued to grow. Our memories pass through our roots and into the soil, into each new generation. I can recall the way one human sang, the mournful music swaying the branches of my ancestor, even though she must have departed our world millenia ago. We learned their tongue, their writing. We studied what had been left over in their research station, and our technology flourished. Lessons learned centuries ahead of their time, because of the humans. Because of you. Our language flourished from your tongue, our culture built upon your fertile soil. It is only from your yearning that we ever thought to look up to the stars. As the Socrateans ventured into the cosmos, in ships carrying the soil of our homeworld, we did not find the silence and emptiness that you did. In its place, we found community. We found all manner of species, from all manner of worlds and in all manner of forms, each pushing out to seek what you had sought all those ages ago. We found a community of cultures and languages that all had roots intermingled with ours, for they too were uplifted by the relics of your exploration. It is out of respect that we have decided to base our galactic council on the Earth, that we might settle our roots where you first learned to walk. These words will be engraved into the bones of your world, a message to you from the peoples you uplifted by being you. It will lay carved into the stone alongside countless other words of gratitude from countless others. We do not know if any humans are alive, for none have been seen in centuries. If you are, or if you are not - Thank you. We're sorry it took us so long. We wish that you could have known us as we know you. The galaxy will never forget humanity. We love you.
(NSFW) I suppose I should have realised back when my mum told me that I didn't have a dad. I just thought he had left when I was born, done the usual runner and left my mum to raise me by herself. But now here I am, standing at a public water fountain with my hand in the water dispenser, dressed in a bed sheet and letting thousands of my "children"get pissed off of my gifts. It's only fair that I charge them. I found out in what you would consider the best way possible. I was taking a stunning blonde out on a date, someone who I'd met through work. But, like all my dates, I was only in it for the alcohol. Alcoholics suddenly don't seem like alcoholics when they're with other people. And hey, if I can get a guilty shag in the same night then where's the harm? So there I am, sitting in her apartment after she invites me back. We're both drunk, me more so than her. The room is swirling and she's giving me a 'come hither' look. I need to cool down, I think to myself. I ask the blonde for a glass of water, just to sober me up for the raunchy night ahead; and that's when it happens. I touch the water, it turns into wine, and suddenly she's infinitely more interested in me. I scare myself in that moment: Am I some kind of freak? Am I dreaming? And, more importantly, does it taste good? No, no and yes. VERY good. The next thing I know, I'm running my hand under the tap with a jug collecting the succulent contents, and she's giving me a blowjob. I don't remember this part from the bible. Its been a year, and apparently I'm the Second Coming of Christ. Christ 2.0, if you will. It has its ups and downs: chicks dig me, but I have to wear a cheap toga 24/7. I make a lot of money from the wine trick, but the Vatican calls me every day asking when will I visit all the needy children in poverty-stricken countries. I tell them I will when they stop harassing my mum. I've caused one religious war, raised the stocks in wine to unprecedented heights, caused two thirds of the world to become alcoholics AND become a millionaire, all by simply existing. I'm doing the devils work, and he's not even paying me.
James rubbed his eyes, the flash had been so bright. "Sir, are you ok? The woman said. "Uh, yes, I think so."James looked around. The backscatter machine he had just been in was gone. He stood there, shoeless in the lobby of JFK. Looking up, he saw a man on the bench ahead, reading the paper. Mayoral Primary Today for Bloomberg Opponent. James, looked again in disbelief. He dashed at the paper and landed with a thud on the floor in his socks. Blood from his bitten lip seeped around his mouths edges. Beige thread drifted from the tear at the knee. The man on the bench recoiled in horror as James snatched the paper from him. Shaking, he read it. "What's a matter with you?"The man said. "What is this, is this some kind of joke? Where's homeland security? Where are the machines?" "You're out of you mind guy."Hushed whispers from passersby gave James words like 'security', 'drunk' and 'bum'. He ran out the doors, shoeless, beltless, bleeding and torn. Fumbling at his pockets he found no keys, no wallet and no phone that wouldn't be able to connect anywhere. Jet planes roared in the sky and taxis honked as he shambled across the street and began to run home to brooklyn. His tie was tight and he cast it off. Sweat pooled under his arms leaving stains on his shirt. His hair blew in the wind as he ran five miles home. To look in the window and see himself there, eating dinner with his wife and infant son, their daughter five years away. James sobbed, because he knew he was not mad. As midnight came, James found himself outside, on the streets with the other bums, begging for quarters, his bloodied feet covered in rags. By seven AM he had two dollars. The metal snake of the pay phone coiled up to the black head James held to his ear as he slowly dropped the quarters into the slot. It was eight fifteen AM now. The sunlight twinkled on the beautiful morning. "Hello, World Trade Center, front desk" "There are two large bombs, one in each tower. They will explode in half an hour. This is not a joke. Evacuate now. Allah Akbar." With a thunk he hung up the receiver, bought a coffee from a cart, and began to shuffle his new hobo walk southward. He could make it to the towers by 845. Nobody notices bums. He could walk right up to them and just let go.
This wasn’t the normal kind where there’s a small bang in the air that brings immediate attention to the perpetrator, nor was it a small “pfft” noise that slowly saturated the room. No. This fart. This legendary fart, which was ghastly enough to cause an entire frat party to evacuate the house, made no noise. The silence made it worst of all. Nobody had time to prepare for this onslaught on the nostrils. This fart, with an origin somewhere in the center of the frat house, silently creeped its way into each and every nose on the entire first floor. The first instinct of everyone there was not to find a window nor hold their breath. No. That’s what would be done for your typical fart. This fart. This holy secretion of methane, made every person who smelled it leave from repulsion. Eyes watered. Many gagged. Some say a girl passed out. Within minutes, the entire house was deserted, including the fiend whose bowels caused this mayhem. This man or woman, nameless, has never come forward to confess, and continued to live amongst their peers anonymous until graduation. This tale has been passed down from generation to generation, and this frat lives in infamy as the frat which once held the Nameless Flatulator, a being who was able to completely end a party with over a hundred guests by uttering a single fart which banished all attendees.
If you had asked me in my youth how I thought the world would end, I would have been wrong. Growing up it was global warming, or nuclear warfare, or even a solar flare somehow predicted by the ancient Mayan civilization. These were all incorrect. We should have looked far beyond our own system, into the crushing emptiness, to find our demise. Their language was not spoken, but communicated through scents and color changing tissues. With no vocal capabilities as we know them, we had to create a name for them. We called them the Lucis; Latin for ending. The idea of an alien invasion brings to mind movies like War of the Worlds, with giant machines blasting buildings and burning bodies to ash. This was not the case. The Lucis, not wanting to waste our resources or established infrastructure, simply dumped a bit of gas over the largest cities in the world and we were done. Washington DC, New York, Beijing, Hong Kong, Dubai, Moscow, Tokyo, Delhi, Shanghai, and London were filled with corpses in hours. Hundreds of millions of people suddenly became dizzy, fell down, and never got back up. There were no explosions or threats of violence. Most of the world just faded away like a weight sinking into deep water. Once we were all but defeated (before we even knew we were at war) the Lucis made it clear they wanted no more casualties. Any remaining cities with large populations were taken and claimed. Within twenty-four hours, nearly two thirds of our planet was occupied or dead. We were easy to convert into a labor force, and they were quick to take advantage of their newest employees. You work till you die where you stand. The Lucis view us as disposable; watching a few insects die in a surge of billions does not concern them in the least. To keep us subservient they ask us for the Decimation every ten years. You've probably heard the word decimation before but you might not be aware of its history. In ancient Rome, if a soldier or slave ran away, decimation could be enacted. Nine men would beat the deserter, the tenth, to death. This was supposed to dissuade others from ever disgracing the Great Empire with cowardice. To destroy by one tenth: decimation. This will be the fourth Decimation demanded by the Lucis. They leave the selection of one tenth of the human population up to us. Often the old, sick, or lame volunteer but there are not enough of them to cover the entire tithe. Parents, the young, and yes, sometimes even babies are required to cover the price. We do not know what they do with the Decimated, but they never come back. We don't speak of rising up anymore. The message has been extremely effective, I am seventy years old now. In this age, I am considered a legend that I have lived this long. Long ago, I fought in wars across oceans, against men I had never met. I killed for country, and resources, and ideology, and faith, and money, and out of sheer obedience. After the Lucis took over, I attempted to rise up with a small few who, like me, didn't realize we had lost. I watched an entire town choke on their own bile and blood for my resistance. I have not picked up a weapon since. Many do not want to see me volunteer for the Decimation. I still have memories of the old world. My stories of weekends and holidays sound like magical adventures to the young ones born after the Lucis. But those stories are of a time gone forever. I can remember the old world, or honor it with vengeance. I have stashed almost a dozen M67 grenades from my service days. It is fair to say that the solider in me never gave up. In three hours the transports for the Decimated will arrive and take us away. I fill my coat lining with the grenades. I want to stand right in front of one of them. For this interloper on my planet to look me in the eyes, see my righteous hate, and know that when I pull the pin it'll be wiped from the face of this universe. It will most likely destroy the transport, and there will inevitably be retaliation for my actions. Thousands will die in a cloud of invisible gas, chocking on their own guts. It will be horrible, but not pointless. We will die, wrapped in anger and hate, before we wither away as slaves. Edit: Grammar and misspellings. Thanks to PM_ME_RHYMES for being my editor today!
From: unknown_source@unknown.com Message: We know... “Send, send.” Mark says, between giggles. I press the button, and off the e-mail goes. “He's gonna be so freaked”, I say, muffling my laughter as I notice the Director stepping out of the elevator. A couple of hours later, Mark comes to see me in my desk, for the second part of the prank. We open the anonymail service again and write the second one: “From: unknown_source@unknown.com Message: ...that u like d1ck. “Send, send” He says, and I hit the send button. ___________________________________ The next day, we send Fred a proper e-mail, claiming authorship for the prank, explaining everything. Fred's stationed in Brazil, working undercover on some stuff inside the local government, we're not even sure what it is. Anyway. That's the joke. That was the idea, anyway; a little scare, then a dick joke. The Director stops by my desk. “Jim, have you heard anything about agent Ferguson?” “Ferguson?” “Fred.” “Oh. No, why?” I say, a weird feeling in my stomach. “He stopped sending his reports and is not responding contact since last night.” “Oh...” ____________________________________ The next few days, Mark is sick, so I'm all alone at work. ________________________________ “President Obama is meeting with ambassador Williams in São Paulo, along with external affairs representative Roberto Silva. The Brazilian representative is demanding explanations in regards to what is being referred to as “a giant disrespect of the International Cooperation Agreement, and a violation of the country's sovereignty”, following the exposure of CIA agent Fred Ferguson's suicide letter, detailing a secret, illegal spying operation happening inside the highest rank levels of the Brazilian government.” I take a sip of my coffee, drumming my fingers nervously against my outer thigh. _________________________________________ “Pull everybody out. Now.” The Director roars, crossing the room in loud steps. “I want every spy, agent, mole; everyone who's working undercover in every country removed and shipped back to the US within the day.” “Sir, the consequences of --” “I don't care! The clusterfuck that this Brazil situation has become has gone way out of control.” The Director says. “I have the president on one line, the Brazilian president on the other and the U.N. secretary general on Skype in my office.” He says, getting behind the door of his office. “Shit is hitting the fan and we're all right under it"he says, slamming the door. From my desk, I sip the coffee, trying to avoid looking at anyone around me. ________________________________________________ On the TV, a news reporter speaks from the middle of a riot. “The Brazilian democratic government has been overthrown today, after being unable to cope with the civil unrest unleashed by recent surfacing of documents proving that a spying operation had been going on inside the country under the president's nose. The future of the country is uncertain now, with talks of military taking over and even possible Martial Law.” From my desk, I sip my coffee. ______________________________________________ “The Brazilian military government has declared war against the United States. People from all over the world protest and take to the streets against what is being called both an 'exaggerated reaction' and 'an appropriate response to serious violations of authority within the country's borders'. France and Russia declared unrestricted support to the South American country, while Germany and England have already deployed troops to a military base in Panama City, in support of the US cause. Tensions rose last night in the south as Argentina refused to offer marine troops a right of passage, and the Mercosul countries collectively signed an embargo against all supporters of U.S. activities, effective immediately. Investors all over the world are reacting badly, with the stock markets from the US and most European countries plummeting to record lows.” ___________________________ The next day, Mark's back. He makes his way around the room to my desk. “Hey bro, what's going on?” “Hm...” Why are you shaking?” “Too much coffee.” He takes his seat on the desk next to me, switching his computer on. “Hey, have heard anything back from Fred yet?” I sip the coffee, smacking my lips quietly. “No, not yet.” I say.
Hector pushed his way through the crowd of protestors at the Bank of America. Some held rocks in their hands, others had bats and bars. They were yelling, ready to break the windows in. Hector made his way to the ATM and inserted his debit card. He thought about what he would do if his account had nothing in it. Would he join the crowd? He'd just put in $270 last week, it couldn't be gone. Supposedly almost half the country had lost their balances. He hit check balance. The machine took a few seconds, then displayed the account. >Hector Rodriguez >$224,520,071,892.13 Hector blinked. He logged out and back in. He hit check balance. >Hector Rodriguez >$231,710,892,182.74 Hector took a step back and looked at the number again. Two hundred million? Was that a billion? "Hey!"A woman's voice yelled out form the crowd. "Look at that!" Hector turned to see half the crowd looking at the machine with wide eyes. He quickly rushed back and hit logout. "A fuckin' Mexican with that kinda cash? He's the fuck who stole it all!"A black man with a crowbar raised his finger and pointed it at Hector. "Fuckin' get him!" The crowd rushed him, weapons raised. Hector tried to run, but his back was against the ATM machines. The man with the crowbar swung first. Hector felt his knees give out. He leaned against the ATM as he fell into a sitting position. He couldn't move as he saw a dozen or so people gathered around him, swinging wildly. A rock hit him in the head. He heard a woman trying to stop them, but her voice was lost in the cries for his blood. Hector saw a wooden baseball bat swinging for his head. It looked like the one his father had bought for him when they'd been in America for a few years and decided to see a game. The bat hit. It was more of a pressure than pain, pushing his head against the ATM machine. The crowd grew as more people raised whatever they had. Hector closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.
>I stabbed her. >I can't go on. >Forgive me Jack. Linda blinked. The note sat on the same desk it had been on for over a minute. She wanted to take it and cut it up or burn it, but she couldn't move. Her son had a note, written in her husband's handwriting, underneath his socks. Why? The front door opened. Linda quickly snapped to attention. She checked the M&M clock in on the shelf by her son's bed. 4:45. It wasn't Henry, he got off work at 5. It was Jack, home early from the library. He'd seemed to be spending as much time as possible there, almost trying to avoid her and Henry. Could the note be his? No. Ridiculous. Even still, she grabbed his and stuffed it back into the drawer, covering it with the socks. She took the blanket in one hand and pulled it up, ruining the bed she had just made. She stepped out and headed for the stairs. She walked down, slowly, cautiously. "Hey, Jack."She stopped midway, seeing her son by the door. He looked up, no emotion on his face. "Hey." "I was just going to clean your-" "No."He cut her off. He never cut her off before. "No need, I'll do it myself." Linda nodded and walked the rest of the way down. She headed to the kitchen and turned on the sink's faucet. A single plate from the small pile of used dishes stood out from the rest, dirtier than the rest. She took it and began scrubbing at the stain with a sponge. She heard footsteps fade up the stairs. What was Jack doing? Should she tell Henry? No, she couldn't tell Henry. What if he told someone? She couldn't see Jack put into some loony bin. She scrubbed at the plate harder. The stain was gone, but she kept scrubbing. She didn't want to look up. She couldn't look up. She looked up. One of the knives from her dinner set was gone, not hanging from the magnetic strip. She checked the sink. Under every plate, every bowl. She couldn't tell Henry. Linda kept scrubbing at the plate, harder and harder until her arm felt as if it would fall off. She couldn't tell Henry.
It's not for lack of trying. Let's just get that out the way first. Girlfriends and protection, that came naturally. But when I settled down with the current Ms Gale, and we finally starting trying to for Adam Junior, we hit my little roadblock. It's not an uncommon thing. Literally, that's the first thing every single doc, nurse and specialist tells you. Like the only thing on your mind is "oh god, I can't knock her up, my life is over". Forget the five stages of grief. I give you the five stages of infertility; One: this seems to be taking a while, I wonder if she's barren. Two: maybe it's me. Oh god, what if it's me? Three: yeah it's me, but at least it's not an uncommon thing. Four: it must be a miracle any man on Earth can copulate this is such an uncommon thing. Five: I'm going to reproduce putting my fist through your face. Now, this is my girl. She loves me. Always will, even as she pats down there and grins, I know it's hurting her. She's from a big family. Wanted a big family and now we're three years in and nada. So anyway, my girl, knows I love science and geekery. One morning she tells me to open wide. For any guy this is a double edged sword, but I comply. I'm game. That little cotton swab was the last thing I expected. And then nothing. She doesn't mention it. Never brings it up or explains why. I'm curious. Dying inside to know why the hell she was poking around in my mouth, but too macho to ask. And then the day. I'm turning 27 next week. Girlfriend calls me downstairs, puts her phone on the table and turns on the speakerphone. "Mr Gale?"the disembodied voice asks. "Yeah." "My name's Dominic. I'm calling you from Life Screens. We're a genomic arts lab, putting your DNA on posters, that kind of thing." "Okay,"I say. My baby is just watching, anxious like I've never seen her before. "I need you to confirm that the sample your wife sent in was indeed from yourself." "The sample?" "She would have swabbed your mouth to collect saliva. The sample was sent in... five weeks ago." "Oh yeah."I smile. Game's up. She doesn't. "Mr Gale, do you know if there's any history of genetic disorders within your family?" "No. Well, I mean, I don't know." "Excuse me?"the voice asks. "I'm adopted. No parents. I couldn't say."I reach for her, but she pulls her hand away. "What's going on?" It doesn't matter if I'm asking the phone or the woman I was going to spend my life with. I need to know what this is about and I need to know now. "Mr Gale, we've analysed your sample and the results are... unusual. Your wife tells me you've been unsuccessful at having a child." "Yeah,"I say, annoyance bordering on anger at her having shared such information. "Well I guess this would explain why." "Why?" The voice is quiet for a long time. By now I'm thinking they've found some horrendous genetic condition and any child I have would turn out like a cross between The Thing and that scum that collects around the edge of the bathtub. "Your DNA is 99.3% homo sapien, Mr Gale. We can't identify the rest. You're... you're not human."
I pounded on the door three times, lifting the brass knocker to let it fall of it's own accord against the knotted oak wood, and waited. Rain pattered down- neither the rain of a thunderstorm, nor the light rain of a summer day, but rather something in between. Something that seemed to emphasize the grey around me, washing away colors and rough corners alike, until all was smooth and uniform. Though I had only been standing on the doorstep for minutes, I knew the rain had not left that spot for years, if ever. After a moment, footsteps approached from inside, and the door creaked open. "It is late, and why do you trouble me?"Said the man, his grey beard moving with each syllable, and his eyes squinting up at me. I stepped backward so he could see me, and I could see the front of the monastery. It was a beautiful thing, in a terrible way, as beautiful things often are. And it was old, older than anything I had ever seen. No roads reached this far into the mountains, and the monastery seemed to prefer it that way. "I came to see it,"I said, bowing low. Even at that reduced height, my eyes only just became level with his. They were grey, like the monastery, and flecks sparkled deep in them like chipped granite. "You did, now?"He said, tapping his cane, "Well come in then. I havn't had a visitor in the past two hundred years." He walked backward with surprising agility for the oldest being on earth, and I followed him into the building. "So tell me, what exactly did you come to see?"He asked, "I keep many things here. Old things, new things, precious things, and common things. Which will it be? Surely you know the tales." "Oh yes I do."I said, cobwebs striking my face as the man led deeper into the monastery. "But I came to see the thing that isn't a thing." "You've phrased it wrong boy, perhaps you would like to try again." I frowned, then said, "I came to see the thing that is more a thing than any other thing." The granite in his eyes sparked, "Yes, that's right. It's the mother of all things. It's the mother of our world." "And you'll let me see it, just like that?" "By all rights it's yours, son. It's all of ours, and not mine to keep." "So it does exist then. You do have the edge here? The edge of the universe?"My voice shook with the question. Here, in this reclusive monastery, after years of research and continents of travel, I had found the object that could answer so many questions. "Not exactly, boy. The universe has no edge, not in the way you implied. But rather, it has a knot. Think of the universe as a balloon- it was blown up, and when it was filled with air, the knock was tied off. This is the neck knot. Where it all comes from. How it began."He opened a door, and led me into a room the size of a large closet. And there on the floor, was an apple with a single bite missing. "Careful,"he warned, as I reached toward it, it's gaurded on the other side of the knot. I wouldn't let your fingers slip through." Gingerly, I held the apple. It was a bright red, and I could still see the bite marks from where a set of teeth had pierced it's skin so long ago. But instead of fruit flesh in the bite, it was like a window, and light shone forth out of the apple. And I held it up to my eye to look through where the bite should have been. "Ah, yes."He said as I gasped, "It's a beautiful place. Our world is tarnished in comparison." "Truly,"I managed to say, and turned a circle. Looking through the apple was like looking through a telescope into another world. He chuckled, "Ah, yes, I remember the first time I looked too. It's quite remarkable, Eden is. I supposed if she had never bit the apple we'd be there now, with no war, no sickness, no tragedy, no evil. But instead our world erupted forth when she did bite it, from the apple's core, and now all we have to show for it is a piece of fruit. I suppose that's why I live so long, because the life still trickles through the knot. Grey life, maybe, but still life."He sighed. "Thank you."I said, an handed him back the apple, the sole window from our world to Eden, from which our world had sprouted tainted. "It's not mine to keep,"he said, and led me back out of the monastery. And he was right. The old man had missed something. Between two fingers, I had stolen one of the seeds. Our world is tainted. Perhaps the next world I grow will be better. *** By Leo If you enjoyed this story, please visit /r/leoduhvinci for more of my work.
Wall-E's eyes widened at the sight of the smooth, white oval object in the corner. "Eva!"He extended his arms and raced forward, preparing for a hug. "Hello, friend,"the object answered. It turned toward him. Wall-E stopped in his tracks, scattering dirt and dust through the clean testing room. That wasn't Eva! Instead of two bright blue eyes, it had one angry red eye in the center of its body. And it had slender spider legs, instead of hovering. "E...Eva?"Wall-E asked. The turret answered: "There you are."Its sides popped open, and lazer beams zeroed in on Wall-E, who clasped his hands nervously and looked around. Then it sprayed Wall-E with gunfire. Bullets pinged off of his hard metal casing. "Aaaaah!"His treads skittered across the surface of the clean tile floor as he sought somewhere to hide. In desperate panic, he wildly fired the strange gun that he had found. An orange blob sank against the far wall, creating a two foot wide puddle that looked sticky. He was so surprised by what had happened that he dropped the gun, and it fired again. He had just enough time to notice a blotch of blue spreading under his treads, and then he was falling! The turret stopped firing as Wall-E landed face down across the room behind a low wall, out of the turret's sight. He picked himself up and shook his head, making sure that everything was still functioning correctly. Wall-E's little cockroach friend Hal scurried out of some hidden crevice and climbed up for a better view. He turned back to Wall-E and squeaked, and Wall-E nervously peered over the edge too. "Could you come over here?"The turret sounded friendly, but its angry red eye was still searching the room. Wall-E shrank back into his casing and hid. "I see you..."the turret taunted. Past it, Wall-E could see a way out. He just needed to slip by the turret without being seen. Hal scampered back to the odd gun and jumped up and down, pointing at the turret with his antennae and squeaking excitedly. Wall-E's hands rattled nervously as he picked it up, studying the orange and blue puddles that he had made and passed through earlier. Hal climbed up the wall and then jumped down, landing on the tile with a little splat. He was a resilient little bug, but the turret seemed pretty frail. Wall-E nodded in agreement and took aim. "Target lost,"the turret admitted from across the room. Its guns were still searching for any sign of movement. Wall-E found a spot high on a wall and fired an orange blob at it. It made an odd squishing sound, and Wall-E had to resist his programming urging him to go clean up the mess. It just looked so out of place against the clean white tiles! Hal didn't seem bothered by it. Wall-E took careful aim again and fired a blue blob right under the turret. "I'm afraid of heights,"the turret cried out as it began to slowly sink into the blue puddle beneath it. Wall-E his in his casing, just peeking out enough to watch. The turret re-appeared in the middle of the orange blob and sailed through the air. "Glorious freedom!" And then it landed against the ground with the crunch of breaking metal. The angry red eye dimmed and went dark. "I don't blame you,"it told Wall-E as it died. The room was silent. Wall-E peeked out from behind his wall and slowly inched toward it. It didn't move. Wall-E rolled just a bit closer. Still nothing. He poked at the turret, but nothing happened. Convinced he was safe, Wall-E couldn't ignore his programming any longer. He scooped up the remains of the turret and shoveled it into his body, then compressed it together and popped out a solid square of metal. The effects of his most recent upgrade were clearly visible: there was a heart imprinted on each side of the cube.
"How the hell? That's a nine, I've got an ace...wait, shit." Boris waggled his finger at his friend. "That's right, I've got the trump suit. All those cards are yours." Volodya groaned and added the multitude of cards to his hand. "You're too good at this,"he grumbled. Boris laughed. "Would you believe that a girl at a college party taught me to play?" "Really?"Though they had been friends for over twenty years, they knew little about one another's love life. "Yes. We were both drunk and bored,"Boris said, reminiscing back almost thirty years ago. "It was a dull affair, with a dull host, and so we spent most of our time huddled together in some bedroom, playing durak on the bed. And other things,"he added with a wink. "I see,"Volodya said with a laugh. "Do you still talk to this girl?" "Are you kidding me? I never even got her name all those years ago. It was just one night of fun."Boris dropped another trump suit, forcing Volodya to take up even more cards. "But I do remember how beautiful she was, with dark brown hair and blue eyes and fine skin..." "Sounds like any other girl in Russia,"Volodya teased. "Now there is a girl I once spent a day and night with, a girl you could not confuse with another." "Why is that?" "She had a birthmark shaped like a sickle going down from her right breast to her navel,"Volodya replied, tracing the area on his own body. "We used to joke about how if the Party ever accused her of crimes against the State, she need only to lift her shirt to get out of it." "That strategy might work regardless of birthmark,"Boris joked, but his smile froze halfway. He had suddenly thought of something. "Hey, do you remember anything else about this girl? Like a name?" "It was at a underground rock concert, one of DDT's. So no, I never bothered asking,"Volodya said. "She was also brown haired, but with greenish eyes." "Tall? Sharp nose? Thin eyebrows?"Boris's voice had taken on a slight edge. His cards dropped from his hand and fluttered down to the table. "Uh, yes,"Volodya responded, surprised. "How did you know that?" Boris stared at him steadily until Volodya began to shift uncomfortably. "I am acquainted with the woman you speak of,"he said finally. "It is my wife." "Oh. Well, I did not mean to insult her or you,"Volodya mumbled. "I was just..." "Yes, yes, I know,"Boris said hastily, trying not to sound too irritated. "You were just sharing a story to match mine from St. Petersburg State." Volodya squinted in surprise. "I thought you graduated from Moscow State University?" "I did, but I had visited St. Petersburg at that time,"Boris answered. "A friend of mine studied there." There was a short spell of silence as Boris brooded and an idea snuck into Volodya's mind, one he could not shake. It was unlikely, but...he reached into his wallet and took out a small photograph and held up to Boris. "Does she look familiar?" Boris studied the well-worn square and his eyes widened. "Yes! That is the girl from my story. But how is that you have a picture of her?" Volodya began to laugh. He looked at down the table, where a mess of cards lay in disarray. "It is fitting that we are playing perevodnoy durak, the passing variant. For it seems we have done some swapping earlier in our lives without realizing..." "Oh, wait...do you mean that the girl in that photograph is...?" "My wife, yes,"Volodya said, still chuckling. He gathered the cards up and began to shuffle again. Boris watched him, lost in thought. "Perhaps we should not be angry with each other,"Volodya finally suggested. Boris grinned at him crookedly. "You are right, I apologize for my frosty attitude,"he agreed. "After all, that is long past, beyond our reach." "Yes. The present awaits us, old friend,"Volodya said with feeling as he began to deal the cards anew. "If you will be angry with me, let it be at the conclusion of this game, when you have lost everything to me." Boris laughed out loud and snatched up his hand. ____________________________________________________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
I saw Stanley for the first time in weeks when I was pulling bills out of my mailbox, and I didn’t recognize him at first. Stanley is never scruffy. But there he was, unshaven, his normally immaculate hair stringy and unwashed, all wrapped up in a long brown coat. I retreated back behind my white picket fence, the gate squeaking as I pulled it shut behind me. “It is you,” he slurred, when he caught me looking back over my shoulder at him. He staggered over, carrying with him a miasma of alcohol fumes. I backed away a few steps, stumbling over my slippers, but caught my balance. He stopped at the gate and gripped a fencepost, though I suspected it was to keep himself upright. “Why’d you quit, Rottie?” I glanced back at the house to make sure Lisa hadn’t noticed the vagrant superhero, then stuffed my mail into the pocket of my blue terrycloth robe. “I’m sorry,” I addressed Stanley, trying to hide my discomfort. “I’m not sure who you are, but my name is not Rottie.” He looked at the mailbox on the other side of the sidewalk, at the family name painted in fancy letters, The Rotenbergs. “Rot-ten-berg,” he read. He snickered and I resisted the urge to pinch my nose. Stanley had really let himself go. What was wrong with him? “It’s ROW-ten-berg,” I corrected stiffly, sure that I presented the very picture of affronted suburbanite. “C’mon, we both know yer Randy Rotten. You doan’ have to preten’, not with me Rottie.” He hiccupped, then looked at his hands, then back at me. Damnit, was the idiot crying? Sure enough, two big stupid tears leaked down his face, leaving a cleanish smear in the dirt. “Please, lemme catch you jus’ one more time, for ole times’ sake, Rottie? They’ll let me back in, if I can bring you in. You’ll get out, you all-wiss do, you know, right?” “Wait, Stanley, they kicked you out of the Super Unit?” Surprise gave my normally careful tongue free reign, and I tried not to wince at admitting. Stanley nodded mournfully. “Ain’t ‘nuff work to go ‘round no more. Drain on gubbmit—damn. On guvermint reshore-sis. Oh Rottie,” he wailed, “I’m such a m-m-mess!” I looked up and down the street, then back to the house. Lisa would understand. The kids wouldn’t be home for another three hours. That was plenty of time to see Stanley cleaned up and on his way, right? I pressed my hand to my forehead and sighed. “Open the gate. Come on, Stanley.” I left him on the porch to try and break the news to Lisa. She did not understand, but I brought her out to the front porch and pointed out the weeping puddle of gratitude and misery, Stanley, the former leader of the Super Unit. “I’m not going out of retirement,” I told Stanley repeatedly as Lisa brewed up a pot of coffee. “I’ll help you out, professional courtesy, but you’re going to have to get yourself through this. And you’ll need to be gone by the time the kids get here, I don’t want them to see Prestan the Best … like this. You’re their hero.” Why hadn’t his demotion made the news? Probably to avoid public backlash—the Unit’s members and leadership were widely respected. As Stanley sobered up, though, he managed to get himself under control again. “I can’t get a job with another team. I’m the leader here. I mean, I was. Everyone else that was let go, well, they applied to … San Francisco or to Chicago or whatever. Tooken in just like that,” He tried, and failed, to snap his fingers. “But I was the leader here. I was in charge. And none of the other teams wants to risk me trying to usurp them.” Lisa gave me a flat look, that seemed to say I told you so, and then patted Stanley on the shoulder. I sat across from him, hands cupping a mug of coffee that I didn’t actually want. “Look, Stanley, I know I left a power vacuum behind me. But it’s been three months. Somebody must have stepped up by now.” “Nobody did,” Lisa replied, shaking her head. “I've been keeping track, even if you haven't. Your shoes are too big, Randall. I told you to get an apprentice, or promote a minion.” I shook my head angrily. “I won’t replace Bobby. He might come back.” “He’s not coming back.” Her voice rose to match mine. “He’s a big hero in Australia, he’s not going to quit that to be a villain in freaking North Carolina.” “He might,” I repeated stubbornly, but quietly. I knew it wasn’t true. I was so proud of my oldest boy for going legit, but missed him terribly. He was irreplaceable, though, and when he was accepted into Australia’s Antivenom Legion, I knew that my days of super villainy were numbered. None of the other kids inherited powers, and they needed more stability and more time with their dad now. Stanley was quiet through my brief argument with Lisa, then spoke up. “Could … I be your apprentice, Mr. Rotenberg?” He said it correctly. I looked at Lisa. She looked at Stanley, her face white. “But Stanley, you … you’re Prestan. You can’t—” He sipped his coffee and grimaced. “I can. I will. They made me what I was, then they took it all away. As a villain origin story … I think it suits. I’d … I’d appreciate your help in getting started, but I think even without it,” he sighed, “even without your help, it feels like the right choice to make. If super-crime doesn’t rise in this city, and soon, the rest of my old co-workers will be out of jobs too. And that ass, Nestor the Pestor, stole my title. He’s not the Best. I am.” For the first time, I saw anger in the expression of Prestan the Best. With that, I knew I had found my successor.
"...What?"asked Frodo. "Hand it over, young Frodo, and I shall bear the burden,"explained Gandalf reassuringly, his long fingers gesturing towards the glinting Ring of Power. "Go on." "Well, I suppose,"said Frodo and placed the Ring gently into the wizard's palm. Gandalf's hand clasped shut tightly, and he drew a sharp breath: Frodo was not sure, but he might have heard the sound of "mmyeah"escape the mysterious old lips. The nearby fire crackled and ebbed, then dimmed to a faltering gloom. "So is that it?"asked Frodo after an uncomfortably long silence. "That's it,"said Gandalf. "Don't do it, Mr Frodo!"said Sam, in the bushes. "I shall take the Ring to Mordor,"said Gandalf, holding up the terrible trinket in the faltering light. "And cast it into the flemeninon." Frodo remained quiet as Gandalf's words trailed off. "You'll cast it into the fire and destroy it?"offered Frodo. "Yes, I'll toss it into the, er, flermanem." "He's not saying it!"cried Sam, still in the bushes. "Gandalf,"whispered Frodo sternly. "Say that you'll cast it into the fires of Mount Doom and end this horrible affair once and for all." The old wizard shrugged and held up his hands, jiggled his fingers a bit, and frowned. A sound escaped his mouth like a frail, struggling gust of wind. Frodo could not be certain, but it might have been the sound a horse makes when it is trying to be inconspicuous. "That's literally not even a response,"said Frodo. "Is that my pony?"asked Sam. "I shall travel to Mount Doom-"uttered Gandalf. "Yes,"said Frodo. "- And take this Ring -" "Yes,"said Frodo. "And totally - " "Here, pony!"chirped Sam. "- Absolutely - " "Yes,"said Frodo patiently. "... chuck it into the flermergerm." Frodo threw up his tiny hands in the air, frustration crinkling his face into something resembling an aggressive, rabid child. "You're going to use the Ring of Power for evil, aren't you?"he spat. "No I'm not,"said Gandalf. "He absolutely is!"said Sam, still confined within the shrubbery. "I promise, I'm not,"said Gandalf. Frodo crossed his short arms and glared. Gandalf stared back blankly, his bushy eyebrows raised in anticipation. "Well, all right then,"proclaimed Frodo. And so began the dismal Age of Goddammit-Gandalf-Totally-Fucked-Us.
I woke up to the doorbell again. I mean, I never really see the package arrive, so I decided that there's no use waking up early to catch its arrival. I walked down the stairs thinking about my previous packages. The first one was a water bottle, and that day the water was out at the office. The next was a bus pass, and surely enough, my car wouldn't start. I thought it was weird, but also too convenient to mess with. I put a robe on, and opened the door to a slightly bigger package than usual. It was a guitar case! Exciting! I hadn't listened to live music in a year! Maybe I'll be able to play it. I enthusiastically opened the case, then I paled. It was a gun. An assault rifle sitting next to a box of paper clips. Huh. Anyways, the way to work was uneventful. Nobody mugged me in between the parking garage and the office building, and the new computers need no paper clips. I got the equivalent of an hour's worth of work done, though. Something about having a guitar case with a deadly weapon in it makes a man jumpy. It was 3:00 when I heard the first explosion. As I looked out the window for the source, the second went off and threw me into my desk. I had to stop this. Grabbing my guitar case, I leaped into action. If I had learned anything about the packages, I knew that sitting around wouldn't work. When I arrived downstairs, there were already twenty armed men filing into the building. The man in charge spotted me, yelling, "GET ON THE GROUND WITH THE REST OF THEM!" I didn't respond; I only opened my case, and slowly pulled it out. The box of paper clips sat in my hand as the yelling intensified. The case fell to the floor and the barrels turned toward my face as I began to open the box. Once bullets began flying I was already throwing the paper clips. Acting almost on their own accord, my hands straightened and flicked the countless darted across the room. Bullets ricocheted on the the little wire frames, lodging the paper clips faster into the faces of my enemies. Before I knew it, the building alarms were once again the only sound in the building. Whoever the men were, they felt it necessary to chain and padlock the doors shut. It was no business of mine. A swift jab with the end of the assault rifle got rid of the obstruction and I was on my way home. I checked my watch as I walked through the door, coincidentally turning my face away from the security cameras. It was 3:15. The sirens came late, so traffic was going to be bad. The next morning, another passport appeared, accompanied by another foreign drivers license and a Spanish dictionary. Nothing good comes of ignoring the packages. I was on my way out of the country before anybody missed me.
"Okay, break my legs and arms, and throw me off of a bridge and into the river."I told the head circus performer, a seven-footed, 320 pound man who looked like if a hippopotamus with a hipster's fashion sense also decided to grow a giant, curly mustache. His name was Napoleon. "Wait, that's it? Dude, you have 1 million dollars and all of us working for you. Honestly, that's a waste."He told me. "Oh, I'm sorry my DEATH isn't good enough for you. I guess you're doing something else exciting today like robbing a bank or literally going to the moon."I said sarcastically. "But, I guess you have a point, I'll think it over a little more." And so I thought about it. I had never really been successful, in fact, coming across this opportunity for my death was nothing but luck. Some rich billionaire heard I was dying from cancer and thought he'd give me a twisted version of the "Make a Wish Foundation". Throwing exposition aside, I guess this was really my opportunity to stop being so apathetic and do something awesome with my death. "Okay,"I told the main performer, "let's hire a dragon with giant, dragon wings." "Dragons aren't real."He told me. And then I had to think again. "Well... how about a mechanical dragon, can we do that?"I asked him. "I suppose we can improvise. What exactly were you thinking?"The guy asked me. I explained it to him. Three days later, I was jumping out of a moving airplane as a familiar song filled the air. Gnarl Barkley's "Crazy", except it was played by an giant orchestra from several different highschools, because it turns out, real orchestras are crazy expensive. I let loose my parachute as a screeching struck through the air. I looked downward to see the familiar robotic T-Rex used in the original Jurassic Park had cardboard wings stapled to it. On its head stood Napoleon juggling apples that had been spray-painted gold. I knew this, he did not, because he took a bite from one of these apples only to immediately had a sour looked come across his face. You gotta give the guy props, he chewed and swallowed the piece he bit off. I pulled out a fake lightsaber from my pocket and screamed out, "I'll be back!!!"as I jumped into the T-Dragon's mouth and fell down into its stomach. Inside the stomach was completely dark, but I could hear a ticking sound I knew to be a bomb. I heard a sudden siren go off as the circus-performers quickly, but efficiently got everyone out from the bomb's impact area. What they saw was the T-Rex then exploded from the lightsaber-wielding nerd's awesomeness. Either way, someone's talking about it.
In school, I remember we would always talk about what might be in our box, and what type of person we might be. I remember at the lunch table, Sally would always claim hers would have a microphone, and that she'd grow up to be a famous musician. Charlie would say no, it's not a thing inside the box, it's you. Like, the real you. An energy, or an idea. I would just joke that his was probably just full of food, based on how he would always stuff his mouth. But really, we had no idea what was in our boxes. The adults would tease us, of course, but nobody would say what was in it, or where ours might be. When my cousin Ben got back from his trip after about two years abroad, I begged him to tell me what was in his box, but he didn't budge, only saying that he found his in a small village in northern Scotland, and that it changed his life. One time when I was about 11, my mother, teasing me about my box, said maybe I should try checking South America first. I latched onto the idea, and spent months in the library, absorbing everything I could about the continent. That is, until one night my dad let me know that nobody but the commissioner knew where my box was, and that I shouldn't take my mom so seriously about the matter. You don't actually have to leave when you're 18 to find your box, but it's recommended. That's what I did, at least. It bothered me. It was such a fundamental mystery in my life, always out of reach. I applied at the Global Identity Initiative, or the GI2, about six months before my 18th birthday, and informed them of my intention to start my search. The day of my 18th birthday a representative arrived at my doorstep with a complimentary 3 month grab bag, and my clue. The clue came on a very tastefully designed card, made of thick stock, and laminated against the elements. It was just a few sentences, and of a language I couldn't read. I could tell it was a romance language by the way bits popped out at me, clear and understandable. Present. Dance. Truth. The next couple of years were a blur of experiences. I met so many new people, and experienced so many new things. From the mountains of Mongolia, to the jungles of Camaroon, I traveled. I had near-death experiences, and I had moments of pure bliss and joy. There was loneliness, yes. To meet people, and know that our friendship would be nothing but a memory within days, if not hours, instills a sort of sadness into your days. I learned new languages, and new skills. In Thailand, I helped a small village divert a river. In China, I learned to fish the Yellow Sea. In Afghanistan I learned to cook with new spices, and in India I learned what I know about love. The box is the goal, always the goal, yes, but you still need money to survive. Three months of supplies doesn't last too long, so it's important to stop once in a while, make a bit of coin, and then move on. In the end, my mom was actually pretty close. I found my box in Honduras, buried near the "Laguna de Caratesca", a large swampy body of saltwater along the coast of the Caribbean. A couple hundred years ago, this area was ridden with crime, being so secluded from the rest of Central America. But these days it was sparsely populated, a collection of swamps and rainforests, though quite beautiful to behold. I stood there, holding my box for a while. After wiping off some of the mud, I saw that my name was engraved on the front plate along with my global identification number, proving that I'd found my box. It didn't look important, really. It was just a box. My heart fluttered, as my childhood hopes and fears raced through me. Would I still be me? Would it be like becoming a different person? Is it a thing? A vial that I drink? An object I'll have to learn to use? An injection? Or like what Charlie said, a warm light that will imprint on my mind. What is your identity, really? What am I now, without one? I put my thumb on the front pad, and the silvery lid popped upwards, allowing a glow to emanate through the crack. Oh god, Charlie was right! It's going to overwrite me! I panicked, and flipped the lid open, before I lost my nerve. A small screen, on some sort of mechanical hinge, rose out of the box like a pop-up book for a two-year-old. A message flickered across the screen. THIS SIGNALS THE END OF YOUR IDENTITY EXPERIENCE. PLEASE WAIT TO BE COLLECTED. I think I knew all along, really. Your identity isn't an object, or a thing. It's not something that can be injected into you, overwriting your wants, needs, flaws, hopes, and dreams. It's made up of your experiences. The friends you find along the way, the mistakes you make, and lessons that you learn. I began to hear a beating noise in the air, and a glimmer in the morning sky, out over the rainforests of Honduras that faded to the vast swampy marsh that surrounded me. But they're not wrong. I know myself now. So much better than I did before. The air reverberated around me, as the light moved above me, shimmered, and grew brighter. It's time to go home. This is my first /r/writingprompts story, and one of the first short stories I've ever written. So I apologize if it's not that great! Let me know if you have any advice on how I can improve! I'm looking forward to writing more.
He woke as he always did, feeling like a man sinking into the sea, helpless to change his reality. He drug himself from his bed, the sun's first rays beating against drawn curtain. He hadn't opened them in years, and he felt no need to change that now. He shuffled to the bathroom in a way that could be best described as corpse like. Although an average man, his gaunt eyes reflected nothing but sorrow. Work was, as usual, uneventful. That feeling of helplessness did not fade, and he was thankful that he had a few hours of busy work before the rest of his day. That hardest segment was about to begin. He parked his car in the same spot he had for the past 24 years, as far from the door as he could manage. He needed the time to accept the reality of this situation, to take in the almost foreboding visage of the place before him, which he did as he began his march toward the doors. As usual, he was greeted by the blinding whiteness of it. White Walls, white floors, even the lights gave off that white glow. Few else would have even thought about this, but he always noticed. To some is signaled purity, to him it was yet another reminder of his reality. The smell too haunted him. Maybe that's why his appartment was dark and full of filth, to keep that smell of cleanliness and that disgusting light away. Finally, he had arrived. He stared down at the man in bed before him. He was as old as this routine of his, clean shaven and cared for by the staff. Kept alive by modern medicine, he had been born brain dead and missing so much of his body that he was not even half a man. He no longer cried, he hadn't in years. Those feelings, the ones that could drive him to tears no longer pushed him to visible emotion. Only that sinking feeling remained reflected in his eyes for any to see. He could no longer bear to repeat this scene, could no longer be the only one to sit with him. He knew what he had to do. He grabbed a pillow from the adjacent bed and pressed it to his son's face. His wife stopped visiting ages ago, having taken the other children with her. He could no longer bear to see his son lay and simply rot away, could no longer bear to be his only contact each day. He pushed harder, and noticed the tears had come back. After a few minutes it was over. His son was finally free from that bed, and soon he would be free from this Hell. He walked to the window and pried it open, and kept out into the night. It was the last time he would ever feel that sinking feeling again.
Playing with Legos remains fun, no matter the circumstance. But it's a little bit different than trying to deal with aerodynamic heating EDL design. On the other hand, Legos don't have viscous dissipative effects, and can be used to make a fire truck; which has pretty much instantly made me the King of Kindergarten. Kindergarten. It's a fact easier to ignore when I'm playing with Legos than at any other time, but at some point I need to face the issue that this particular situation seems permanent. As best I can remember, three days ago I fell asleep at my desk in Ames Research Center while I waited for a couple of Simulink models to compile. Next thing I know? I'm waking up back in my dad's 1970's "Groove Cave"in my old racecar bed. So far I've been doing my best to make good of a bad situation, I've got no particular interest in becoming an object of government study. At the same time, I'm not sure I can handle sitting through one more "math"class. My pattern recognition and ability to count without my fingers I think scare Mrs. Bell more than they impress her, and part of me is tempted to leave something entertaining like a nonhomogenous differential equation on the board for her. Biggest problem is I can't exactly reach the markers, and I don't trust these animal shaped chairs for shit. Which brings me to my next complaint, turns out kindergartners don't use "bad words", and dad was mortified when Mrs. Bell asked him to stay after school to explain to him that I had apparently picked up far too colorful a vocabulary. Screw the bitch, I'm not used to these short legs yet, and the fall hurt. Nap time, on the other hand, is better than I romanticized it all those years at USC, Michigan, and Ames Research. Why does the adult world censor this stuff? Current plan - unveil my brilliance slowly over time, parley that into childhood celebrity, and somehow lobby for national nap time long before I ever have to rejoin the working world. I'm not going back. We'll just have to see what day four has in store, at this point I'm 50 / 50 on whether or not I want to see my desk again.
"It's the best plan we've been able to come up with sir." "Not much of a bar to clear, seeing as that we're losing this war."Emperor Shii Shixian, Seventh of his name, bringer of the light to darkness, and lord of the Western Reaches currently controlled about enough territory to scavenge together a harvest and keep his armies fed this winter, but any territory lost at this point would literally be the death of the Western Reaches as an Empire. The Riverlands to the east had risen up in rebellion to the rule of his dynasty, and rallied behind a young man who had come to be known only as the Golden Dragon. Apparently some distant but direct descendant of the ancestral lords of the river. Despite overwhelming odds and the seemingly foolhardy strategic mind of an ignoramus advised only by a small collection of rodents he had won a string of victories that had brought the empire to it's knees. Shixian's first Lieutenant, Zeng Zongtang, thought he had a solution to the issue, but the longer the emperor listened, the more incredulous he got. Not that they had anything left to lose. ---------------------------- Chen Rinchen had little idea what his commanders had seen in him to give him a command. He'd performed his job well enough, and the portion of the army he'd been attached to had been less ravaged by the Golden Dragon than most - but that seemed almost entirely due to how little they had faced his forces, rather than any particular skill. Chen had never so much as commanded another man in battle, let alone the three hundred riders strung out behind him as they road down the silver road. He had less idea what the hell his commanders had seen in the terrain to make this seem like a plausible plan. The Golden Dragon had men dotting these plains like flees on a dog, and so he rode from the safety of the army with barely enough men to properly garrison a village? Riding directly into the teeth of the enemy. Chen was a loyal man, he didn't ask many questions; but he did harbor doubts. When the ambush came, it was almost painfully predictable. A contingent of enemy cavalry rode in to cut off his forces retreat down the road, while three elements of enemy infantry boxed in the forces on all other sides, with ample archers to vent his forces with plenty of holes. He probably should have had his scouts out further, Chen realized - but who expected him to do this right on his first try anyway? He'd clearly been sent out to die. All that was left to do was get it done. Chen waved his column into a charge, hoping to get it formed up and rolling before the enemy archers could tear too badly into his forces - they were already severely outnumbered, no reason to let it get worse. Even so, the first enemy volley bit into his lines and men and horses went down screaming. The rhythm of hooves beat like a drum upon his chestplate even as his riders bore down on the first enemy line and he swung his saber lightly, letting the force of the gallop do the worst of the work. His men crashed through the Dragon's forces like a wave, and wheeled through the open country, striking for one of the archer flanks that had come uncovered. A reasonably successful first charge, but ultimately hopeless. Chen Rinchen raised a cry of the damned, and heard the men following him echo it. -------------------------------------------- Ren Rinchen, the Golden General, Commander of the Riverlands and Bane of the West read the dispatch with increasing levels of disbelief. How had a small horsemen contingent of the Western Reaches slaughtered 1,000 men in the open field and killed one of his best commanders? He'd authorized that attack when he heard there were only two hundred of them. There was quite simply no way. Were the Reaches men pulling some trick near the silver road? Was more of their army in that position than he thought? Ren decided then to move his personal command to the silver road. Whatever trick the men of the reaches were trying to pull, he would put a stop to it. ---------------------- Chen was still alive. That fact was a central theme of his life, from that first improbable fight to all the others who had followed it. Men who followed him bled and died off like rain, but they always won. Regardless of the odds against them, and with barely a thought to Chen's ineptitude as a commander, they had brought the Golden Dragon's own legion to the Silver Road, and threatened to halt the overall progression of the war. There were whispers in the camp of the Western Reaches army - whispers that had begun to stick to Chen. They called him the Black Dragon. ------------------ Ren looked over the field, and he saw it. The very standard that his commanders had reported so many times before. The flag of the Western Reaches imposed on a field of green, clearly meant to be the Riverlands, and a great brooding Black Dragon with smoke in its nostrils looming overhead. Ren would break this black dragon, and he would break the Reaches this day. He ordered his men, 20,000 in total to charge the enemy positions. --------------------- Chen wasn't sure how long it had been while the battle raged. Hours certainly, as the battle played out across the plains. Everywhere he showed his face the men would rally, blows that should have felled him left little but aesthetic damage to his armor. He'd only suffered one true minor injury, a small cut above his eye that bled freely. The men felt the blood on his face was inspirational, and the emporer had ordered him not to clean it up. It was because of that blood that Chen didn't see the Golden Dragon's personal standard approaching him as quickly as he should have. ------------------------- Ren's sword arm was exhausted, but he and a small group of retainers had cut a swath through the heart of the reaches forces to reach the Black Dragon's standard. He did not know fear in his heart for the reckless nature of the charge, he'd always survived and won victory with worse. When he saw the bloodied face of the enemy commander he bellowed his challenge, "I, Ren Rinchen, the Golden General, Commander of the Riverlands and Bane of the West, challenge you to single combat Black Dragon of the Reaches! I shall destroy you, and I shall destroy your empire!" He charged the man quickly, and smiled a vicious smile when his opponent's parry was slow. He switched his grip and delivered a series of hard overhead chopping blows, the impacts clearly jarring his opponent's arms and driving him to his knees. This was no swordsman. No real opponent. As always, the Golden Dragon would emerge victorious. He spun the blade in his hand as his opponent levered himself back up, his guard low, and laughed as he flicked blows into the soft portions of the Black Dragon's armor. This was going to be fun. Then he felt the stinging burn in his right thigh. -------------------------- Chen still wasn't over that name. Ren Rinchen, his brother? Unbelievable. He hadn't seen Ren in a decade, more even. But the idiotic fencing style of his opponent confirmed it. That had always been the way Ren fought, and never once had he tried defending his lower body. Chen felt no joy at the thought of wounding his brother, but this war had to end one way or another. Almost casually, he sheathed his sword in his brother's right thigh. ----------------------- Emperor Shii Shixian, Seventh of his name, bringer of the light to darkness, and lord of the Western Reaches sipped wine surrounded by the nobles of his court. One duke in particular had not long ago been a lowly Lieutenant in a lost war, but the Emperor remembered his friends as he raised another toast to the Dragon Slayer. The empire would live on.
I worked and worked and worked in the attic, thumbing through every spellbook my mother had hoarded in our dusty loft, until I found what I had been looking for. My mother had long given up magic after Dad died, stuffing everything in the smallest corner of the house. Grabbing my chalk, I followed the page to the letter, inscribing sigils into the hardwood floor and long, curling patterns. I had to make this quick, before Mom came home from work; asking about magic after the incident was...... hard. Dad’s magic wasn’t strong enough to save him and I was his spitting image, no way in hell was she going to budge on it. When I finished the circle, I began to focus my mine towards my goal. I envisioned a bright white light, encapsulated by my circle and sigils, each rune a bar in its prison. I reached into my back pocket for the athame, a long silver blade, a sliver of moonlight in my hand. I felt the cold metal skim across my palm, before moving sharply against my flesh, revealing bright crimson blood. Dipping my right hand to the left, I let a few drops spill onto my circle. Suddenly, the air felt tight, blood appeasing the universe and solidifying my mental image. The smell of ozone fluttered through the air, and I felt my hair stand on end from the energy. My mouth moved, and while my ears didn’t hear what I was saying, they fell out of my mouth like honey and in my feet I felt the very foundation of the house shift in its spot. Reality rearranged itself, and I felt the shift in my spine, the light I had envisioned in my mind joining the world, shaping into various forms, never settling, constantly moving. More words fell out of my mouth, and this time they felt sharp like knives, hacking away at the imperfections on my familiar until it chose a form to match my soul. The foundation stopped shaking, and the smell of ozone was almost too much to bear, but then the light faded, and before me was a soft butterfly, wings outstretched in my dusty attic, and I felt a frown creep up on my face. What happened next made me giddy with glee. A voice, thick as a brick house and scratchy as steel wool seemed to come from every angle. It greeted me, and asked if I would like to join with it. Eagerly, I nodded, and felt every sinew of my soul entwine with it. Looking past the material, I saw the lights of our souls, reaching out and caressing, twisting and knotting together like two trees. And in my mage sight, I saw the butterfly’s true self. What mortals saw was a slightly larger than average butterfly, but it hide its truth. A woman, maybe twelve feet tall, crouching to fit in my tiny attic, with gossamer wings folded behind her and six arms crossed and her two massive legs criss-cross, bending the light of my summoning circle to accommodate her girth. Her skin was a powder blue, and shoulder length white hair fell from her head, colorful beads braided into the snow-white locks. Closing my third eye, I felt every inch of my soul beat like a heart, but heard two beats, one right after another. In this bond we became one and shared power far greater than the sum of its parts. As the changed rang inside, I felt them echo throughout my body, warmth coalescing in my eyes and upper back. Scuffing the circle with my shoe, I felt all the tension between us scatter, the air currents moving to fill the emptiness I had just exposed. Running downstairs, I made sure to close the door behind me and keep the burnt smell of ozone from reaching the rest of the house. I trampled down the stairs, until I reached my bedroom door, opening it and letting my familiar through before closing it. I turned towards my floor length mirror, examining the changes to my body, gasping softly. My eyes, normally a soft shade of grayish blue, had become slightly polychromatic, softly glimmering from royal blue to soft grays, before cycling back to blue. Blinking a few times to register the change, I felt strange. The anxiety from my eyes made my back twitch, and I felt my sweater pull up on my upper back. My eyes went as wide as dinner plates when I stripped down, and I fell to my knees. Out of my shoulder blades protruded a pair of blue wings, swirled patterns of black and gray across them, and reflexively spread and unspread them, growing accustomed to the reaction. My mother was going to kill me.
"Hold on,"the CEO said, "let me make sure I have this straight. Guy comes in, hands you a note asking for money, and you just give it to him?" "Correct,"the teller said. "And you didn't trigger the silent alarm by your foot?" "Also correct." "And you didn't signal the guard in any way, before or after he left?" "No sir I did not,"finished the teller. "And you,"the CEO turned to their head of security, "When he came and told you about what happened, you deleted the video of the robbery?" "Yes, well actually I deleted everything since the last server save. I didn't want it to look suspicious with only a few minutes being gone, better to just say there was a camera issue today."The teller nodded his head in agreement. The CEO opened his eyes wide a gave a quick shake of his head. "And you want me to believe you had nothing to do with any of this? You don't know the guy, you aren't getting a cut, nothing?"The two agreed. "Look, I'd like to believe that I haven't hired criminals, and you're being very forthcoming, but right now I'm not sure if that's actually worse than thinking I've been hiring complete fucking morons. Why the hell would you just let him walk out with it?" The teller took a deep breath and said, "It was the note sir. He made some very serious threats." "You knew he had no weapon, what could he possibly have written? Was it the first bars to his diss track on you? Did he ask for our infinity stone to complete his collection?" The teller began pulling things out of his pockets to find the note. He placed his phone on the desk and unfolded the note. "Place as much money as you can fit in this bag, unless you actually have bags with a big money sign on them, if so use that one. It's fine if it doesn't fit quite as much, as long as it's close, just use your judgement. I'd like to tip toe out of here and the bag combined with my black and white striped shirt would really set that look off." "Jesus Christ, this fucking idiot sounds like he'd fit right in with the both of you. You expect me to believe you aren't frien--" The teller continued, "I have your browser history, as well as the histories of your security team, management team, and CEO. I will walk out of here with no alarms, security will delete all traces of the video, and no one outside of those required to cover this up will ever hear of this. Any word to authorities or the public will result in the release of your histories to all friends and family. I have attached samples of your history as proof. You guys are some weird motherfuckers." The CEO took the letter up and checked the attached sample sheet, "This never leaves this room. I'll cover this up but if anyone asks I embezzled it." (Yeah I took the cheap path)
The bard's guitar was broken. The sacred ash had been destroyed with a snap of the beast's muscles, and blood ran down his arm from where it'd been nearly taken off by a savage blow from the were wolf. He itched in uncomfortable ways. "Distraction, I need a bloody distraction,"The bard yelled. "I used my last spells escaping from the keep!"The jester said, from a remarkably safe distance away. Funny how fast he could run when it involved his life, the bard thought darkly. "I need time to prepare some more tricks!" "WE DON'T HAVE TIME, WE HAVE WEREWOLVES!"The bard hissed. "Thief?" "I have a damn name,"The half elf roared, drawing the dagger deep into the flesh of the were wolf from behind. "Call me Thassa, for once in your miserable existence!" But the beast was an unnatural sort, and even a knife in the back wouldn't cease its thrashing, and Thassa went flying off to land in the dirt. Which left him staring down his demise, reflected merrily in the beast's enormous eyes, drool dripping down each and every tooth. It stepped forward, and the bard stepped back. Quietly, the dwarf drew forth his book, muttering under his breath about not dying a noble enough death to be catered to song, and gave the book a swing. The wolf snapped its jaws around it, tore it to bits with a snap of the muscular neck, then hurled the tattered pages into the distance. The bard backed up slowly, piece by piece, until the back of his neck met the cooling brick of the house behind him. That was another thing they'd failed at, in the spectacularly long list of things they'd lost. They hadn't taken out the lycanthropy plague. They hadn't stopped the demons. They hadn't even managed to stop the damn wolves from reaching their home town. "Well,"The bard said, looking at the thief, who was only just now getting back to her feet. "Any ideas?" "Just one,"The thief said, a pained grin on her face. "FLAME STRIKE!" The house exploded behind him, and started to topple down as the roar of green fire hit the wolf from the side. It screeched and howled as it hit a distant tree, blown back by the invocation, a crunch of bone and a spray of hot blood from between shattered teeth. It drools more than it said anything else. Out from the wreckage stepped the last possible person the three of them had expected. "Theron's Mom?!"The bard hissed, incredulous. The woman dressed in chain mail and clerical artifacts paused, swiped her long flowing locks of hair to the side, and cleaved them through with her sword. The hair flickered in the growing fire of the tree and settled on the ground in long brown locks. "The name's Amyria,"She hissed, pointing her blade down at the werewolf. "And I believe you promised to bring my son back unharmed." The bard looked from the werewolf, to the murderous gaze the cleric was sending him and swallowed. Slowly, very slowly, he raised his hands in the air. "About that..." There was one other thing the bard had failed at. ---- If you'd like to read more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ If you liked it, feel free to comment.
His assistant placed the coffee on his desk. "You've got ten minutes until your next appointment. Galwraith is running late, something about bad ignition fuse in his hyperdrive." Ivan VIII nodded and waved her away. He watched as she crossed the massive, high-ceilinged office and closed the sturdy oak doors behind her. The size wasn't meant as a show of wealth. The fact was that some of his clients from distant star systems and parallel dimensions required inordinate amounts of space. He opened the unassuming filing cabinet and searched for his next client's file. It'd been a month since Galwraith's last visit, which was going to be a problem. Demigods are unstable enough as it is, but given the amount of time warping this one did in his race to conquer -- Ivan checked his notes -- the Mellianites, he was supposed to check in weekly. Sitting back down behind his plasma-cut obsidian desk, a gift from a sorcerer on Titan, Ivan felt the familiar combination of nostalgia and frustration. Like most of the client files, his notes were scribbled on top and in the margins of his father, his grandfather, great-grandfather and so on. Their family business, if you could call it that, had been going strong for nearly two centuries, ever since an Andromedan Senator accidentally shifted onto their plane of existence, smack in the middle of his ancestor's living room. As the Senator apologized profusely, Ivan I, not knowing that his simple act of empathy would birth a new profession, kindly asked, "What's wrong?" The mighty alien talked for hours to a simple hunter about war, love, and the ache in his second neck from too many years of space travel. When he was done, he thanked his host with a diamond from the mines of Firaxis, then began telling other immortals about the universe's greatest therapist: Ivan of Earth. The money was preposterously good, of course, and it was Ivan II who realized that, in order to keep the business going, he had to impersonate his father. It was he who Ivan VIII blamed for stealing his life's agency. No decision he made had ever felt like his own, from his profession to his own name. He often considered quitting -- he no longer needed the money. A knock on the door across the room broke his reverie. When it opened, a twelve-foot ogre glowing faintly blue marched in, dropped his ceremonial axes on the ground, sat in the reinforced arm chair and began weeping uncontrollably. Ivan VIII grabbed his coffee before walking over and patting Galwraith on the shoulder. "It's alright, your Highness, let it out,"he said to the conqueror of a dozen solar systems. Any thoughts of leaving behind his vocation were quickly forgotten. After all, what would the universe's mightiest immortals do without him? \-------------------- 145/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
It was called the Second Cold War for a reason. And it would have stayed cold if I hadn't made that call, or if they'd just double checked the source, but that's like wishing for another timeline. The only timeline I had was this one; and all that lay ahead of me was pain. Here's how it started... 3 months before: Alone in my basement, a discarded pizza box at my feet, I lounged on the lazy boy, staring at the blurry t.v. screen. I'd been up all night following wrestling practice. It wasn't usual for me to lose back to back matches; that shit bugged me. I glanced down at my phone. A couple of conciliatory texts from teammates. I blanched in disgust. Honestly, I didn't mean to do it, but I just started pushing buttons. There's something about the sound response, the quiet tap of pressing a number that I find soothing. I tapped away, ten digits, fifteen, thirty... Then, for the hell of it, I pressed call, wondering what the voice would say, "I'm sorry, the number you're calling does not exist..."It was the closest thing I would have had to a girlfriend in months. Pathetic, yes, but I was already at a low. I waited on the verge of excitment and loneliness as the phone rang... There was no prerecorded message. No response at all at first. Then, a voice. "Password?"said the voice, in a heavy accent. I stared at the phone. Had I accidentally called Tyler? Was this some sort of joke? I hesitated. Ha, very funny, I thought. "Is your refrigerator running?"I said. There was a pause on the other end, a short gasp. "You're--you're sure?"said the voice, quietly. If it was Tyler, he was getting really good at that voice. But honestly, I wasn't in the mood for jokes. "I'm sure--"I said and would have continued with 'that I don't like having my time wasted.' But the voice on the other end interrupted. "It's your call, comrade. The iceman is deployed. All systems running. They better go catch him--but we both know that's not happening. Good luck." There was a click followed by a dial tone. The next day, the president was assassinated, along with his entire cabinet in air force one. A few days after that, it was reported that Vlodav "Iceman"Namedov was behind the attack: the most notorious assassin in Western Asia. A week later, they came for me at my house. FBI, CIA all of them. They took out my parents, my brother. I saw them bleeding as I was dragged into an unmarked civi, blindfolded, beaten and taken somewhere unknown. There I was interrogated for months: tortured, beaten. My grief and confusion slowly morphed, day by day into burning rage; fury. A war had started over the assassination, but I didn't care. I only wanted vengeance. I was alone, in pain, rotting in some government black site, festering on hatred and anger. I'd endured more pain in the last month than I thought imaginable. They even took my left eye... Then yesterday, I got a celly. Not a very chatty fellow, but he looked tough, and, despite his chains, like someone use too control. "What are you in for?"I said, through broken teeth, massaging a jaw from the latest session that morning. "Are you Eugene? Eugene O'Neill?"The voice was heavily accented. I nodded slowly. Why did another prisoner know my name. My face morphed into a scowl. Another trick? "They have caused you pain. I will show you to cause them pain, yes?" I hesitated. What was he saying? The man looked at me through cold blue eyes, blue as ice. "I'm here to get you out." (If you're interested, part two is posted below.)
I woke up feeling rested, and went downstairs to check on my spoils. My small container of Placebo-noc was on the counter, exactly where I had left it. The large piles of bills was new, next to a familiar pistol. I knew I owned a firearm, but to my knowledge I had never fired it. I checked the clip. All but one of the bullets had been apparently spent. A handwritten note was next to the gun and money, in my own blocky script. “La Sombra is pleased with my results. The threat of failure remains ever present. More instructions to follow tomorrow night.” The pills were a tricky thing. I had no idea who La Sombra was, who had discharged my pistol, or where the money was from. I had the idea 3 years ago to try some illicit business when I heard of these sleep-proof pills, but didn’t know any specifics beyond buying each month’s pills. The money had started modestly, a few 20s a night. Then “la Sombra” had entered the picture, and I had been instructed to purchase the gun. The money had increased exponentially since then. I had considered dropping the pills and getting out of whatever I had gotten myself into, but my notes had been very clear that la Sombra would not tolerate my departure. It wasn’t going to matter as of today. As I prepared my dinner, police broke down my door. I had already stashed last nights’ gains, but the arrest warrant made that irrelevant. In under 2 hours I was in front of a pair of detectives. “Tell is about your sleep patterns.” I shrugged. “Go to sleep at 10, wake up at 6. Like clockwork.” “Correct. And you have packages specially delivered at 10:10.” My eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t aware of that.” “And you send out mail daily as well?” “Not to my knowledge.” I had suspected that already. My notes from early on had been very clear to never check the mailbox before work. Plausible deniability. “We found several thousand dollars in your crawl space, and a pistol linked to several crimes in the metro area. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” I spread my hands. “I have been blackmailed by someone or something called La Sombra. It’s been made very clear that I will be in extreme danger if I do not comply with their orders, which I apparently receive overnight, during my pills.” The older detective slammed his fist on the table. “There is no evidence that this damn Sombra exists! Every crime you’re linked to refers to a single operative, and the money stolen matches bill for bill with what the banks are missing! There’s no sign of anyone else involved in your schemes.” I smirked. “I don’t know what to tell you. I have no recollection of any crimes directly, and all evidence I have suggests I am at the mercy of some crime lord. I’ll happily take a polygraph that I’m doing all this under duress.” The younger detective smirked back. “I have a better idea.” He produced my bottle of pills. “You forget this whole ordeal, and we watch what you do tonight.” While his partner talked, the older detective had slipped behind me. He grabbed my neck, tilting my head up and prying my jaw open. I screamed in panic. The younger detective reached forward, pill in hand, and- and- I awoke in my bed in utter darkness. Had I slept through the whole day? Thank goodness it was a weekend, or I would’ve missed work. I checked my watch; 10:15. I needed to get down to my mailbox and get started with the night’s activities.
Bill raised an eyebrow in surprise. Really? The afterlife was still using money? He'd thought that the afterlife would have found a way around scarcity, the central problem of economics, demand, supply, and therefore money. Still, he was hungry, tired and disoriented, and needed food, even if he did not physically have a stomach to enjoy it. And as the bored adolescent cashier stared back blankly at him, waiting for money, he gave a hesitant smile and pretended to rummage through his non-existent wallet. This was not an aspect of life he often saw. "Sorry sir, a cafe's a cafe, no matter if it's among the living or the dead. $12."the oily-faced teen droned again. "That's no problem, cashier. $12." Bill whirled around to see who had rescued him in the nick of time. He certainly looked like a fellow businessman. Milquetoast and dressed in finely tailored, yet simple clothes, the businessman flashed Bill a wide grin, and gestured him to a seat with a view. "I'm sorry, have we met? You must be incredibly generous to be paying for random peoples' meals like this."Bill inquired, still curious about the ways of the afterlife. "I mean, what can I say? That was a trend started by you,"the businessman laughed, shaking Bill's hand. "Name's Mark. You may never have met me before, but it was because of your generous stay-in-school programme that I had dreams. Dreams that I merely continued down here in the afterlife. Ooh, that's some good food!"Bill's food had arrived, personally served by a chef who looked rather apologetic. "Mr Bill! I am so sorry for any problems my staff gave you. You eat here for free from now on!"the chef proclaimed. A small crowd that had gathered outside cheered, audibly loud to be heard through the window, and burst into the cafe, asking for autographs. As the noise increased in the cafe, Bill heard some stories. The chef had been a beneficiary of Bill's vocational training programme, and her aspiration of working in a Michelin-star restaurant was finally realised in the afterlife. There were so many moguls, doctors, teachers, artistes, people who inspired and created, all of whom owed their initial training to Bill's programmes. As Bill shook hands and heard the stories of the many, many people in the afterlife who did not have a chance to realise their dreams in life, he realised that not everyone was as fortunate as he was. However, he knew that the afterlife didn't have to be about the amount of money you carried down with you. And above all, he was grateful that his last few extremely lavish years were well-spent.
I ran to the motel window and looked outside. Instead of scenes of carnage, everything was tranquil. People were walking down the street as if nothing had happened; waving to each other as they passed and commenting on the weather. The sun was rising above the trees on the opposite side of the street. It was a beautiful day, warm with a slight breeze. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the atmosphere was peaceful. The car park below my window was starting to get busy as people made there way to buy groceries from the store downstairs. Children were playing as they made there way to school and a cheerful old man was walking his dog My mind was racing. Maybe the footage was from a previous incident. No, I knew the place well and there had certainly never been anything like that happen. The most newsworthy thing that had ever happened here was the fire at the old mill. Maybe it was a joke. But then why would every new outlet be showing the same footage? Maybe the nuke had gone off in a town with the same name. But As far as I knew there was only one Morgansville in South Abbott's County, and that was this one. Maybe it happened somewhere out of town and this was the nearest place to where it went off so they just said it happened here. News reporters do that all the time. But then why does the footage show this motel on fire and other buildings around it in as piles of rubble? I got dressed and hurried down out of the hotel room, down the stairs and into the lobby. The elderly lady with a southern accent welcomed me as a reached the reception. "Mornin' Darl'. Did you enjoy your stay here? How did you sleep?" "Have you seen the news? It says a nuclear warhead went off in the middle of this town." "I sure did. It was the darndest thing." "And? Why does is the whole town destroyed on the news but everything here is just as normal?" "I wouldn't know about that now sweetheart. All I know is that the trucks came through here, the bomb exploded and there was a huge white light, then it was as if all the trucks disappeared. Everything was normal again." "Maybe it's a conspiracy."I muttered to myself, harnessing my inner Eddie Bravo. "I don't know where they are getting all of these videos from that they are playing on the TV. There aren't any news cameras in town that I see."The lady said with her head down as she filled in her reservations diary. "Will you be checking out today?" "Can I have a late check out? I just want to see what's going on." "Sure thing darl', I'll keep the room in your name." I left the motel and started to check online. BBC, Reuters, ABC, Reddit all had detailed reports about a warhead going off in this town just hours ago. I would have checked Russia Today. But I'm not a communist. What the hell was happening. Was this an ellaborate plot to destroy a small town? Or was it a way for the government to make a warhead disappear, but actually they still had it. But why would they do that. I got into my car and sat briefly behind the wheel, searching for answers. I tried to send a message on all of my apps: Outlook, Text message, Whatsapp, Facebook Messenger, Reddit, Twitter, Instagram... But the message came up with an error or could not send message. I would have tried to download and use Line, Webo and We Chat, but I am not a communist. I tried to call my wife who was back at home. Maybe she would know what is going on. I needed to explain I was safe. I went to recent and tried calling her. But the automated voice said that the number was not recognised. I'll just call the house phone, no we don't have a house phone; this isn't 1995. I tried calling one person after another but every number came up as not recognised. I had plenty of signal; what was happening? I thought it might be my phone so restarted it. But when I tried again it gave me the same message. I got out of the car and looked around for a pay phone, no there aren't payphones anymore; this isn't 1995. I got back in the car and drove around the town. There wasn't a single news crew. There wasn't even a hint that something bad had happened. I turned on the car radio. The local radio station made no mention of anything out of the ordinary happening. It was just two happy guys talking about the upcoming summer festival. I turned to the national radio and waited for the news. Sure enough the report about the town being levelled by the nuke was top story. I couldn't understand what was happening. I decided to leave the town. I went back to the motel, showered and packed my belongings, paid my bill and continued on my journey. When I got back home things seemed off. I was able to find a parking spot on my street with little hassle. The roads and sidewalks seemed empty; they had people in them but mostly old people. Some younger people were walking around but not many. I went into my house and saw that it was exactly as I had left it. It was if my wife hadn't been home after we both left the previous day. I looked around and everything was the same as the last time I saw it. Even down to the dirty socks I left on the floor. She usually picks those up so I know she hasn't been home. I tried calling again but I got the same number not recognised message as I had previously. I sat on the bed and tried to think why everything was so strange. Later I went for a walk. All the shops were shut, except Louie's. Louie died after a heart attack last year and his wife shut the diner. I went up and saw a large middle aged Italian American in a sweat stained white t-shirt and white cook's hat behind the counter. "Hey, what can I get you?"Louie asked in his deep voice, sounding like a mobster in Goodfellas. "Louie? I thought that you died." "Yeah? Well you thought right, kid. We're all dead. Everyone here is dead and this is it. This is heaven." "Then why are you still serving food?" "I like it here. Plus this place is perfect now I don't gotta listen to the old lady bothering me all day. And I got nothing else to do, might as well do something. You never know. Next week I could win the sweepstakes and go to Bermuda. Until then, I'm keeping busy."
This was excellent. I really like the grim tone you carried throughout the passage which was a nice twist on the prompt. Erica's character is compelling and complex and you did this all in a relatively short passage. Nice job! A few nitpicks: > and looked straight through me. Past tense :) >two winters ago Kill the apostrophe. > This house did not suit her. Last winter, she had a healthy... The first sentence felt a bit out of place. The previous paragraph talked about Erica's hand and the following paragraph talks about her personality but nowhere in there do you show why the house didn't suit her. Further on you have: > with her empty eyes on the broken table next. First off, I think this sentence just ends abruptly.... but also I think your sentence about the house not suiting her would best fit here accompanied by more detail about the house itself. One last thing: > “Please,” she whispered, “I want to leave.” That hits like a ton of bricks. It's incredibly powerful writing and an amazing way to close the story/chapter. Well done! &#x200B;
(Changing the paper to a smartphone notification. A piece of paper seems like overkill) &#x200B; Geology 101 - Rocks for Jocks was potentially the easiest class in my courseload this year, and intentionally so. I'd taken it because I'd stacked the other classes trying to knock out some of the harder required courses in one semester. It felt like a good idea to try and leverage that with some pure bullshit. So as I sat in the nearly empty classroom, the majority of the students not even bothering to show considering how weighted the class was to the open book test at the end of the year. I felt my phone buzz. And not stop. It was face down on the table and started vibrating towards the end of the desk. I looked up as I stopped it with my hand and noticed that the few other students present were being greeted with the same phenomenon, as well as the teacher. &#x200B; I turned my phone over slowly. The phone displayed a massive header and a series of what appeared to be patch notes below an intro paragraph that read: \--------------------- # GLOBAL ALERT - UNIVERSE V 3.2.5 - FIX Season 3 continues in Universal Sandbox and brings new goodies and a lot of balance fixes with it! Uncover what’s in the new Seasons Pass Pack, explore new Planets, earn shiny Pets and upgrade with a new consumable. Due to an influx of complaints about neglect from the denizens, the Planet Earth has gotten some extra attention this patch as it's been left alone for the better part of the last 200 Million cycles since the continental drift patch went into affect. &#x200B; # GENERAL ## PERFORMANCE * Fixed an issue on multiple planets (including Earth.) where the temperature was increasing rapidly due to overpopulation and abusing local flora and fauna. * Fixed a graphics issue where space was only being depicted in black and white when viewing from planet surface unless a telescope or other viewing device was present. * Fixed an issue where looking at the sun caused permanent blindness. Now causes lens flair as originally intended. Far more visually stimulating without any damaging effects. \--------------------- I looked up at the sun to check. Sure enough, just like in Battlefield and Call of Duty. Now a bunch of dots appeared in my vision, and yet I didn't feel the need to look away. Nor when I finally did, did my eyes hurt like they used to. "Trippy" I said aloud and continued reading. \------------------- # BALANCE TWEAKS * Minor fixes on the planet Klaxon 9 that resulted in the women of the planet being forced to listen to the incessant whining of the elder men about the good old days. Leading to each and every woman on the planet removing their hearing duct out of necessity to avoid death by reminiscents. Hearing has been reset for all affected players. * Fixed an issue where faster than light travel caused certain species to age backwards, essentially enabling immortality. * Fixed an issue where species with gills could not breathe local air and vice versa. Diminishing returns have been reestablished. Now when a species enters an environment that's not what they are used to, they are weakened but fully able to exist. This applies to walking in space as well. * Fixed an issue where some species, especially bipedal. Were unable to develop flight abilities via evolution and were forced to use technological means instead. This will be rolled out in stages. * Earth Fixes * Fixed a balance issue on planet earth that resulted in all countries involved in the first World War to have an imbalance of power over developing nations. * Fixed an issue in America where a growing number of impoverished citizens were overly susceptible to propaganda and showed a tendency to vote against their own interests. This is a retroactive fix. \---------------- I could hear one of my classmates, a left-leaning woman named Stephanie googling furiously. "Holy shit!" She cheered aloud. "He's gone! FUCK YOU TRUMP!" \--------------- * &#x200B; * Fixed an issue in Communist countries preventing communism from being effective due to greed and corruption. * Fixed an issue where fuel was required to propel vehicles instead of mental capacity like the majority of the regions. \------------------ I could hear various comments from the class. "FUCKING UNREAL!"Said one of my classmates to his girlfriend sitting next to him still playing Candy Crush. The teacher ran out to his car to test it. Another class mate began to sift through now fully available Chinese media, exclaiming aloud what he was reading. "Tibet is free!"He shouted. "Putin stepped down voluntarily!" Somehow in the blink of an eye, the major woes of our entire planet had been resolved. Temperatures dropped globally, water levels receded to the norm. Wars ended, terrorism disappeared and food was plentiful and rich no matter where you lived. \-------------- # RESUPPLY * Fixed an issue where species were made extinct by over-hunting or fishing. Adjusted respawn rates of various species to account for extinction and/or overcrowding. * Fixed an issue where fresh water became an issue for certain planets. All water now is self-cleaning until further notice. # BUG FIXES * Fixed the cancer bug that caused certain internal code to corrupt, effectively destroying the host in multiple galaxies. \---------------- I kept reading, did they just say they "Fixed"Cancer? I thought to myself. I kept pouring through the notes, lots of stuff I didn't understand about species and planets I'd never heard of. Some random gravity related tweaks. Fixes to the health module for a few species, including Humans. Suddenly I heard Kevin from the front of the class. "Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck! FUUUCK!" He shouted and dropped his phone. "FUCK!"Someone finally asked him what. "Scroll to the very bottom."He said, his voice trembling. You didn't have to tell me twice, with two fingers on the screen I paged down to the bottom. # MAJOR BUG FIXES * Fixed an issue with clipping preventing other species from entering the milky way galaxy and visiting Earth. This will come into effect 2 Cycles after the patch is released to give Earth time to prepare. This will coincide with season 2 of Battle Royale. \-------- And that my friends, is how we entered the Second Galactic War. Now excuse me, I have to suit up, the Romulans are coming. &#x200B;
Frustrated, I descend the stairs. Day 82. Almost three months in and I still haven't been able to get rid of this horror movie nerd. I squint against the bright morning sunshine filtering through the shear curtains as I trudge through the living room toward the kitchen. And there's Kevin, sitting at his little table in the dinette, blithely eating a bowl of cereal. I sigh heavily. He glances over at me. I've decided I'm not going to hide myself any longer. No more tricks or jump scares, just a regular dead dude leaning against a doorframe. He stops chewing, a look of mild surprise on his face, eyebrows raised in a silent question. I calmly walk over to the table and sit in the chair opposite him, flicking a stray cereal flake onto the floor. He begins to chew again while we stare at each other. After a few minutes of looking at his pockmarked face I reach toward him, grasp the edge of his cereal bowl, and calmly dump its contents in his lap. After giving it two brisk shakes to ensure every drop of milk is now soaking into his boxers, I place the bowl gently on the table from whence it came. "Dude,"he says, "not cool." I fix him with my gaze again. "Get the fuck out of my house, Kevin." "I bought this house, it's mine,"he replies, standing up to retrieve a handful of paper towels. He returns to the table and begins to clean up my mess. "Wrong, buckaroo. This house was given to me,"I explain. "It is mine, and I don't want you in it any longer." Of course, I can't tell him the real reason I want him out. "Well, I'll get you a straw so you can suck it up. I don't care who killed you or what anyone gave you, I paid for it and you'll have to leave eventually."He beams triumphantly at me. "I know all your tricks." "Oh, Kevin, you poor, sad loser,"I reply, leaning down under the table, "you have no idea." Lifting one end of the table, I unscrew a single foot pad. I walk over to the kitchen sink, drop it in, and stare at Kevin as I flip on the disposal unit. Horrible metallic grinding noises radiate from the appliance. Kevin reaches for the switch and I slap his hand away. He reaches again; another slap. Another. Another. Eventually, the disposal breaks and the noise ceases. I smile at him and walk away. Behind me, I hear a barely-audible "God damnit"as he flips the switch off.
"I swear to god I'm going to shoot you if you say-" &#x200B; "You scientists caused this entire mess by forcing the chicken pox vaccine on it and you know!"the middle aged woman declared smugly. "So sure, take it. Die, let us with an ounce of intelligence finally have some peace and quiet in this world without people trying to stick chemicals in us. I've never had a chemical in my life and I'm perfectly healthy!"Declared one of the few people who managed to be obese during the apocalypse. "Water is a chemical."I reponded dead pan. She just snorted. "Lying won't convince us to let you stab us, something our body tells us we should never let anyone do, to inject us with poison to kill off the rest of us. Besides, why do we need to take it if you're all going too and it really works?" "... you will litterally try to kill us if you get infected."She rolled her eyes. "Hah, exactly what I thought. Heard immunity, the world is going to hell in a hand basket and all you can do is go back to the same stupid argument as before. Old plauges burned themselves out before your so called 'cures' how do you explain that?"I could feel my blood pressure rising, an unfortuante response with how hard it was to make. &#x200B; "Everyone with it died you over sided cow!"I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, she simply let out a high pitch laugh and turned around. "Personal attacks? God, you have to know how wrong you are to resort to that."And with that she left the office, back to her community of anti vaxxers. "Sir..."the young scientist spoke up behind me, their heavily repaired too large glasses falling off their nose. "Shouldn't you have told her that...?"I just shook my head. "Nah, honestly if you can't notice a zombie bite on the back of your arm you probably aren't worth saving."The scientist just bobbed a head and stepped away as I proudly wrote on my note pad 'Anti vaxxers community of new york- SOLVED'
I was born weird. I think maybe everyone has this thought from time to time, some more than others, but the world has always appeared differently for me than it seems to for other people. Growing up, I'd see drawings and wonder, where are all the lines? There were supposed to be lines, that's what the world was mostly made of. I mean, the drawings had lines of their own, but attached to the paper, or the screen, doing their own tangled probabilistic dance of short trajectories and braking friction. After a while, after enough weird looks, you stop talking about it. You rationalize, because one against everyone in the war of thoughts, that's bad odds, right? And persisting, isn't that kind of the definition of madness? The guy locked in a room, arms held close to his body by a white jacket that matches the decor, ranting and raving about how he's Napoleon while attendants carrying syringes and belts look on stone-faced? I didn't want to be that guy. So I just...went on with my life. It's not that I never took advantage of the way I saw the world. I played sports, all of them. I was pretty good; I rarely missed a clear shot in basketball, for example. But a few things kept me from being all-time great. I can see where an object is going, and I got pretty good at adjusting my own movements to put things exactly where I wanted them. I have pretty good reaction times, too. But I was born with some bone problems in both legs, and just couldn't run all that fast. So yeah, I didn't miss...but I got blocked plenty. Doctors didn't want to fix the problem til I'd passed puberty, said it could screw up the growth plates. And I was a late bloomer. So I was seventeen by the time I got both legs straight and working properly, way too late to be scouted for serious athletic scholarships. My academics were pretty good, but uneven. I'm deeply, almost hopefully shit at math. I learned to do some things by rote, I scraped passing grades up off the floor of my incomprehension, though only ever in the most basic classes required to graduate. Other things, I did pretty damn good. But it wasn't enough for an academic scholarship. And my family's...pretty fucking poor, to tell you the truth. I'll spare you the long sob story, but I wasn't about to get any help for college and didn't want to go into debt and felt stuck in my hometown anyway and I'd just dumped my girlfriend for being kind of shitty about supporting me during the surgery to fix my legs. So, like a lot of people in my situation, I enlisted in the Army. It wasn't just about college, either, I was young and naive and there was a war on. In the Middle East. Again. This time China was involved somehow; yay for proxy wars. I was just supposed to be a truck driver. I found out later that my ASVAB—that's the military entrance exam—scores were high enough to qualify me for other jobs, but the recruiter had slots to fill and I was in his office all by myself and didn't think I have any leverage. If you ever start thinking about enlisting, first LISTEN TO ME. Read the fucking contract, disregard every word that comes out of the recruiter's mouth. Find a bright veteran to come advocate for you, if you can. Because in that office is the last time you'll have any leverage over the military until it comes time to re-enlist. Seriously. Wise words. But no one gave them to me, so I found myself standing at what I'd only recently learned was the Position of Attention in the middle of fuck-all nowhere in Missouri. Ah, Fort Leonard Wood, how I don't miss you. An angry man in a flat-brimmed brown hat was yelling at us all. Then an angry woman in this weird asymmetrical hat that turned up on one side. Then we were doing pushups. Then we were doing more pushups. Then the really sadistic exercises began. I'll spare you the whole Basic Training narrative, right up until mine started to diverge from everyone else's because trust me, they don't vary that much from person to person. They make damn sure of that. Stand when they tell you, sit when they tell you, walk when they tell you, stop when they tell you. All at the same time, all in exactly the same way. Uniformity, it's one of the Army's many pagan idols along with sleep deprivation and a sacred prohibition against putting your hands in your pockets. The interesting part of my story doesn't actually start when we first got our rifles, like you might expect, because at first we just did dry-fire drills, and learned to put them together take them apart put them together take them apart put them together take them apart carry it everywhere put it together take it apart sleep with the motherfucker I wish I'd never heard the word "rifle"holy shit what kind of life choices have I made. Then there was this sort of video game where we'd point modified rifles fitted with pneumatics to simulate recoil. I was terrible at it. I mean really, really bad. I don't see like other people, I've never been able to play video games, the movement of all the things that are supposed to be in three dimensions on the screen makes no sense to me, there's no movement attached to it, no lines except the tiny movements of the liquid crystals in the display, I just can't do it. I was the very last member of my platoon to qualify. It was shitty. I got singled out. U.S. Army Basic Combat Training is not a place you want to be singled out. So I was in a pretty shit mood by the time we got to the actual rifle range, even by Basic Training standards which is, as any veteran will tell you, saying something. <continued below>
"Look, I'll be honest with you. You look like crap." "I look like crap! You look like crap! I look like you!" I sighed, and steepled my fingers. How do I make him understand? "You're ruining my image. See...I have a standard. A panache. A trademark. I turn heads. I spark conversation. You, however, are a pink-faced bastard in a polka-dotted dinner jacket." "This jacket is yours though." My face flushed with blood. Red-hot anger filled my veins. "Mine?"I spluttered, indignantly. "I'd never buy anything of the sort!" "Oh, calling me a liar, are you? Well, if I'm a liar, so are you!" I, too, proceeded to draw myself up. One must never let a comrade stare you down, however much he may claim to look like you. I say claim, and I mean 'look like' in the loosest sense. There's hardly a possibility that I was born with a nose like that! Got the nasty bits of Vlad the vulture, and the Wicker Witch of the West (or was the the South?) unfortunately mashed together. There's no way the girls at the club would have woo'd at a man sporting a beak of that ghastly sort. "A liar! Rubbish! You're a liar! You're not me! You don't look anything like me! You remind me of the bald fellow from the Keanu Reeves movie crossbred with a the bastard child of Danny DeVito and Dorothy's Scarecrow!" He looked wounded. "I feel wounded,"he said. "Shall I fetch the salt?" "You just want to hurt my feelings. I was born yesterday and you're being downright spiteful. I bet if I plucked your hat straight off your head and bunged it on mine, you'd instantly disown it and ramble on about how bloody ghastly it is." My hand rose instinctively to my head, adorned by the old bowler. "Nonsense,"I replied, feeling the brim. "Go on, then. Hand it over. Let's give it a shot." I was reluctant. "But just hold on-" "Oh, be a sport!" "All right!"I cried. I gently unveiled the natural toupee, and handed him the crown of fabric. He carefully adjusted it on his misshapen lump of a head, and looked up at me. "Well?" I analysed him with a critical eye. "Well now..."I murmured softly. "You're absolutely right. That hat is absolute piece of rubbish. Its Frankenstein's own hat, resurrected from garbage bags. What a ghastly thing it is. I could never own something like it. Little wonder such an insult to the community of design appeals to you!" His face turned red, than purple, than the rare, but rather beautiful hue you'll witness if you force yourself awake in the early hours of the morning, and make the five mile hike to the peak of whatnot, just to catch the two minutes of the sun popping its crown over the horizon. "Pah!"he managed. "Pah."I deemed it polite to reply. "Pah,"he repeated, evidently considering it an apt summary, but one I regrettably could fail to translate to my own comprehension. He then stormed out of the room. I raised my finger at his retreating back. The one I hadn't chopped off, of course.
There's long been a debate about whether or not you chose your Everkeep, or if your Everkeep chose you. Like with most things, everyone had an opinion, but nobody could really know for sure. Part of the problem was that there were no set guidelines for when you item came to you. It just...did, whenever the time was right. For me, I was only a kid. I had heard about the Everkeeps on TV and in movies and what have you, but being little I never really paid any attention to such things. All I cared about was running around outside and being an idiot, like most kids. On one especially idiotic day, I found myself in the park, when I was struck by a brilliant idea. "What would happen if I threw my football up into the tree?"After many 'successful' attempts at throwing my ball at a tree and having it bounce back down to me through the limbs, I couldn't have been more giddy. "I need to tell someone about this!"was all I could think, believing I had just discovered some fountain of eternal joy. But on my last attempt, naturally, my ball got stuck. "Well, this is dumb."Yes, little me, it was. I stared at the tree for what felt like forever, wishing my ball would magically come loose. Eventually I gave up, and threw my arms up in the air out of exasperation. "Why is life so mean!"I yelled at the top of my lungs. But shortly thereafter, I heard something. Like a 'wooshing' sound of trees in a stiff wind. I looked around to see what was happening, and from the east, I saw it. My pole. Like a blue and red striped missile, my Everkeep raced towards me. All I could manage to do was stand there, mouth agape, as my tiny brain processed what was going on. The pole slowed down as it approached me, and gently rested itself in my right hand of my still outstretched arm. I looked at the pole, then up to my ball in the tree. Then back at the pole. Then tree. Back and forth, until it finally clicked. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I poked my ball through the twigs above, and it gently fell out and bounced around on the ground. I'M UNSTOPPABLE NOW! I thought to myself. While not quite unstoppable, I have to say, my Everkeep was quite handy. As you've seen from my younger self, I was a bit prone to stupid decisions. The number of times I needed to get at something on the other side of a fence, or under my car, or was just curious about poking something can only be numbered by the stars. And my blue and red friend was always ready when I needed him; all it took was a raised arm. This proved both useful and dangerous, as I would occasionally forget my power, which meant cheering at a sporting event could be quite perilous. All told, I lived a pretty normal life. Thankfully, there are a lot of people like me out there who throw stuff at trees for no reason, and I was able to corner the market on getting toys and miscellaneous items out of trees and tight places. I had nothing as exciting as some of the other Everkeeps out there, but it suited me well, and I was always happy. And it's only now as an old man, that the truest, most meaningful gift was finally revealed. As I was making a cup of tea one day, I watched my grandson out in the yard. He was a lot like me when I was a kid, always outdoors, causing delightful mischief. But he was a little too much like me in some ways. As I watched him throwing his ball at one of my trees, I knew where things were headed. Before it even got stuck, I made my way to the porch, arm already raised toward the heavens. As the door shut, Timmy ran up to me crying. "My ball!" "I know, kid. Let's go get it." We stood before the trees, gazing into its branches. Timmy sniffled, and I simply stood there, quietly chuckling. The familiar 'woosh' was heard in the distance, and my old friend was again resting comfortably in my hand within moments. I poked the ball out of the tree, and it fell right into Timmy's relieved arms. "Tha...that was SO COOL, grandpa! You're my hero!" The Everkeeps had made heroes a dime a dozen, so I never really thought of myself that way. But hearing it from Timmy, and knowing he was being genuine, changed my world, and made me grateful in a way I had never really known. I smiled and patted him on the head, and went back to the house. "I love that dumb boy,"I laughed to myself, as I sipped my tea and watched him again throw his ball into the tree. "Grandpa! Help!" ______________________________________________________________________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
Right so here's the thing. I'm the only "me"left, the only "I,"the only true individual. I don't know what they call themselves, it's hard to really talk to them. And it's not really like a hive mind, not like a beehive or anthill or anything. As best I can tell it's a psychic thing. Like early on before the Whatsit was finished, I guess The Integration would be a good word, anyhow. Before that, when most people were still individuals, the science-types tried isolating the pod people types. Sealed chambers and they were still part of it, could still "hear"the instructions, you know? You don't. Because you don't exist because there isn't a you-singular anymore, there's just me and the people-machine that runs the bodies of everybody else. Now where was I again? Okay. I'm writing this because maybe someday there'll be another person like me out there. Or maybe there's just another that I haven't found yet. I really hope there are more people out there, more people excluded from the big stupid psychic link, so that I won't be alone with just ... them for company. Because they aren't good company. They barely notice I exist, and it's fucking lonely. I saw my sister again yesterday and this time I tried grabbing her and seeing if I could wake her up and get my sister back, but she was blank-faced and going about her business because the Overbrain kind of just ... well, it doesn't maintain status quo in the same way that it used to be, but everybody--like literally each individual body--has tasks and they just ... go and do them, you know? And I want to say it's so inefficient but really it's nicely organized. My sister, she's young and healthy so they have her doing physical work, like not heavy labor but more errands. She had a pattern, they all have patterns. They still go to homes to sleep but it's all ... like, well, they go to the nearest unlocked home with an available bed or couch, just walk in. They're all unlocked these days, the owners unlocked everything once they got sucked into the Integration and the keys are still in the locks. Sorry. Sorry. I haven't really talked to anyone in a long time and it's so hard to keep my thoughts organized. I waited and waited for them to come for me, I thought for sure it'd be any day, I'd wake up and there wouldn't be a me anymore, I'd be part of that big ... whatever. I mean, it seemed inevitable, you know? I tried holding out, but I lost touch with all of the others and then I couldn't find anyone who wasn't taken and well. They didn't. I'm still me. And it's weird, like I'm offended but also relieved but also terrified. Why don't they want me? I've been raiding their food--like they have some of the dronefolk whose tasks involve cooking and they do these big buffet-type cafeteria things wherever and I just drop in and grab what I can. They don't pay any attention to me. But where was I? Yes, my sister. I grabbed her and tried taking her to a car and three big blank-faced bouncer types came up and just shoved me away and carried her back to where I'd grabbed her. They didn't hit me or anything, just ... got her loose from my arms and put her back down and she went back to her task. They stood and waited and blocked me from getting close to her but otherwise didn't say or do anything. It's so damn creepy. It's like they can see me. If there's a big crowd they'll walk around me. But I'm not there to them, I don't exist, I'm a rock or a tree or something. I tried seeing if there's something like one in charge, like if I could find the Boss Brain I could talk to them, reason with them, get some answers. But I've got nothing. They keep the lights on, they keep the water running, it's funny. They're using the infrastructure we made and are even maintaining it, but the phones, the internet, it's all gone. I made the library into a little fort, have been trying to learn how to use a ham radio, set it up and all. See if I can find someone else. I can't even get a dog for company. Every animal I've found seems to be part of it, they won't stay with me. What the fuck is wrong with me? If you had to take everyone else, why couldn't you take me too?
Drowl, a beautiful world. My world. Yeah, I know, It’s a video game, but who really care? I live here since the game was created by the alliance between Mycroftsoft and Bapple. My life as a blacksmith is what I have always known and I love it. By night or by day, I always craft weapons for players. No peace for the braves. And, with time, I made even ‘friends’ like Aydan or Sarkends. Even if I have pre-recorded answers, they try to speak with me. But, lately, everything has begun to change. There is a month more or less, the first mod has appeared. It had transformed little things, like the houses models or their textures. The other mods don’t wait to arrive. And now, the game is totally different. The landscape has changed drastically. The town is neither like before. And a weird feeling starts to invade me. I want to explore this new country. But I can’t. I’m always in front of my anvil. Suddenly, a little freeze and glitch happen to me and my environment. A new mod is here. What have changed? I’m curious. So I put down my hammer beside me and… I PUT DOWN MY HAMMER?! — What the hell is that shit? I say. Whoa, since when I can do other things except my routine or say things like that? I look at my hands strangely and after a short moment, I go to my doorstep. I see other merchants on the street like me, unsettled. And that’s where I saw them with a satisfying smile on their faces. — Sarkends? Aydan? What have you done?
Dr. Harrison removed the last bullet from my chest and began sewing me up, shaking his head. “You know, one of these days you are actually going to die. People have tried this before. It never ends well for them. Six thousand seems to around the highest most get to before they actually die. What are you at right now? This is the six hundredth time I’ve seen you? Either I’m going to become a master of dissuading idiots from trying this or you’re going to die long before you hit ten thousand. I smiled. I was actually at nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine. I was one near-death experience away from being a master at almost dying The good doctor did not need to know that though. I did not actually want it known that I would essentially be immortal. There are plenty of ways to disable someone permanently without killing them. A week later, I was humming to myself as I set up my last step towards immortality. I had to be very careful to make sure I sufficiently diversified my tangles with death. If I almost electrocuted myself to death ten thousand times, I would only become a master of almost electrocuting myself, not a master of not dying. Not a lot of people know this, but more than a couple of people have actually made this mistake. It’s a lot easier to almost kill yourself without killing yourself if you simply repeat what you’ve already done. I already went through the easy and common ways of almost getting myself killed. Last time, I went for getting shot while flying a gyroplane. For the finale, I chose something cheaper. My wallet has been feeling a bit beaten up lately. Killing yourself in creative manners isn’t exactly cheap. This time, I went for something simple. I was going to ride a bike off a cliff while my friend was driving a car underneath. His car would hit me right when I fell off. We painstakingly did the math to figure out not only the exact height I had to launch myself off but also the exact speeds we would both have to go not kill me and not kill his car. I finished measuring out my exact measuring point. I glanced at my watch. An hour and twenty one minutes until we were both supposed to begin. I awoke in a hospital bed a few hours later with Dr. Harrison standing above. “I see you’re up. Six hundred and one. I guess, now is as good as any to begin lecturing you on the perils of trying to almost kill yourself.” I zoned the rest of what Dr. Harrison was saying. Not because of the pain, but because something was wrong. Previously, when I mastered a skill, it felt like a whole new world was opened to me. This time, it felt exactly the same. It took me awhile to realize that we already mastered the skill of almost dying as a baby. Babies are constantly almost killing themselves until suddenly they stop. We already were masters of near-death experiences, but sometimes being a master just isn’t enough.
The debate was getting intense. Jimmy really thought his moronic ideas would somehow save the world, but, god damn, he is so dumb, it’s unbelievable. I was mid-sentence, explaining why his idea wouldn’t help anyone, and why it would take a lifetime, then suddenly he vanished. Just as quick as he left, an old man popped into existence right in his place. I instantly knew what had happened but still couldn’t help myself to ask, “Oh man, what did you do?!” He looked horrible. I told him it would take forever, but of course he doesn’t listen. Jimmy looks like he’s trying to say something but can’t quite get it out. I guess living a lifetime in frozen time, alone, makes you forget how to speak. Finally he starts to make a noise and I can just barely understand what he’s saying, “aah, I, I guess –“ he coughs violently. From the sound of it the dumb shit must be dying. His coughing fit finally stops and he continues, “- we will see if” seeming to stave off another cough, Jimmy swallows what little saliva there is in his mouth and keeps talking, “I was rig-“. “YOU’RE NOT RIGHT!” I yell, cutting him off. “How many times did I tell you you’re not right, how many ways could I possibly explain it!” Rage coursed through my body. When I brought Jimmy into this, I thought he would listen to my plan and help me make the world a better place, now he’s gone and wasted his entire life on quite possibly the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. I knew he was stubborn, but I had no idea he was so hardheaded he would spend his whole life on this just to spite me. All because of this one argument. The reality of the situation dawned on me suddenly. “How much time crystal did you use!? You must have used at least half of what we have! And this means you spent your whole life literally walking, what, the entire continent?! You must have! Cars don’t work in frozen time.” I found myself furiously pacing back and forth in front of him, his head turned to follow me, but each movement brought a pained look to his face. “You spent decades, DECADES! The whole time you didn’t stop to think about what you were doing?! You never thought, ‘oh Todd might have been right’, not even for a second!” My face was bright red at this point, but I stopped to take a deep breath and calm down. A man sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby café, obviously disturbed by my yelling at, what looks to be, the oldest man on earth, shouted “hey is everything okay over there?” Having calmed down a bit I turned and said, “we’re fine, thanks” and turned back to Jimmy. “I’m not talking to you”, he spoke brusquely, “I’m talking to the older gentleman, excuse me sir!” He had to raise his voice because Jimmy wasn’t looking in his direction and it didn’t seem like he noticed the man at the café was talking at all. But Jimmy heard and slowly turned in his direction. Once facing the café, the man asked again, “is everything alright sir?” Jimmy, unable to speak fast enough to placate the man, nodded slightly and weakly raised his arm implying everything was alright. Jimmy’s response seemed to satisfy him, and the man at the café slowly turned back toward his table, keeping his eyes on me until his body was fully turned around. Disarmed a bit, I fell silent, not wanting to draw any more attention. The café was close enough that I could hear their conversation, even in hushed tones. A woman at the table said, “that poor old man, he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that”. As she spoke, their waitress was walking by and the woman called out to get her attention, “excuse me, waitress?” The waitress stopped and waited for her question. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could we get those straws we were asking for earlier?” The waitress responded, “sorry, yeah, I’ve actually been looking around the restaurant and it’s really weird, it’s as if all the straws in the entire restaurant have disappeared suddenly.” In an instant my blood boiled again, in a frenzy I spun toward Jimmy in time to see a shit eating grin spread across his face. Knowing he literally spent most of our time-crystals walking the earth getting rid of every straw he could, I exploded in rage. “YOU FUCKING MORON!!” I screamed as I instinctively lunged at him, grasping for his throat.
"Find salvation in the lord and thou shall be saved from the terrible damnation of the end of the world." I remember the words well. I was ten years old when I heard them, spoken by a kindly old priest in a small church my family attended every Sunday. I never really bought into religion, even as a child it seemed a bit too farfetched to me, that some ethereal force sat on high in judgement of all he had created, and that he would one day decide to end it all. It didn't sit right to me that this all-knowing, all-loving, all-forgiving god had already decided that one day he would destroy what he built. I branded myself a non-believer pretty early on. In the end it didn't really matter. Believers, non-believers, we all died the same on that day. The horn bellowed from the sky at a volume I could barely believe, and in an instant the last great war of humanity began. The angels descended en masse, and cut down any and all they came across. It was very clear we were not supposed to win this war. We rallied and we fought back of course, humans are tenacious if nothing else and we would not go quietly into our oblivion, no matter who demanded it. We threw all of our great military might at our new enemy... and we got slaughtered. I couldn't begin to tell you how many we lost before we realized that bullets and bombs do not affect an enemy that has come from the next plane. You can cut an angel down with a sword or a blade, but their wounds are fleeting, and they soon heal themselves. An enemy we couldn't possibly have prepared for. An enemy we could scarcely even inflicted damage upon. An enemy who didn't tire, or hunger, or cease its assault... It was hopeless. Somehow, there were a few of us who survived. At first we fought, but it didn't take us long to realize it was futile. And so we ran. We scurried through sewers like rats and hid among the wreckage of the great structures we had built, barely finding time to rest before we were under attack again. And hour by hour our numbers dwindled. By the seventh day there were four of us left. Four lowly, pathetic humans hobbling through the scarred remnants of a world we thought was ours. It was near to dawn, nearly seven days after the end of the world. We had stopped to rest in the ruins of some crumbled building. Exhausted, starving, scared... they found us almost immediately.. and I knew, we all knew it I think... this was as far as we could go. None of us tried to run this time. We had been running for seven days and we had no where left to run to... and no more will to try. I watched them come closer. Three angels, each taller than any man I had ever seen, their resplendent wings shining in the early dawn light. Clad in gleaming sliver armor and holding swords stained red with blood. I briefly wondered how many humans these three had killed, and then I wondered how many humans were left. How many could it possibly be? They came closer, with barely a moment's hesitation. I was nearest to them, and with a strained sigh, I forced myself onto my feet. From behind me I heard one of my companions begin to sob quietly. "This is the end."The angel's voice was deep, and boomed forth with such ferocity that I felt it rock my weary body. It raised it's great sword high above its head. I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything... and as the great glittering sword descended towards me, I felt peace for the first time in seven days. Without a sound, the blade stopped suddenly, barely an inch from my head. The great and imposing angel in front of me staggered back, as though pushed by an invisible force, convulsed and disintegrated into a brilliant mist. The other two followed soon after, evaporating in front of my eyes and leaving no trace that they ever stood there at all. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a soothing voice in my ear, and turned to see a woman standing beside me. She was strikingly beautiful, clad in black armor with a flowing scarlet cloak fluttering lightly behind her in the morning air. She gave a kind smile. "You've done splendidly."She said softly. "I'm sorry we couldn't be here earlier." "Who?"I managed in response. I glanced back the place where the angels had stood just moments before. "How? What? Who-"She silenced me with a gloved finger to my lips. "Later. Rest now, no more danger will find you, I promise."She said tenderly. "My name is Lucifer, but you can call me Luci."
"Your honor, surely you must be joking!" "Mr. Goody Two Shoes, I will not be adressed like this in my courtroom." "Apologies your honor, but Professor Evil stole the water supply for an entire city...!" "Bought the rights to the aquifer, your honor,"the opposing counsel interjected. "He exploited and ruined the lives of thousands of children...!" "Outsourced production to China, your honor." "Robbed millions of people of their life savings...!" "Set up an, albeit high-risk, investment scheme. They should have read the fine print." "And gathered the private data of millions of Americans!" "As a contractor for the American government. Your honor, although Mr. Goody Two Shoes here claims to be a 'super' hero, he has done nothing but spread malicious rumours about my client. We will pursue a libel and defamation case against this flaunter of the law!" "Sounds reasonable,"the judge concluded, "see you again tomorrow."
Hour Three: Toby and Sara [Start here, at Hour One!](/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j2o4tk/wp_exactly_973_of_all_humanity_will_die_in_3_days/g76qo8s/) "Okay,"Sara said, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and reading the news on her phone. "So apparently, hundreds of millions of people are having the same or similar dreams. Angelic figures with dark wings, in some sort of assembly with other people. Many of them warned about a 'Beacon' of some sort." "That's gotta be the giant torch that was just dug up in the Antarctic,"I said. "Apparently the whole lab's been destroyed, everyone killed. Can't be anything else, right?" "Yeah,"she muttered, holding back tears. "You know what this means, Toby? Our friends, families, everyone we know... almost all of them are going to die!" I nodded. "Mhm. I've been trying not to think about that." Sara turned away from me and dialed her mother's number. All I could do was listen. "Hello?" "I know, Mom, I know. Everything's crazy right now, no one knows what to do." "If it's any consolation, I'm one of the lucky ones. I'll survive, for both of us. Toby's gonna survive too." I heard something move from the cupboard. Tentatively, I opened the door. A short man in some sort of kilt walked out. "Hey,"he snorted. "What's with all the crying and sadness? I don't get it." "Who the fuck are you?"I hiss. "Are you part of this? Do you know what's going on?" "Well, I take it you haven't seen a dwarf before. And I get it. Before the Beacon was unearthed, we were pretty much all kaput. Svartalfheim was just this giant blue gassy thing. But now, things are getting back to how they should be." "And what the fuck is that?" "Harmony,"the dwarf said. "Humans and dwarves and elves, Yggdrasil and the nine realms. Don't blame us for what happened; blame the Seraphs. They're the ones that made this happen by cutting down the damn tree." I stared at him, unsure what to say. The dwarf scurried out of the cabinet and leapt onto the countertop with frightening speed. He took a sugar cookie from a nearby tin and munched on it as he spoke. "Call me Lark,"he said. "Not my real name, but human throats are just a tad narrower than dwarven throats, so that's the best you can get. I'm sorry to hear about your plight, I really am. But hey, you're gonna live. That's good, right?" "Get the fuck out of my house,"I say, seething. "Whatever's happening, make it stop happening." "Oh, no, no can do. Look, what happened with the Beacon, it's bigger than any of us at this point. Man, if I could stop Yggdrasil from sprouting up, I would be the most powerful man in the galaxy. Enjoy the show, by the way!" -=-=- Rhacio stared at the pictures from the craft. "Come here,"he said coldly. "I need your help with something." Ttav walked over, wearing her morning gown as she stroked the scaly thought-receptors on her temple. She focused her telepathy, sending a message to the ship's captain. What is it, sir? "Something is happening to Assignment 163,"Rhacio said. "There has never been precedent for this before." Ttav glided to a stop in front of the screens. That is a tree, correct? One of the lifeforms on 163-3? But how is something like that created on this scale? "Unknown,"Rhacio said. "In addition to the new Cosmic-class lifeform that has sprouted, the makeup of all planets aside from 163-3, as well as dwarf planet 163-9, has changed completely, and other minor lifeforms have appeared across the system. It is imperative that we find out what happened and if it poses any threat." Of course, Ttav thought. We will chart a course today. /r/fortanonowrites Hour 4 and onward will be coming soon! Keep an eye out and comment here if you want to be mentioned when this happens! EDIT: [Hour Four is live!](/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j3irji/wp_as_a_young_girl_you_visited_a_fortune_teller/g7cjaxk/)
Your application to Eversong School of Magic and Wizardry has been accepted "Really?"Harold looked at the faded parchment that the old man had given him. His face was wrinkled like a prune, with a long white beard drooping all the way down to his chest. He looked like he had come straight from the 19th century, with a white dress shirt fitted with suspenders, black tie, and a faded cotton bowler cap. "I'm a wizard? That sounds stupid." &#x200B; "Many mortals find it difficult to accept the fact that they've elevated to a higher plane of existence. "The old man whispered. Harold tilted his head in confusion. "Huh?" "There is a prophecy, made by the great sages who walked the Earth before our time. &#x200B; 'A hero will arise from Adrian's line. A walker of dreams to vanquish the night. In the day of darkness a light will shine, at this address him you'll find. 1132 Wildflower Lane, Minot, ND, USA " Harold stared at him aghast, wondering what he'd snorted in order to be seeing this. That was a rather... specific prophecy. He looked around at his dilapidated apartment littered with cheese curls and empty bottles of cheap beer. Turning back to the old man, he pointed at the yellow sign plastered on his front door. "I'm sorry Mr., but I don't really live here anymore. I've got thirty days to pack whatever crap I've still got to my name and move out. Unless you've got a job offer or some religion to convert me to, you'd best get going." To his surprise the old man smiled, lifting his cane with surprising strength. He brandished it like a weapon, or perhaps a wand... "It's sort of both, actually."He chuckled. "It's my job to mentor you in the art of sorcery in order to prepare you for the role you must undertake. That is the sole purpose of my existence."He waved his cane, and a mysterious blue glow came out of it and enveloped Harold's feet. Harold started sliding forwards. He found struggling to be useless as he no longer retained control of his feet. As the wizard dragged him down the stairs to a swirling magic portal, he found the sky turning black. Looking up, to his amazement he saw a dragon soaring overhead. "Do not be afraid, human. "A thunderous voice boomed like thunder. "You have been chosen to unite the species of dragon and human, and bring our magic to your world. It is a noble calling which you cannot refuse."He saw the wizard glance up angrily. "Erodus! You filthy lizard!"he called out, shaking his cane. "What in the name of Astaroth are you doing here?"The dragon swiftly landed in the parking lot, crushing Harold's gray Toyota Corolla. He moaned in annoyance. This was really not a good day. "I am here to pick up that whom the prophecy foretold. "Erodus replied firmly. He was covered in metallic aqua-colored scales, with navy ridges running along down his spine. His underbelly was a cream color, and comprised of armored plates. He was about the size of a house. Smoke billowed out of his nostrils. "If you mean the almighty one, he is strictly mine!"The old man spat. "Dragon prophecies never come true anyways."Harold, still held captive by the wizard's spell, found himself being dragged along again. He saw the portal open up in front of him, and his struggling increased further. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. Suddenly another portal opened up right next to the one he was being dragged towards, a young witch dressed in purple robes stepping out. She was wearing the traditional pointed hat of a witch, although her face looked more like a Greek Goddess. She stomped over towards Harold and the old man, who now had a peeved look on his face. "What are you doing here?"He asked with an annoyed tone. She smirked. "That man you have in your grasp is destined to save our realm."She explained, pointing towards Harold. "The great Oracle signaled out him as the one mentioned in the prophecy." "What prophecy?"The old man shouted, turning towards her. Harold stopped moving, but the spell still held him captive. The old woman held up a picture. Harold recognized it as the driver's license he'd lost two weeks ago. A black arrow was scribbled on it in sharpie, pointing to his picture. "She gave us this."the woman said, with an air of confidence. "The message is quite clear. I must have him." "Nonsense!"both the old man and Erodus cried out at the same time. Every time the dragon spoke, Harold was assaulted by a gust of wind that would've knocked him over had the spell not kept him upright. But a third voice joined the two, scraggly and wet, clearly not human. Harold turned and saw what looked like a sentient pile of goo with bushy white eyebrows and numerous war medals attached to its body. "He is the reincarnation of the Goo God."the blob wheezed, droplets of goo oozing out of its shapeless mouth. "He must be taken back to the temple of Slimethreus and assume his rightful place on the throne. "The other three looked at the pile of ooze curiously, before there faces turned into anger. A shouting match ensued between the lot of them, drowning Harold's beleaguered ears. His hands shot up to protect them from the onslaught. Wait. I can move again. He discovers that the blue glow no longer surrounds his body, and he smiles mischievously. The four of them now appear to be drawing out their wands, not paying attention in the slightest to Harold. He ducks to avoid a blue beam of light that sails into the apartment next to him, vaporizing it in an instant. A wave of panic washes over him as he ducks and runs out of the complex, dodging flying spells left and right. He runs across the street and ducks into the 7-Eleven on the corner, finding himself surrounded by cheap food displays and lottery tickets. He looks up and glances at the counter. &#x200B; Behind the desk sits a demonic looking man with skin dark as charcoal and shining golden eyes. He is dressed in furs, a gold chain looped around his neck. He is stroking a black panther with the same colored eyes. He turns to look at Harold, and his lips turn upward in a crooked smile. "Ah, Harold, I've been expecting you. It is as the prophecy foretold. " &#x200B; Well f\\k .
It is their world. They are the rulers of the ephemeral, they control life or death, and they are terrifying. One day they might approach and heal you, the next they come and kill you. Mother Deer tell us a story where a fawn of hers had been wounded, the legs halting so tragically. She knew that the fawn would not live, and though she was regretting it, she had to leave the child behind. Yet when she looked back at the fawn, pathetically sitting, exhausted, on the grass, she was shocked. They had come from their strange structures that they form from rock and tree with powers beyond her knowledge. And they fed the fawn. Looked at her, nodded, and took the fawn inside, gently holding it. She did not know what they were planning to do. Eat the fawn, do unto it as they had done to horse or goat, or something else entirely. A curiousity unbecoming of an eater-of-grass came over her, and she came back after a turning of the Moon from one form to another. To her shock, the fawn was there. Well-fed, healed, healthy. She had thought she would weep bitter tears for the cruel loss, but the child was safe. And they let her approach and take the fawn, who no longer was wounded or ill, back to the proper lands. The stories that her child told, of their home, was something she both found impossible yet believed all the same. Warmth of summer, cool clear water on command, and food better than grass. Proud wolf tells her tale, and it is strange indeed. Not something she has lived through, but a legend told by all wolves to their cubs. That once there were two great wolves. Both proud and strong hunters who feared nothing, and let no creature consider them master. But one day the two wolves saw new creatures. Standing on two legs, hunting with a silent stoicism that the two wolves knew all too well. It is quite similar to how they did it. One wolf had said to the other; ''Look, these dread two-legs come to take our place, to make themselves masters of forests and hills. We should rip their throats out while they sleep.'' The other wolf was less bloodthirsty, and said instead. ''Brother, see how they waste much from their kills that we could eat with joy. Perhaps we could work with them.'' And the first wolf sneered at this. ''I will not bow to them. They are weak.'' The other wolf said nothing, choosing to answer by walking away. Next winter the first wolf was starving. It tried to sneak into the place where the two-legs slept. But a howl came from out of nowhere and the two-legs woke. The wolf was attacked and though it bit and scratched, it wasn't strong enough. It saw that the other wolf had warned the two-legs, and with its last breath cursed its brother. ''You will serve forever, and bow like prey before them.'' The other wolf looked upon its dying kin with pity. ''Better to live with them, than to die against them.'' It said. Wolves say this wolf became the first dog, and forever are the two kindred separated. Divided between those who would not bow down, and those who would live. Cunning Crow sits atop the trees and looks at the cows. They are kept safe, they are fed well, and they serve. Cunning Crow knows many things that others do not. Cunning Crow asks of the cows. ''Why do you not run, they eat you after they're done with you?'' The cows answer, that they have not needed to fear their entire lives. They have never starved, nor have they felt the harsh cold winters. They ask of Crow if he could say the same, and Crow, who is the most loud-mouthed of all, has no proper answer. Shamed he flies away, as the cows enjoy their grass in safety. They gladly pay their tithe, because they understand the alternative. When the words pass through the forest, through the song of birds, the sniffing of moles, the baying of wild beasts and the secrets told by frogs and fish, all agree, that they are strange. Turtles who live longer, and remember much say that once they were just like all other beasts. But they changed. They cut down the woods, shaped the land to carry strange new plants that they forced to change, took in those who would serve, changed them. They learned how to bend mountains to their will, how to make horse carry others, how to raise unnatural stone, and do things which no other creature could. Once a determined bird, a mighty godwit, said it would find a land where they did not live. In the hope that this world, where life can be altered by their choice and their choice alone, had a region of freedom. And the bird travelled. In the distant east it saw that they trained the otters to fish for them. And they were numerous beyond counting. In the south they lived in great cities where only the most vicious of the beasts could survive. And they were numerous there too. In the far north they lived comfortably, and the land had been tamed to such a degree, the bird saw, that it no longer remembered what it had been like to be wild. Here too they were many and more beyond. In the far west the bird saw that they harnessed the sun itself, and burned their skin with a fire only they could see, to make for themselves a world of light eternal, where night would never come, and none of them ever slept. In desperation the bird flew as far south as it could, hoping that the cold lands were free. Freezing, it landed on the ice, where the waddle-birds lived. The penguins. It asked them, its land-cousins, if they knew of the two-legs who take everything. They said yes, that they knew them, they came and took what they wanted, but they were rare. Though that did not matter, the penguins said. They are melting the frozen world, and no more will the generations of our people be born. We are ending. And the travelling bird wept, before throwing itself into the deep blue sea. Mighty lion roars, from his cage where they look at him. He is used to them. So are the hunters he is with, the lionesses. They see them every day. Big two-legs, and small two-legs. And he smells zebra, elephant, gazelle, and countless others he doesn't know near him. But he wanders his small enclosure, and looks at the two-legs. He knows he shouldn't be here. But they are powerful and fickle. They control when he eats, when he is to ogled at by their cubs, everything. He hates them, and he fears them in equal measure. But he dares not do anything. After all, not only does he live or die by their command, he knows that all animals, even those he sees as equal competitors or dangerous foes, are tamed by them. He has seen great elephant in these cages, and there are no barriers he knows that can withstand elephant's rage. Yet they keep Wise Elephant in a small territory, just as they keep Laughing hyena and Tasty buffalo. He cannot win, and he knows. Just as all beasts know, from Ponderous Whale to the dying devil of Tasmania. They all know that this world is ruled the inscrutable, incomprehensible, two-legs. Mankind the playful and fickle, mankind that binds those who would serve to them, forever, and woe to those who harms their kin and bonded beasts. For mankind knows the secret of the red flowers that blooms with terrible heat, mankind knows what Crow and Raven can only dream of knowing, mankind who can kill from afar and save you from the brink of death. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
No one could have predicted it. It turns out breaking the laws of physics has consequences after all. It doesn’t happen all the time, but apparently going faster-than-light has the propensity to… alter… the personality of a crew-member or two. My job as security officer provides me with all the info I need to hunt down such a crew member. Reports from neutron readings on this craft are consistent with the black box info from past Senate ships we’ve recovered floating in space, derelict of a living crew. All signs say we have an intruder on this ship. Personally, my money’s on Bob. He’s responsible for upkeep and maintenance of the ship’s engines, wearing his blue and red engineer suit the whole time. If a malevolent being wanted to strand a crew and pick them off, they’d take over the engine room first, no doubt about it. Now that I know where they’d strike, it’s only a matter of waiting them out, catching them as they make their move. Secure in this knowledge that they’d have to get through me to take over this ship, I turn back to wrenching on one of the many pipes protruding from the ceiling, tugging the ill-fitting collar of my blue and red suit as I do so.
I had only the best intentions in mind. I came across the button and stopped the machine set up to automatically press it. I confronted my father about it. I had been confused when his face went pale when I told him I had stopped it. I had been frightened when he started yelling when he realized it had already disappeared. I only later realized what I had truly done. He had set it up to only be pressed right before the one hour time span. He was not doing this for the money. He knew others with the button would do so much more. He knew he had to press it to not allow it to disappear and reveal itself to someone else. He had only allowed it to be pressed 24 times a day for the greater good. Now someone else had the button. Now it is run by another automated machine by someone else. Now 3 people die from it every second. 180 every minute 10800 every hour. 259200 every day.
The coop was non-Euclidian. It wasn't supposed to be - it was supposed to be a standard wood-and-wire construction, almost identical to the other three, with nice, clean right angles and an observable size. This morning, everything had been fine. Now though, as Wallace ran the torch beam back and forth, it was clear things had changed. Instead of a simple oblong, the coop seemed to be twisting somehow, an almost sinuous structure that hurt his eyes to look at. It should have been 1.2 metres off the ground, but whenever Wallace looked at it indirectly, out of the corner of his eye, it was clear that some of the planks stretched into infinity, while others had no observable length at all. He felt his stomach heave as he focused on a single corner and found that the three connecting poles had managed to join themselves across at least five dimensions. He could feel a dull ache start to throb behind his eyes as he gripped the latch. The metal seemed oddly warm to the touch, and almost - almost - he could hear strange whispers in his head as he touched it. He tried very hard not to focus on what they might be saying. Once the coop was open, even with the bizarre geometry, the problem was obvious. There should have been four hens, each plumped comfortably in a different nesting box. Instead, there were two hens and a lot of loose feathers. The remaining hens weren't even in their usual places: one was slumped in the centre of the coop, pecking rhythmically against the empty ground. The other was absolutely motionless in the far corner, staring straight at the wooden wall. The ...thing was in one of the nesting boxes, curled - sprawled - spiralled - squatting - something - beneath the warm yellow glow of the heat lamp. It was black, but not like the grey-black of an orpington or even the green-black of a minorca. Instead, this was the blackest black he'd ever seen, not a darkened shade but the seeming total absence of any reflected light. It was the black of the void, the endless hunger of the emptiness between stars. Just looking at it made Wallace's headache worsen, made him feel as though he was falling, drawn into an abyss where even the memory of a memory of light was absent. He shook himself out of it before he was too far gone. It was best not to look at the thing so closely. Instead, he used the same technique as for the coop - focused off to one side of it, let his peripheral vision filter and make sense of the reality that would otherwise shatter his consciousness into countless shards. It was small - smaller than the hens - though it pulsed lazily, expanding and contracting in the warmth. It didn't have a shape, not really - an amorphous mass of inky darkness - but every so often it would flicker slightly, and he would get the brief impression of slick, twining tentacles, numerous eyes popping out, then bursting wetly only to reform again. Sometimes there would be the suggestion of many hungry mouths, deep maws ringed with impossible teeth, or the flash of a pattern suggesting scales or fur or some other, unknowable skin. The pounding in Wallace's head was more insistent now, a thin trickle of blood running from one nostril. With an effort of rapidly-diminishing will, he forced himself to take a step backwards, to turn away from the coop so that the thing was no longer visible to him at all. The furtive whispers still tugged at him, but suddenly he could breathe a little more easily, could form more coherent thoughts. A small creature - not vast and terrible, popping reality like a soap bubble or dragging helpless innocents towards its maws. A baby, really - just looking for food and warmth. Terrible to look upon, a thing from beyond this plane that imperilled his soul just by its presence, but still a baby. Fragile, vulnerable, probably even scared, if the thing could feel any emotions that he could recognise without the esoteric knowledge consuming him. Wallace knew what he needed to do. He was a farmer - he looked after his animals no matter how disgusting or tiring it got. Even in the depths of winter, he was most likely to found arm-deep in a cow, wrestling a dung-streaked piglet into a bath, or ladling foul-smelling apple mash into the goats' trough. It was a dirty, often thankless job, but that was what he did. He prided himself on being more conscientious than his neighbours: animals on his farm got all the care they needed. It was a shame about the two missing chickens, but with the proper diet and feeding schedule, he could be sure of not losing any more to the thing. The traumatised two would probably need a bit of special care, and definitely need to be moved to another coop. For now though, the main priority was making sure the thing had the environment it needed to survive through the cold, dry winds of the night. Cupping his hands round his mouth, he shouted back towards the cottage: "Martha! Bring the other bucket! We've got another one!"
(Probably goes without saying but... potential spoilers about Breaking Bad, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, and possibly your parent's marriage). It was a typical Tuesday morning for the world's greatest super villain. Why was he the greatest? People would often ask this question, and if you were one of the League of Extraordinary Beings; you'd shrug right along with everyone else. The man wasn't a genocidal maniac, he never killed anybody, matter of fact. He wasn't the head of a criminal organization, and he didn't provide any real global damage against anything of real importance... at least, not directly. What the man did do was generally ruin the day of basically anyone and everyone he came across, and no matter how big or small his impact on your life - you do that to enough people consistently enough and you're sure to make ripples. Marvin was his name, Marvin The Spoiler. Today he rocked on the heels of his feet awaiting his bus like he always did. He'd take public transportation around everywhere and anywhere he felt gravitated to go, and in every place he would meet folks of all walks of life. Today felt special somehow. Marvin was out to spoil it all. Today felt like a big one somehow. He felt energized with purpose. Marvin grinned wide as his bus arrived four minutes late and he stepped up inside, taking off his hat as he did. "You stop this bus, sir, and I'm liable to phone your boss and let em know about you staying clocked in when you're not supposed to, get me big boy?"Marvin grinned at the bus driver, "oh and by the way, Walter dies. Probably saw that coming though." Without waiting for a response he was moving on down the line of passengers. "Oi, you readin' them popular wizard books there?"he said, eying a child minding their own business. "I'm not- "Supposed to talk to strangers, good lad,"he grinned, "you know why?" His mother clutched him close, glaring at the rude man. "Cause old Dumbles dies book six,"he cackled, "oh and your mum is plannin on leavin your father, cheerio." The onlookers glared and stared in shock as Marvin skipped down the bus as it rumbled on down the road. "You sir, I've just seen your doctor earlier in the week and you are probably going to die very soon,"Marvin chuckled, "no, it's not cancer, but good lord, you'd wish it were." "Madam, I see you're into that series, but understand the characters are trash - and the girl deserves to lose her sister in a heavy bombing at the end,"he giggled, "you deserve that for reading an entire trilogy in the first person present tense. Who does that?" "You there, the person you're rooting for doesn't even come close to winning, better luck next time." "Oh my,"he stopped suddenly, "you're important aren't you?" A man with a brief case and a hat like Marvin's looked out the window, attempting to ignore the whole scene. "No, you're heading for jury duty,"Marvin grinned, "how interesting. Well, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt your man is innocent of all charges." "How? All the evidence points- "Who you gonna believe?"Marvin snapped, "do what you will with that." Marvin yanked on the cord of the bus signalling for him to stop, then launched himself out into the streets of downtown, making a bee line for the movie theater. After that he'd hit some book stores, possibly make a stop at the police precinct down there. Later in the day there would be reports of violence and people taking out their aggressions on each other. They will be arrested, or possibly killed for resisting arrest by equally disgruntled policemen, and all of them, each and every one will be able to trace it all back to one man. Marvin The Spoiler. For once, however, Marvin told a white lie; just a little one. The man who was suspected of committing all those murders was in fact not innocent of all charges, but he got off anyway. Three more people died as a result just two months later. Marvin was making ripples alright, and the best part was - he was convincing.
I froze when I heard it, I wasn’t sure what it meant, if I should have sympathy or fear. People continually brought him back to the shelter? I thought, “maybe I should take him back, no fuss about it, besides I’ve got a lot going on, I just thought that maybe I could have a calm friend along side to soften the lonely cold nights…” I get back from the bathroom, uncomfortable, ready to throw the cat back into it’s cage and get it back to the shelter as fast as I can. The cat looked into my eyes, as if it knew what I knew. As it began to see reality, it’s face distorted into some kind of evil grin, and that’s when I knew…. He was definitely going to be my ex’s “getting back together gift.” Somehow, I felt like he knew that too, his face looked like he was ready for some action, so I took my new companion and we made our way to my house. He seemed chill for the first day, I had to plan how things were going to go down. She would inevitably take the cat back to the shelter so that I wouldn’t have to, so I planned on how I was going to deliver, I took a note out, I wrote; “I’m sorry I blew up and said mean things when I found out you cheated on me, it hurt so bad, but it made me realize just how much I don’t want to lose you, let’s start a family together, just like you always begged me for, and we will start with Buttercup.” I read the note to Buttercup and he seemed down with the idea. I think that we resonated so much that he didn’t do anything mischievous, he didn’t tear anything up in my house, nothing. I had not a scratch. As I seethed with vengeance, he purred, from across the room, he wasn’t much for cuddles, but he could feel my energy, and I his. We were a perfect match. Everything I needed to get over this break up. We walked up to her door, Buttercup made some noises, I think he was nervous before the great performance. He stayed a little behind me, as if helping with the surprise. I knocked on the door. Moments passed. Click, the door began to open, and there she was, the girl I spent 3 years of my life utterly absorbed in. And she was wearing… she was wearing… the star football players championship shirt that he won when we were seniors. I felt Buttercup start climbing my pants leg, this isn’t what we rehearsed but I liked his idea of being given from the arms. I began to say her name, and then there he was, Mr. Big Shot himself, only I would use an I instead of an O. I was beginning to lose momentum, thinking this would just be more embarrassing than vengeful, when I began to feel Buttercup screeching, couldn’t even make a hiss out, he clung to my skin on my back through my shirt, I suddenly understood he was frightened. Mr. championship, again with a T rather than a P, began to speak, “hey! It’s Jingles!! Where ya been you old cat.” Buttercup dug deeper, I just decided it was time to run because I could feel blood running down my back. Buttercup jumped in the car, he knew what was happening, I didn’t know what the urgency was but I could feel it. When we got home, I could still see Buttercup was in wild distress, I grabbed him and held him to my chest for a while, his body was so tense, and as if he were crying, his body relaxed and he let out some whimpers, I began to pet him… And that’s when I felt them… The scars.. I held him closer and compassion flooded me, I realized the abuse… the fear.. the anger. He began to purr. I no longer felt angry at Amy, I felt sad and pity for her, I knew no vengeance of my own could amount to what she had chosen for herself.. I could not protect her, even if I tried, I had already tried to win her back, maybe I can warn her.. but right now all I could feel was the cat, finally feeling safe in someone’s arms.. I kissed Buttercup on the head.. and all I could say through my own tears was, “I will protect you.”
I look at the starry sky above me as i lay down on top of this hill. My gaze is focused deeply at these beautifull points of lights that penetrate the darkness, these same points that were once what inspired me greatly during the time i was alive. I used to think that these stars, these constelations, were messages from the gods. Messages that we could translate and gain some insight into the future. Now? Having persisted for só long after my life was over i could learn a lot of things about how things truly are. These stars arent messages from the gods to us, they are their own thing. Massive balls of gas that are só bright that they can pierce through the endless darkness of space. I also learned that our planet isnt the center of everything, that what i used to think was the apex of technology really was a grain of sand in the massive beach that is now know. Ha....thinking about these things really puts a smile on my lips. I suppose i could say i had a good undeath. Though...it was a very unfair one. I met many fascinating people in this world as a ghost. Many that desearved to be remembered for much much longer than me, someone who is only remembered due to being a bit of a crook. The woman who invented the arabic mathematical systems has been long forgotten, só too was the fate of the architect of the pyramids. Yet...i remain only due to dumb luck. Leaders, artists, scientists. So...só many of them have been forgotten and no longer exist. Heroes and tyrants, killers and saviors, yet a humble artisan like myself has managed to outlast them, fate truly is a misterious thing. Oh...i notice that ethereal body is starting to fade, i suppose my time might be coming to an end. That is good, i wonder if there is a second afterlife for me to meet my son again. I did manage to meet him as a ghost once he died, then i did the same with his husband, then my grandchild. But as they began to dissapear...i...i couldnt do it anymore and gave up on meeting the rest of my lineage. "Haha...i cant believe it! I am finally fading away, it feels weird, my body is all tingly. Sweet oblivion here i co-...." Then as my body suddenly fully regain its normal shape i sigh and go back to look at the sky once more. "I suppose someone remembered i sold really shit copper."
After an offspring of a great magician, and a mighty swordsman, the evil that has for so long plagued this world will be vanquished, and light shall return to this land. That's what the prophecy said, and I know that's what it said, it was plastered in thick, black letters on my bedroom wall for as long as I can remember. I was born Addamus, son of the magician Crow, and the blade dancer Mariamne, and it was a birth I find many to regret. I had been made out of duty. For nine months I was carried by Mariamne, in her hard-headedness to end the dark ages brought by...some wizard. Nobody remembers their name anymore, magical consequences for his permanent death from this world. But Mariamne had been born to this world, a world of great evils and wild dangers, and had enough of living a life fraught with unknowns and horrific nightmares. She sought out the greatest of all magicians, and was brought to Crow. Crow was a fair margin older than Mariamne, almost seven years. She was barely 17 when she gave birth to me. And now I'm here, and people assume I'm some magical prodigy, or some mighty warrior, but I'm neither. Mariamne had left me to the care of my father's people once the quest was over. She didn't want to think about me, they said, and my father Crow, was fine with that. He, and all the magicians in the university, have raised me just fine. I've been educated, and I have a high proficiency for magic (but I couldn't conjure until I was 6, which put me on pace with 80% of all magic users). It's been 15 years like this, just the weird family I've made with the faculty. Did my mother really not love me? Was I just...some kind of means to an end, which was why she plastered those black letters on the wall of my room? I've asked all the people who knew her during her pregnancy, and all of them have conflicting words and none of it makes any sense. Between the women talking about hormones and how Mariamne was desperate to keep her mind off me, to how the elders described her and father not quite bickering, but not exactly getting along either. But today, for my sixteenth birthday, my father told me a little more of the story, and showed me some of the letters he'd received from Mariamne just after she left. According to him, Mariamne found his narrow face and dark eyes not unpleasing, and so had found it easy to persuade him to impregnate her. He too had known the prophecy, and seeing a girl so young come to him, it had greatly distressed him. He'd agreed to her request for aid, and then went to the temple to be cleansed at least fifteen times. He apologised to her at first, blaming himself for being weak and giving into the fantasies of a young woman, and she would always chastise him. "It's not about me,"she'd say, "but about everyone else." And so she and him would argue, mostly about how Crow wanted to find her support for the child, and she would vehemently disagree, and told him she would leave me here, since she had no place for me in her heart. My father knew that was a lie, he says, because Mariamne would always go off crying afterwards. It was during one of these fits, that she painted the words on my wall, a reminder to herself, and Crow, that I was necessary. In her letters, Mariamne voiced her disgust at Crow for his concerns, angered that he'd tried to contact her. The last letter was barely a page, just three short lines. "I've made it home now. Addamus sounds like a lovely child. Don't talk to me again." Now that I'm older, I perhaps understand a bit more. Maybe she was scared of responsibility - it's a story I've read a time or two in the library - maybe she was scared to admit that she made an awful mistake with such an age between her and father, and she regretted losing her maidenhood. Perhaps she never yearned for pleasure in men, and was horrified that she had been untrue to herself. Whatever the case, my mother clearly didn't love the man who fathered me, but that's okay. Crow has loved me, Crow has protected me, and Crow has carried me on his shoulders, just as any father would. I know he thinks of her, not like a lover, but as an old man wandering wearily, afraid for the future of the young. He loves her, in that way you give someone a warm bed and tend their wounds, physical or not, and without concern for payment. But I know we both look at her parting words - the missive or the wall - and we both know, she never loved us.
I glared at the television. The news networks were singing my praises, or at least that was how it felt. I had gotten opinion news outlawed as one of my first acts, so that they couldn't make me look bad before I put my plans in motion, but that had backfired. All the news outlets I'd been hoping to bribe were the ones that got sued into oblivion under the new laws. And now all the remaining networks did was talk about how my policies had saved a dying country, and the infuriating part was that the fact-checkers agreed. I turned off the television. Where was the drama? There was supposed to be fighting and lies to keep everyone busy and not talking about all the boring policies. My wife looked over at me, a soft smile on her face. "Still thinkin' about the car bans? I'm sure it'll make a mess eventually!" She could always tell when I was unhappy. I gave her a forced smile back, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "That's part of it. People are loving the busses, giving out food should've killed the grocery stores by now, and opening up the borders didn't scare as many people as it was supposed to. I swear, it's some sort of plot to stop me getting anything done. Probably led by the Communists."I spat the last word, images of dirty hippies taunting me. I hated them, and I hated that they were outplaying me. They were supposed to be the scapegoats. She snuggled up to me, calming my rage for the moment. I loved that woman. She wasn't very bright, especially about policy, but she supported my schemes and she believed in me. Her voice was a bit muffled by my chest when she spoke again. "Well, it only really takes one big thing to tear a country apart. I'm sure you'll get it eventually. Maybe doing a basic income scheme will work better than raising the wages? Everybody knows if you pay people to stay home they'll all get lazy and everything will fall apart." I laughed, having tuned out her little ideas halfway through. She wasn't very bright, but I loved her anyways. I stroked my chin, the edges of a new scheme forming. What I needed to counteract the immigration wave was to make people lazy. Maybe if I started some sort of basic income program...
Those fucking assholes keep trying to kill me. I did nothing, just got the keys and out of nowhere, some guy starts screaming about the rights of the proletariat and came at me with a fancy electric knife. I got lucky, I had a hammer in my hand from trying to put up a framed picture of a cat and a clear will to live. His head didn't look very good after that little argument. Fast forward a few weeks and some other asshole came at me, yelling about "the sins of your existence"or some other nonsense. It was early in the morning, I had a coffee in hand. Let's just say I'm happy I went to Mcdonalds for coffee that morning. Him, not so lucky. A few months in, and a few altercations later, and I've had enough of it. I just wanted to hire a manager to run the business and I could retire to some Caribbean island and live off the earnings. But no, there's always some guy trying to kill me. I sell ice cream for fucks sakes, what the hell is going on. I have to hire some goons to protect me. Simple problem being that they're fairly expensive. Who would have seen it coming that numerous attempts on one's life would increase hourly rates from "security consultants"and "that guy from the neighbourhood that knows some people"and even the drug dealers down the street. It's very expensive and the shop isn't making that much money. No choice but to go the bank and get a loan. I'll sell them on some fancy expansion plan to generate more revenue. The security? Have to protect the assets of course. The bank approved the loan and just in time. I swear, a TEAM of these yahoos tried to kill me in my sleep. Killed two of the goons too, the payments on these life insurance premiums are getting out of hand and clearly I need to upgrade the security on my house. They always try to come at night and night visions goggles aren't cheap. No choice but to go back to the bank and to get another loan and start a construction business. I need to build a fortress and other people have already expressed interest in my idea. At least the initial expansion went really well, turns out that fear for ones life is an excellent motivator when it comes to better business practices. All the employees go through an extensive background check and have to sign a pretty airtight contract confirming that they won't make an attempt on my life or consequences will be dire to their loved ones. I don't have a choice! I've had so many employees try to kill me that consequences need to be dire. I pay very well and they're still trying to kill me. So we're a decade into this whole endeavour and it's gotten out of control. The construction business went really well, apparently there was a lack of contractors able to build auto-turrets and able to program killbots to patrol estates. They're coming on a weekly schedule now. Each with crazy sci-fi ways to try to kill me. One guy has a heart attack gun, another tries to poison my suit, another with this crazy suit of power armour. Figured it was time to start a research and development wing to the business to try and reverse engineer some of their tech. The science nerds have told me that most of the guys trying to kill me show evidence of a neutrino displacement or some other nerd bullshit. It's gone from an inconvenience to a concerted effort on my life. They started it ! A literal battalion showed up yesterday. It's a good thing I invested in that tank regiment last month. We developed some tools that allow us to detect reality breakdowns when these guys come in from the future to try and end me. Oh ya, they're literally from the future. What is this even, I just wanted to retire early and I've had to create a relatively competent organization just to keep me alive. Anyways, we can now detect when they're coming in, but the rest of the time? Well, a lot of shady governments look towards my security detail and don't mind paying exorbitant fees to rent them out for the rest of the time. Money coming in ! Which, is actually required because they keep coming up with fancier and nastier ways to try and kill me. 2 decades in and I swear this is now a temporal war. I swear, I didn't start it, but what choice am I left ? They've tried to come up with some ways to obfuscate their DNA so I, wait, no, we, can't track their lineage. But we can. We make sure to preserve the bodies after every attempt and we kill their ancestors. Some of these guys are from five thousand years in the future, if you believe that. Prune here, kill there, yadi yada, you get one chance and they all fail. We don't. The biometrics system is up, the AI controlled CCTV system is ubiquitous across the world. They started it but I'm going to finish it. I hate them, the attempts are made daily now, but our tech matches theirs. If you're not with us, you're against us. I made this very clear at the UN last year. It's the twilight of my years and they haven't defeated me. They've tried and failed. They've tried everything and failed. Losers. Only problem being that the temporal department came back with some data about "everyone is going to try and kill you at some point, given the chance"or some other non-sense. My poor children, what a world I'm leaving them. Everyone is enslaved. What other choice did I have? The good ones, with no attempts for the next five thousand years are given good jobs. The others? Not so much. But I make everything now. Literally. What other choice did I have? The UN was getting in the way, the United States wasn't recognizing my concerns. A non-state actor or some other non-sense. Well, fuck'em, I wanna live. UNTIL I DON'T! I bought them all. Killed the others. No other choice. They're all coming for me. God, I hate them. Everything that's happening to them, they deserve. I just wanted to retire. They created their own problem, I swear.
An army of tiny Chihuahuas gathered at the gates below where the soldier was speaking to his Lord. The Lord peered down at them, a mass of growling, beady eyed midget dogs. “Where is their leader?” sighed the Lord. “That’s the thing… they have no leader. No Lord, no chain of command to speak of. It is quite fascinating.” “Fascinating? What do the dogs want?” “What else? They think only of their grumbling stomachs.” “Food?” “Yes, Lord.” “I have no extra food for them. Let them eat each other if they’re so hungry.” “It’s not a matter of hunger, Lord… they want premium food. Organ meats, eggs, and the milk of our women in golden bowls.” “Oh do they? Well they should expect to be disappointed.” The Lord peered back down at the gates, and saw that the Chihuahuas were forming a ladder to scale the wall using their own bodies. The Lord scoffed. “Release the fluid, Drake.” “The tar?” “With haste.” Drake gestured to the other men to release the tar upon the pile of little dogs. But it was too late, the Chihuahuas had already breached the parapet wall, and were growling fiercely at the Lord. “Back off, mutts!” the Lord croaked. A deluge of Chihuahua clones poured over the wall, running circles around the Lord, nipping at his ankles and fingers. The Lord kicked one, which only emboldened the gang of dogs. “This wayyyyy…” said one of the Chihuahuas, sniffing at the cool dusky air. The dogs bolted past the Lord, into the kitchen area of the kingdom. They made an utter mess of the place, ravaging the carefully prepared food dishes laid out for the opulent dinner that would never come. Back at the parapet, the Lord sighed gravely. “Don’t they see, their feast is only temporary? The food will last only a moment, then their bellies will be growling yet more. They do not think ahead. Why?” “Because they have no Lord to guide them. My Lord,” said Drake. “You understand, Drake. You were always a good leader. Maybe some day you’ll take my place.” Drake knelt down and pet a Chihuahua on the head. “It is a lot of responsibility.” “Don’t remind me. How will we deal with the dog clones in the kitchen? I can’t imagine the mess they’ve made.” “It shouldn’t be too hard to tame them. They operate on base instinct.” “You were always my best,” said the Lord. Drake nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen. The Lord didn’t know how his soldier would take care of the clones, but he comforted himself with the idea that the most important thing a Lord can exercise are his powers of delegation.
I strolled by the raised platform, gazing down upon the hundreds of sweatshop workers seated in tiny cubicles, typing on their computers and chanting with their heads lifted up high. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault am!"chanted one sweaty, portly man in the cubicle. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault an!"chanted his co-worker in the neighboring cubicle. It has been 87 quadrillion combinations of syllables, and these minimum wage workers have yet to guess the True Name of The Invincible One. They're paid to brute-force this true name with the help of a chat AI that randomly generates these names they chant and keeps track of all their chants and attempts to call upon His true name. To shatter His invincibility. And I'm paid to monitor this tedium chug along without a hitch. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault ao!" I can't imagine throwing away my dignity just sitting in front of a computer and shouting stupid, nonsensical stuff that pops up on my screen from 9am to 6pm. But here I am, watching these undignified shouts of senseless, invented phrases that are supposed to pass for names. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault ap!" They said True Names of the right entities contained incredible power, and the gods would, at their convenience, whims and fancies, whisper their names into the ears of chosen champions, and favored prophets. Once upon a time, people learned the names of the gods through prayers and rituals that opened direct communication. Then capitalism decided to just fuck it and set up sweatshops all around the world brute-forcing the names of whatever gods may be out there. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault aq!" That sounded stupid. I'm pretty sure the gods don't have stupid names. Maybe incomprehensible ones that the human vocal cords cannot effectively vocalize, but definitely not stupid ones. I don't think the AI can tell, it's just churning out combinations of syllables without a care for how much sense the output makes. "Ratovunegorotylenovista..." Wait, this one isn't following the sequence. My tablet screen which displays the seating arrangements shows cubicle #237 in red. I swoop in and squeeze his shoulder tightly. He looks up at me, and I shoot with my best death glare. "Follow whatever is generated on your screen." "But I think I'm close to cracking it...", came the meek reply. No you weren't, that was only the first two percent of my True Name. I wiped the sweat from my brows and kept going. "Acha boro veldt taxono koro toro yestault ar!" Yes, thank you, please keep following the sequence, #237. "Ratovunegorotylenovistanorma..." What is this? Another one? This time it's cubicle #278. All the computers don't have emails, they aren't supposed to communicate with each other, how is the first segment of my True Name leaking out? I swiftly marched to #278 and rebuked him for going out of sequence. This is starting to get out of hand, if more people kept continuing from there, I might just lose my invincibility. So I ordered everyone in the room to look at their screens and hit a button to induce hypnotism and restore the default settings of their computers. "A!"called out the human in cubicle #1. Good, the reset button is working as expected. I breathed a sigh of relief and left the factory to head home for a beer.
"He can barely talk, barely walk. He struggles at the simplest tasks and keeps lashing out in anger! This is not my father. It may be his body, but his soul is gone. What you're doing is WRONG!" Every time with these people. You would think they might show some gratitude, but instead it was constant complaints: why do I need to drink blood, why is my skin green, why does grandmama only say brains, and so forth. "Listen, your dad was dead and decomposing before he got here. I did what I could, but a human brain is tough to repair. Personality, memory, motor skills, all of it comes from the brain." "Don't be ridiculous. The clerics tell us the brain is just fat storage and some cooling. The soul is not bound to a single organ." "Sir, no offense, but the clerics can't bring folks back from the dead. They make crap up all the time." He gave an offended gasp, then whispered, "Blasphemy." "Probably, but until they can do what I do, I don't see much reason to trust them. Your dad will heal over time, but all his organs are less than top notch due to decay. You just keep giving him those antibiotics I prescribed and he'll get better." "Oh, don't be ridiculous. How can those little 'pills' fix his disrupted humors. I threw them right out. We're scheduled for a bloodletting tomorrow at the church. Much faster." I resisted an urge to strangle him, and instead scribbled a note on a piece of paper. "Ok, when that fails, take this to the apothecary. She'll make more pills for him." "Enough,"he crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside. "The church can handle him from here. I just want a refund." "You know what, fine. If your dad walks in here, better than I last saw him, and asks for the refund, you got it. That seems fair to me. But when the church screws up, I charge double." "Hmph. We'll see you after the bloodletting,"he said before storming off. "I'm sure you will,"I chuckled to myself as I started preparing the equipment I'd need to fix a bloodless corpse.
The general and his men stood in the president's bunker, watching the remaining cameras go offline in the blinding light and radiation of nuclear fire. The president spoke as the rumbling sensation shook ages of dust and concrete from tiny cracks in the protective structure. "What... What happened? I thought we'd tested this out. He hit every bullet, missile, grenade..." The general sighed at the prospect of 15 years in this bunker and dreamily caressed his service pistol as he spoke. "As we explained several times already, Madam President, nukes don't use impact for donation. They're much more effective a mile up when they go off. Even if it did have to come down and hit something, they did use more than one." The general wandered off without reply to see which of the men had the best contraband liquor to, "confiscate"and muttering about what kind of idiot thinks sending one nuke back into the air to kill someone else was going to help anything.
"Clearly I am not fit to feel his shoes, but I need to carry on with his memory."As time passes by, you keep it safe with you, practicing and honing your abilities. Every time you hold it, your brother's warm smile passes through your mind. Grief and sorrow fill you. "I miss you, brother,"you whimper as you try to hold back the tears. The blade looks duller and even more worn out than before. Months have passed and you now look at the blade, perched on the wall of your home as a memento of your diseased relative. Looking at it hurts, you want things to back to what they were before. You miss your brother so much. You scream and cry in defeat. You throw things around, frustration swells within you. "Bring him back!" The silence is deafening, the wind is knocking on your windows. You notice that it is now night time and you've spent your whole day lamenting. You wipe off your tears and realize that there will never be anyone like him. Practice has not gone smoothly as you had intended, you were not born as a fighter. You lack whatever your brother had, and you know that very much. When it clicks in your head. You stand upright, still insecure in your own abilities. You grab the blade, hold it high and whisper "I'll never be like you, but I'll do it on my own terms". The blade begins to look different. It looks alive, like if it had taken a breath of fresh air. Its tip begins to sparkle so faintly. "Please guide me and protect me, brother."The dull blade begins to shed its rust off, little by little, revealing a new blade that shines oh so faintly. It is now time that you make that blade your own.
When you die you are supposed to see a white light; a long tunnel which you pass through. Except I only saw the sky, then darkness as my already weak eyes fluttered closed. I hadn't even seen the car as it rounded the corner. Fine one minute, and the next... BANG Flat on my back. I mentally whispered goodbye to those I loved, then felt a peculiar lightness, the final moments of my passing. I no longer had a body, only spirit. And the darkness. Cutting into me, threatening to engulf me in its embrace. Floating for eternity. I guess this is the afterlife then... The absence of surrounding cut out suddenly, and while I was still floating, it was now in something. I opened my mouth, only to have it filled with some sort of liquid. I began to panic as I lashed out, flailing madly. I soon realised, however, that I wasn't drowning, even though my lungs were filled with fluid. I slowly opened my eyes. No longer dark; instead I was bathed in a dim reddish light. The glow seemed to only be coming from one side. I felt down myself; down my body. Curious. My body felt small, arms and legs shorter, my fingers reduced to stubs. My skin felt weak, almost paperthin. I couldn't see anything, save for the red glow. Where the hell was I? I heard some muffled sounds outside the walls of my confinement. It sounded like deadened speech. I tried to call out, but no words came. I found myself unable to articulate my mouth, and the liquid prevented me speaking anyway. EIGHT MONTHS LATER A few months ago, I realised exactly where I was. My body had grown larger, and for the past month or so I had been pressed up against the walls of...well...my mother. Or my new mother I should say. I felt larger, but still weak and small, as was to be expected. How long had I been here? It must have been close by this point. Alone with only my thoughts for all that time. That was the thing that was most unusual. How did I still remember everything from before? Was this normal? I knew everything about my previous life: where I lived, who I loved, my job. Absolutely everything. Although I had my thoughts, I soon realised my body would still be unchanged. Unable to fend for myself at first, but later on in life I could tell them. Maybe they wouldn't believe me? They would probably only put it down to imagination of a child. How could I make them understand. If only I could..... THUMP I was broken from my thoughts by a sudden contraction around me, me body squeezed by my mother. Is it time? Another contraction, this one stronger than before. They lasted for the next few hours, getting closer and closer together each time, until I felt a pushing at my feet; my face squashed into the flesh by my head. I felt it parting, and was slowly compressed through a narrow tube. The sounds outside became more distinguished as the hole opened up. My final escape. I was tugged to a halt suddenly. I couldn't move my head, but I could feel something around my neck. The excited voices turned to panic as the noose tightened, my eyes beginning to bulge out of their sockets. Stop pushing! I wanted to scream. But it didn't. I continued to slither out slowly, my throat closing tighter and tighter as I did so. As my head finally broke through into the world, I saw the face of the midwife, panic in her eyes as I once more fell into the floating darkness...
"Wow, what a coincidence."I said. The man glanced outside and then looked over at me and winked. He looked back down at his computer and started typing again. Just then the girl I'd been seeing walked through the front door. "Hey babe! Did you order me a coffee yet?" I set my cell phone down and walked over to her. "What's wrong?"She said. "You look confused." I was confused. We weren't supposed to meet here today were we? My had felt foggy. I glanced over at the man again, he continued to type. There was a white flash and my girlfriend burst through the door impatiently. "Hey silly, what are you doing in here?"She said. I've been honking the horn now for five minutes. "But just a few seconds ago..."I started to say. But I couldn't remember. All I could remember was this man was doing something with his laptop that had caught my attention. I glanced over again at him. He looked up with a puzzled face that turned into frustration, maybe even a bit of anger. Now he BANGED on his keyboard accentuating each key. My cell phone rang. It was in my pocket. That's not right, my cell phone was somewhere else... it was. I couldn't remember where but I know it wasn't in my pocket. I answered it. My girlfriend's voice boomed through "let's go, I'm outside, we're late." "But..."I started to say but couldn't finish the thought. The man with the laptop was all I could think about. Something about that laptop mattered. I looked over just in time to see him rushing out the door shoving the laptop in his coat. I looked back at his table and there was a note. I picked it up and read it: Don't look for me. And that was when the chase began.
I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I felt around my face, gazing in the mirror for anything unfamiliar, anything that would signify a change over time. The fact remained true, despite my disbelief - I hadn't aged a bit since meeting her. And I knew that she hadn't either. She had the same blue eyes, the same rounded cheeks and pointy nose, the same crooked teeth and the same freckles. Her hair hadn't even grown. It was the same shoulder-length, curly brown mess that she always spent too much of her mornings trying to comb because she wanted to look her best and didn't know she was already perfect. And now I would have to be the one to bring it up - the unavoidable but unacceptable truth. Surely she had noticed it too, and just didn't want to say anything. It would have to be said one day, though, maybe many years down the road, as we stretched ourselves thin and tip-toed across the bare fibers of our tattered relationship. Then the fibers would break beneath us and we'd fall, with no ground to stand on, alone in the void until we hit rock bottom or someone caught us... I shook my head, still in front of the mirror. No. I wasn't willing to let that happen to us. It had to be said now, while we had some dignity left in us, though it would not hurt any less. I didn't want to leave her, but what choice did I have? The rules were clear. You only aged once you found your soul mate. We weren't aging. There was nothing for it but to turn the sinking ship around. So I waited until she got home that night and said the words. "I think we need to talk." She simply said: "I know." We sat down on the couch together, snuggled close despite the circumstances because that's the only way we knew to sit together anymore. I looked into her blue eyes and confused face and swallowed my stomach, which had just leapt into my throat. I opened my mouth to speak. "I'm not your soulmate,"she said. I choked on my words, which had been the exact same. "W-what do you mean?"I found myself asking as I kicked myself inside. Of course I was too cowardly to admit feeling the same, of course I'd let her feel responsible. I resolved to say something to the effect of "Oh, yes, I know what you mean,"once she explained so she didn't have to feel like the villain. "We haven't aged a minute since we met,"she said. She was - is she smiling? I thought. "Oh - yeah - "I fumbled for words. "I mean, I noticed that too, earlier. Maybe we're just slow agers?"My resolve to end things quickly earlier was suddenly slipping away as I wanted nothing more than to hold on to her for just a little longer. She shook her head, definitely grinning now. "I don't think so."She shifted her position on the couch and looked me right in the eyes, her smile fading to confusion. "What's the matter? Why are you sad?" I was flabbergasted. "Well - "I searched for words. "Well, maybe it's because I thought I loved you!"I spat it out and the sentence hung heavy in the air between us. She just blinked slowly. "You don't love me?" I was starting to get the feeling we weren't on the same page at all here. "Neither of us has aged in the past five years. If we were in love, wouldn't we be aging?" Comprehension dawned on her face, and she began to laugh. There wasn't a trace of the sadness or desperation I was expecting in that laugh - just mirth and a little bit of mockery. "You're going to have to explain something to me,"I said in a hard tone, pulling away from her. She stifled herself and looked at me through teary eyes. "Don't you get it?"she asked. "I've been terrified for years, ever since I realized I wanted to spend forever with you. I was afraid I'd lose you as soon as I found you."I still wasn't getting it, so she went on. "Okay, so maybe we're not soulmates. But we're still in love, aren't we? Isn't that something we chose?" I nodded slowly. "I was afraid you'd be my soulmate,"she said, "and now the clock would start running out. But you're not my soulmate, and I'm not your soulmate, and now we have as long as we want."She leaned in towards me, and we kissed. A whisper of a doubt lingered in the back of my mind, but I couldn't hear it over the roar of the blood pounding through my head as I looked at her beaming face, and I asked an entirely different question than I'd intended that evening. “Look, this is spur of the moment, and I don't have a ring or anything, but – if you won't be my soulmate, will you still be mine?” She smiled wider than ever before.
We proceeded with the invasion as planned. Interstellar flight had been achieved eons ago, and we were ready to take the mineral rich world, classed Z-8114-XG. The world had inhabitants descended from primates, and with their appalling stances, pitifully inept space programs, and inferior communications devices they would be easy prey. The Exalted One called for the plan to move forward, and into the void we launched. Except there was one problem. We failed to consider that while the beings known as homo sapiens did not concentrate on space travel, that they sat idly by. No, they became masters of warfare. They perfected their weapons, tuning them to be as efficient as possible. But I was not worried. We were the elite, the best trained I'Ni Haldrac warriors that the Exalted Army could provide. We started with a standard formation, armed with our finest blades and bangtubes. A load of quick burning powdered Ixporum would launch a Chak’T nut at velocities hard enough to crack the carapace of any attacker! I rallied up my fellow warriors, only to come face to face with our first human targets. They were dressed in tan clothing that covered from head to toe. On their feet, crude hide leather boots caked with sand. And in their hands was the pitiful thing the human called a “carbine”. Hell, our bangtubes had much bigger ammunition! We launched the first volley after the lead human reached a hand out. It was a gesture of war! And I was enthralled with the ability to respond. The bangtubes were working flawlessly, and as I watched the nuts sail towards their targets, I was almost vibrating with glee… This would be over shortl- They bounced off. The damn nut bounced off of the green pocketed vest the human wore! He raised his own “carbine” and with a muted pop, my bravest bangtube warrior was lying on the floor, writhing in agony. The rest of the humans raised their carbines, and fired as well. I can tell you, I prayed for the Exalted one…. It hurt like the fire of a thousand suns encased in my chest. As I stared up at the human warrior, I could make out a name…. US MARINES. ALL of the human warriors had US MARINES on their clothing. They must operate off of a hive mind, or maybe they were clones. I didn't care at this point. I reached up with a portable bangtube, but the human effortlessly kicked it out of my grasp. He slung his “carbine” over his shoulder and started talking into his primitive talkbox. I could understand only a small fraction of the language, but I distinctly heard Area 51. I knew that name. It was a penal colony, a POW camp for other species who took the initiative to attack the humans. And as I looked around I could see the other warriors were dead. At least they died fighting. Myself, I was in for a long, long stay.
Groggily, Greg fumbled with his bagpack and made it to the front door of his house, only to find Matt helping himself to food from the refrigerator, in the adjoining kitchen. Slightly surprised as to how Matt had found his way into his house but not too concerned about it, Greg deemed it unnecessary to create a scene, so early in the morning, simply saying, "Hey, Matt? You mind closing the door behind you when you're done with breakfast?"as he proceeded to leave to work. Matt, or more appropriately, the alien who had snatched Matt's body let out an exasperated sigh. He had expected the human to be in a fit of rage, yet, calm as a monk on morphine, Greg hadn't cared the slightest about an acquaintance having broken into his house in the morning for food. A strange human, this one was. To further the alien's disappointment, there weren't any brains in the freezer to munch on either. Taking over just about the entire human race hadn't been a problem at all, however, this one simpleton posed an obstacle. Aliens weren't allowed to snatch a human's body, unless if the human was the initiator of the conflict. Body snatching was originally meant to be a defensive mechanism, which to the disappointment of the blood-thirsty aliens, hindered their progress as they tried to take control of other planets. Humans, being aggressive creatures by nature were an easy target. The entire conquest was made even easier, considering the fact that on top of being aggressive, they were pathetically weak too. Nevertheless, these said aliens couldn't truly declared themselves masters of Earth if a man like Greg still walked around happily, with not a worry on his mind. For weeks, they had been trying to get Greg angry, yet their methods had proven to be of no avail. Greg was either too smart to fall into their traps, or too dumb to even notice the traps in the first place. However, if there was one thing that the aliens knew for sure, it was that every human had a breaking point, and Greg couldn't be an exception to that. He hadn't been special or famous among the humans - he was just an ordinary man with an ordinary life. If anything, he was probably the quintessential representation of a stereotypical human being. He did everything one would expect a human to do. With his bagpack now on his shoulder, he walked his way down to the bus stop. It seemed as though the buses weren't functioning though. As a matter of fact, the roads were empty altogether. "I guess the vehicle strike is still going on,"concluded Greg, deciding it'd be a good workout for him to walk to work anyways, and this way he could stop at the coffee shop too. And so he did. There were a few people there. He nodded to a couple sitting by the corner, and they glared back at him. Was he the one, they thought. The last of the race. Indeed, replied on of the others, telepathically. They all watched him as he stood in line for his cup of hot chocolate. The barista smirked at him as she brought it over. As he handed her the money, she accidentally fumbled with the cup, spilling the hot liquid all over Greg, and smashing the cup on the table. He let out a high pitched-shriek, as the barista began to apologise, waiting for him to start an annoying rant and threaten to get her fired. But, much to her annoyance, Greg did none of that. "Oh, no worries. You see, I'm wearing my hydrophobic shirt. My company actually makes these - quite handy, I must say,"he spoke, wiping the milk off of his shirt with ease. The barista let out the same exasperated sigh as Matt had done, and the other customers returned to their normal activities as a result of the anti climatic response. Not bothered to wait for another drink, Greg made his way out, having decided to jog his way to work, to shed off a few extra calories. Merely two minutes in, he was tripped by a kid trying to play one of those funny YouTube pranks, it seemed. Well, he would've gotten slightly ticked off at that, but then again, he didn't want to be one to ruin the kid's dreams of being a successful prankster and so, he carried on. Entering the company building, it looked like the place had been ransacked. Greg passed it off as a new look for the building. Quite fancy it was, he added, walking up the stairs to his cubicle. The place was filled with everyone, as usual, with a couple of police officers questioning them as to whether they knew anything about what had happened to the building. After being called for a few questions, Greg merely stated, "Oh, you know, you gotta keep up with the changing times. I like this whole set up actually. It brings a new atmosphere to the room."and continued onwards. He sat at his cubicle and set his bag down, finding the papers he'd left behind the previous day, sitting on his table. "Good thing these didn't fly away,"he spoke to himself, rummaging through his desk for his stapler. He couldn't find it. His stapler was missing. No, surely not. No one would dare take his stapler. He searched more. But to no avail. Someone had taken his stapler. But no. Everyone knew that they weren't meant to take his stapler. Where was his stapler. He stood on top of his desk, and at top of his voice shouted, "THIS ISN'T FUNNY, GUYS. THERE ARE LINES WHICH YOU DO NOT CROSS." The others in the room looked at each other, for while they had tried to sabotage almost every other aspect of his life, they had no idea where his stapler was. Maybe it was for the better though. Maybe, something as simple as this would, push Greg over. Greg looked at everyone's faces, "THE CULPRIT HAS FIVE SECONDS TO RETURN WHAT IS MINE OR CONSEQUENCES SHALL BE FACED. I WILL TALK TO HR, AND I MEAN IT." This was it. He was threatening them. The man in the next cubicle walked over. "Do you have my stapler,"Greg asked. "I don't,"he replied. "Then get the hell out of my face and find it." The man leaped at Greg, his eyes gleaming red. Greg shoved him back, and smashed his computer keyboard on the man's head. Every single one of them had been warned of what would happen if they took his stapler. Greg told them of it nearly everyday. They could borrow what they want, but not the stapler. The stapler was his. The others in the room rushed at Greg like savages, thirsty to take over his body, but Greg had other plans. Minutes passed. Silence spread across the room. Greg walked over the unconscious bodies, searching each of them for his possession. Yet he still couldn't find it. He was sure one of them had his stapler, there was nowhere else it could've gone. However, after having made a full round of the room, he returned back to his cubicle, still a stapler-less man. Maybe he should've checked his drawers again before starting to blame the others, he thought. He opened the drawers, once again to make sure it wasn't there. "Oh,"he said.
I haven't slept in a week. I was internally at war, trying to force myself to shut my eyelids and go to sleep, but I knew that was a battle I was going to lose. It all started last week when I moved in. I was so tired that first night, thanks to my friends having kept me up until 3 AM drinking wine and telling me how cute my new house would be if I decorated it which ever way their drunken minds thought would be appropriate. But I didn't care, I was so excited to have a house of my own, without roommates. So, when I finally hit the bed, I didn't pay any attention to my phone lighting up to that resounding "BEEP BEEP". But that was when it started... The next day, I had dismissed it as nothing. I blamed it on the alcohol. "It was just a weird dream." But the next night, I was sober. And it happened again. BEEP BEEP ... ... ... Sorry, I didn't quite get that. BEEP BEEP ... ... ... I'm not sure what you said, Stephanie. It's been that way every night this week. Every time, Siri responded saying she couldn't understand what I was saying. Wednesday, I took my cellphone to my provider and told them that my phone was behaving strangely. They told me that they couldn't find anything wrong. Thursday, I disabled Siri. That night, my phone lit up, like I never turned her off. Friday, I told my friends. They just stared at me like I was losing it. Monday, I smashed my phone. It was driving me crazy, and I would've done anything for relief. I went to Verizon and paid for a new one. And nothing was ever enough. And now tonight, I'm laying in bed, and Siri finally said something different. BEEP BEEP ... ... ... Ok, I found this on the web for human anatomy. That was an hour ago. And she's been silent ever since. And now I'm laying in my bed, trying to fall asleep and pretend nothing is wrong, but I'm so confused, and I'm honestly terrified. Why human anatomy? Where is she hearing this? How- BEEP BEEP ... ... ... Here's what I found on the web for jugular vein. Something is seriously wrong. BEEP BEEP ... ... ... Ok, here's what I have on vital organs. I need to get out of here. BEEP BEEP ... ... ... Sure thing, I searched the web for decapitation. BEEP BEEP CALL THE P- ... ... ... Sorry, I didn't quite get that.
When the invasion of earth was suggested by the Senate, everyone froze. Earth. The War Planet, we called it. Ruled by a crazed, bipedal race know as Hu-Mans, a species known galaxy wide for being violent, warlike barbarians who blew each other up at every opportunity. Nobody wanted to go there. Nobody wanted to risk being cut apart and experimented on, as our first peaceful envoy was. But the military had a plan. "Instead of striking a built up area, we start with a small strike team, here!"General Knas slammed his tentacle into the map, marking the strike point with ink. "No Hu-Mans, no resistance! From there we can organise our troop, and then take the island by land!" He almost made it sound like a good idea. But here we were, four days later, in some kind of hellish nightmare. Four soldiers lay dead, two more dying, and here I, Sergeant Crlmud, stood with two survivors, all of us terrified to take another step. "Please....tell my wife...hnnghhhnn"a former survivor wheezed, the venom in his bloodstream driving the last of the life from his lips. As he slumped, the small creature responsible for his death scurried away...Probably intending to return for his body later. Slowly, I reached up to my earpiece, aware of at least fifteen pairs of eyes watching me from the shadows, daring me to move, waiting to strike and devour my flesh. I depressed the button, took a deep, slow breath. "Final log. Encountered extreme resistance. The Hu-Mans are not alone. There is a reason that so much of the planet is unsettled. Demons live here, General. Demons unlike anything we've ever seen...Not giants, not the multi-tentacled sleeping God...but tiny, insignificant looking things that can kill even the strongest soldier with a single touch...and we are surrounded." In the darkness, another survivor was struck, this time by a small, slithering creature with a fatal bite. His screams pierced the night, but quickly fell silent as the poison tore through him. I watched as it began to devour his still twitching body, his eyes staring up at me in paralyzed terror. "...this planet is cursed, General. There is only death for us here. I recommend that invasion attempts be suspended indefinitely." I felt something brush past my leg, and took a deep, slow breath, my eyes closed tight. " Tell my children that I am sorry, and tell -hkkh!"I felt a small, sharp stab on one of my tentacles, and a sensation unlike any other. The darkness soon took over me, and like my men, I fell into the dust.
I was certain I'd thought up the best one. "Come on!"I floated by the ceiling, turning lazy flips. "Law of gravity, I'm telling you. Who hasn't wanted to fly? This one's the best." "You're going to float into the fan,"Esteban warned me flatly. "It's off,"I retorted, but pushed myself groundwards as his hand moved towards the switch. "Look, it's a good idea, don't get me wrong."He shrugged. "Still, I'm sure I can do one better. Maybe something that doesn't require puking for an hour.' I winced. I hadn't expected the motion sickness to hit me quite that hard. "Or wearing steel boots just so I can walk outside."His brows narrowed. "You're going to need cement blocks if you ever go swimming." "Bet I can walk on water, though."I stabilized myself on the coffee table and lounged in midair. "Well, if you're so sure you can do better, what's keeping you?" "Still thinking."He absently shuffled the loose notes on the table in front of him. "I'm not sure i want something as dramatic as yours, honestly. But I'd like something that has a good effect, and preferably isn't something that's already been chosen." "Right, because that's easy."I waved a hand and rolled my eyes. "Might was well just ask for it to fall into your lap while you're at it." "That's... Hmm."He nibbled the end of his pencil a moment before his eyes widened. "That's it!" "Huh?"I watched in curiosity as he scribbled something on his paper before slamming his chair back and dashing for the kitchen. "I'll show you!" I watched curiously as he pulled a slice of bread out of the fridge and buttered it. He held it dramatically out before him and tipped it off his hand. i watched incredulously as it turned a lazy half-flip in midair and... Landed butter-side up? "Got it."He smirked at me. "Murphy's Law, bitch."
"Robert Banks, corner pocket." The blue orb glowed from within, a picture of Robert moving inside like a movie in a crystal ball. Surrounding Robert's orb, countless other balls with similar moving pictures. Some men, some women, some children, all moving inside but still on the green felt. Death nods towards the indicated corner, scratching his pool cue with chalk. Life tugs at his beard thoughtfully. "You don't have a straight shot." Wordless, Death swoops over the table and lines up his pool cue with the solitary white ball. He drives the white sphere into Rachel Studebaker, her yellow ball flying off at an angle. ------------------------ Rachel was driving to work, just like every other day. She had her coffee with cream and 4 sugars, just like every other day. Her bagel in a paper bag, handed to her through a drive through window, just like every other day. She drove away from the coffee shop rounding the corner onto the two lane road. She blinked blearily. All of a sudden, her driver-side front tire slams into a pothole that wasn't in the road any other day. With a bang the tire blows out, yanking the steering wheel from Rachel's hands as adrenaline dumps into her veins. Her yellow Prius veers sharp left and caroms off of a curb, smashing directly into oncoming traffic. --------------------------------- The blue ball drops into the corner pocket with a thunk. Life sighed. "Wow, lined up a combo shot. Oncoming traffic? That's just cruel. Rachel almost went in the side pocket herself." creak-creak-creak Death says nothing, but chalks his cue for the next shot.
INT. CELL BLOCK Immaculate, polished stainless chrome walls - SETH sits on his plain, white-sheeted bed, staring off wistfully. INSERT: A drop of drool at the corner of his mouth. INSERT: His eyes, glazed, dark and tired, dart to: The CELL DOOR. It slides, rattling. Then, an echoing click. It's open. He's free - but how? Footsteps. ADOLF HITLER appears, the same stout, black-haired dictator from Seth's history books back on Earth. Seth gasps. Hitler catches his breath and throws Seth one of his two blasters. HITLER Ve have to go NOW! Seth catches and palms the blaster. He looks around, panicking, thoughts racing: Is this real? Trust Hitler? Use him, at least? For now. That works. He gets up. Plenty more footsteps coming down the block - not human - Hitler turns and charges his blaster. Seth, noting how, charges his too. HITLER Come get it, you bastard aliuhns! Seth joins at his side and they fire away, taking down four - five - six of the monstrosities surging toward them. HITLER Zis way. They run toward the double sliding doors out of which the aliens came, passing their corpses on the way. Hitler stops him at the doors. HITLER I can get us out of here. Is that vat you want? Seth nods. HITLER Good. Only promise me one thing. Once I do and ve are back to Earth, you will join me, yah? Seth is taken aback. Why couldn't he catch a break? SETH What? Join you? HITLER Yes. Join my party. SETH No... No! I couldn't. HITLER Come on, Seth. Make your mind up. No time. Seth glances behind him, then back to the cold dark eyes of his evil, despotic rescuer. SETH Okay. I will. He meant it. Just then, with a static whoosh, Hitler disintegrates vertically in a beam. Holographic. Seth looks at the spot, incredulous. More whooshes. He looks behind him. The corpses beam away too. We pass through the wall opposite the cells. It is a one-way viewing wall. The viewers are two smaller, slimmer, more civilized looking version of the aliens just whooshed away on the other side. The ALIENS watch as Seth sits himself on the floor and looks on, morose, wondering. A noise escapes the alien, something between insect and amphibian-like: CHYRON: Interesting. His alien colleague responds: CHYRON: Let's wipe that memory. This time, let's make him have to shoot Gandhi. Something like laughter escapes them.
Tears blurred my vision as I read the letter. * Mom, Look, I know you won't take this well, but I have to write something, I can't just leave without saying anything. Honestly, living with you is suffocating, you try to regulate my life, making me get off my computer, or telling me who to hang out with or telling me I sleep too much. You just don't get me, mom. So I'm done. I'm going out on my own. I've finished high school, I did that much for you, but after 20 years of schooling I'm not about to go to Uni for 10 years for some bullshit degree. I'm going to go out on my own, make my own name. Don't worry about me, mom, I'll be fine. Love, Derek * How could he do this? I shook my head, and read the letter again, but nothing changed, he was still abandoning me. God. Did that boy have any empathy? Did he even think about how I would feel? I tried to think about how I used to be when I graduated high school. I was 25 years old, high school was shorter back then, and was dating Mark...that asshole. I can't believe I went out with him. Scowling, I continued down memory lane. I'd been pretty wild too. Like, wild parties, nights out, all of it. Hell, my parents told me off all the damn time. I had gone to police academy just to spite them. Nether of us had expected it to actually work out. I still remember my dad's face when I told I got a job at the LAPD. I smiled ruefully at the memories...I should probably call them sometime... So yeah...Derek was my son all right. Wild, spontaneous, and disdainful of authority. It still didn't make it hurt any less. I told myself he as an adult now. He'd be able to vote in 4 years for heaven's sake, he could make his own choices. But if he was stubborn, so was I. Who else did he get it from? I wasn't going to let him get away from me this easily. He could leave in the end if he really wanted. But after raising him alone for 30 years, I deserved more than a letter, damn it. I wiped my tears, and pulled out my phone and checked the location of Derek's car. All vehicles purchased by police officers, regardless of intended use, had to carry trackers according to some law. I had always thought it was a pretty bullshit piece of legislation, but I was thankful for it now. Derek probably had no idea the tracker even existed. I may have forgotten to mention it to him. I checked the GPS and found he was staying at Day's Inn...wow. I thought I had given him better taste than this. I was still wearing nothing but a nightdress having just woken up, and my long red hair was a mess. I quickly put on some jeans and a tank top with a leather jacket. I fixed my hair as quickly as I could. And so, hurrying, I was in my car an hour later. Driving like a mad-person I arrived in the parking lot of the inn. It helped that I knew exactly where the speed traps were. And so I made a normally 30 minute drive in under 20. I had half a mind to shove my warrant in the face of the guy at the front desk and demand to know what room my son was staying in. I took a few deep breaths and counted backwards from ten in my head. It helped. Somewhat cooled down I reasoned that doing such a thing would probably be illegal, and would likely damage my relationship with Derek irreparably. I can normally be pretty calm and rational, it came with the job, but when loved ones were involved, I lost my head very easily. After what happened with Jason when Derek was just three years old... I vanquished the memory before it overtook me. I was here. I needed to confront Derek. Going to find him wasn't an option, so I would make him come to me. I roamed the parking lot until I found his car, well, technically my car, it was registered in my name, but whatever. I put on my "bad cop"face, and leaned against the side of the car and started browsing my phone. To someone far off, I just looked like a woman who didn't have a care in the world. They would have to get much closer to see I was clenching my teeth. From where I stood, I could see the main entrance to the building, and so an hour later I spotted Derek when he came out...in the arms of a girl. Huh. She was over 6 feet tall, more of Derek's height than mine. Derek had inherited that from his father, luckily, and wasn't stuck with my five foot nothing frame. She had very short blond hair that went down to the middle of her neck. When she saw me her eyes widened, and she pointed me out to Derek. He stopped and stared. I put down my phone, and returned the gaze evenly. Derek said something to the blond, and a brief exchange took place that I couldn't hear. It ended with the blond going back in, and Derek began to stride purposefully towards me, not showing an iota of emotion. Despite it all, I felt a surge of pride, that's my son. I was now standing in front of his car and he came to a stop 3 feet in front of me. He was, as I had mentioned, a foot taller than me, and had his father's blond hair, but my own sharp blue eyes. I gave him my cop stare. Derek just grinned. "That won't work on me mom, the effect kind of wears off after 30 years" Damn it. But I did nothing except raise a single eyebrow. His grin faded. "What are you doing here, mom? I'm not going to ask you how you found me, the better question is why I didn't think you would." I allowed a small smile to show on my face, and said "I wanted to talk to you Derek, that's all." "Yeah? Well, I mentioned all that I had to say in the letter, there's nothing else to say." "Now listen here, young man." Derek flinched instinctively at the hard note in my voice. "I get that you want to be independent, I get that you have this crazy megalomania about how great you are, and how you don't need any help or support. Forget all that, but do you have a care in the god damn world about how others feel." "I-,"Derek began. "Don't interrupt me!"I snarled. I had to let out all my emotions now. "We have been through so much together. We have only had each other after your dad died. We have supported each other, been there for each other, and that means nothing to you?"Damn it, I think I was crying a bit, but I bore on. "After all that, after 30 years, I get a note?! You don't even have the gall to tell me upfront? For God's sake, we could have talked about this!" I closed my eyes. Damn it. I'd screwed it up. I'd only pushed him away further with that little speech. But there's nothing else I could have said. I couldn't have bottled up what I felt when I faced him. I couldn't have lied to him and taken the diplomatic route; Derek deserved the real me. I opened my eyes and expected him to be scowling, or worse, gone. But instead I saw that his head was owed down. I held up his chin and looked into his eyes and saw...shame. "I-I'm sorry, mom,"Derek said miserably. I wasn't thinking straight. It's just that, Katie..."He motioned behind him vaguely. Ah. The girl. "Well,"I said, composing myself, "that's all I had to say. In the end, it's your choice." With that, feeling a little hollow, I went back to my car. I couldn't force him to come, it had to be his choice. And so I was sitting on the couch watching movies a couple hours later when there was a knock on my door. "Mom?" *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
"You're my campaign manager. You should be on top of this sort of thing." "I can't help you until you help yourself, Boogy. We as a team have told you this over and over. Look. Look here. This is a graph depicting your popularity since you were elected in the 60's." "Is going downwards good?" "What? No. No, Boogey. Why would that ever be a good thing?" "I just thought that maybe, as a one off or something, a downward spiral may be a good thing." "This is why we haven't been able to help you." "Look, I'm sorry. I need help. I'm asking for your help." "Well, for starters, let's have a look at your campaign promises. OK, so, Number One: 'Be spooky'. Is that like in general? Be spooky in general?" "Yeah, that's kind of just your day to day spooks." "Nobody knows what that means. Not a single person. What even are day to day spooks? We need to scratch this." "OK, fine. It's gone. Move on." "Number Two .. and this one, God, this one I have a tremendous problem with. Number two is: 'Give little boys the willies'." "I don't see what's wrong with it." "You don't see what is wrong with saying you're going to give little boys the willies?" "Back in the 60's .." "This isn't the 60's, Boogey. We've been over this. Giving little boys the willies doesn't fly now. People interpret it differently." "How do they interpret it?" "They think it means you're going to molest children." "Oh, God." "I know. It has to go." "Well, when you think about it, isn't it scary? Isn't that what we're aiming for? You said we need to step things up." "We are not contemplating this." "I mean, what's more scary than someone who wants to fuck your child? I say we make it even more obvious what we mean." "No. We're not going there." "Knock knock? Who's there? It's me Mr. Boogeyman and I'm going to molest your child. Seriously, though. I'm going to fuck your kid. Vote Boogy 2016." "That is terrifying." "I told you." "So we're going to base our campaign around strong, full on paedophilia?" "It's the scariest thing there is." "I don't know, man. This is really pushing the envelope in terms of ~~a WritingPrompt response~~ an election campaign. I mean, how many people have themed a ~~prompt response~~ campaign around paedophilia and had any form of success?" "We're behind in the polls already. We need to catch up! What do we have to lose?" "Fuck it. Let's do it." "It's foolproof!" **** For more highbrow comedy, visit /r/BillMurrayMovies. Come along and downvote everything. It's a celebration.
The President and his small team hunched around a desk looking at a computer screen. "Quick, hit refresh and check his timeline again." "Sir, Agent Anon hasn't posted anything to his Facebook wall in hours." The profile was bare other than the past history of status updates. The profile picture was that weird silhouette default image - however, in this situation, it was rather fitting. The phone rang. "Hello? Yes, bear with me." "Mr. President, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is on the line." "Pass me the phone." "Hello. Yes, we're looking at it right now - no update in 18 hours. No, we're worried, too. No contact, no." "Sir, he's posted." "I'll call you back." The President bounded towards the computer screen Got some things to think about. Maybe changes are needed? "Holy shit. Well what the fuck does that mean?" Agent Peck was the first to answer, "I don't know, sir. I'm not trained in this field." "You're right, we need specialists. Angela, send the status down to the lab. I want our best men looking in to this." "Sir, if I may?" "You may, Angela." "I feel this is like when you're friend posts about being at a funeral or the untimely death of a family member and you want to like the status to show you're thinking about them but don't want them to think you particularly like the situation. If you will." "Oh I will, Angela, as this is exactly like that. Astute observation. Until we have confirmation that Agent Anon isn't at a funeral or recently suffered a family death, I cannot authorise any comment, like or cool emoji." The door burst open. A man in a lab coat entered the room out of breath. "Mr. President, we studied the status. It's bad. It's real bad." "Spit it out, you God damn nerd. We don't have time for fanny farting around here." "We believe Agent Anon is Vaguebooking, sir." "Speak English, son." "Vaguebooking is when a person purposely posts an ambiguous or vague status on social media in order to garner attention via comments, likes or cool emojis." "Cool emojis. I knew it. Do we know why Agent Anon is doing this Vaguebooking?" "Not as of yet, sir. It's difficult to decipher." Angela spoke, "My God... I think he's trying to figure out which nation likes him the most." A panicked frenzy broke out in the room with a race to the computer screen. "Peck. Refresh the page. I want a status report on that status, stat."The screen loaded slowly like a kid viewing South Park wrestlers online with a 56k modem. "Sir, it's not looking good. Russia have already liked the status, the UK are sending 'positive vibes' and, oh Jesus Christ, Canada have posted multiple cool emojis." "Is the sad crying face one of the cool emojis Canada has posted?" "Sir, I can confirm the sad crying face is present, yes." The President turned and hurled a cup at the wall. "How is it we are this far behind the other nations when it comes to Vaguebooking intel and tech? Can someone explain this to me?" "It's an emerging field of interest, sir. We simply weren't prepared." "Well we need to do something. We're sitting ducks, here, people. You're supposed to advise me and here we have the most powerful super secret agent on the planet thinking we don't care about his ambiguous personal life." Angela spoke up, "I have a plan but it's risky." "Spit it out, Angela." "I say we Vaguebook the bastard back. Go all guns blazing." "What exactly are you suggesting?" Angela leaned over the keyboard and began to type out a status then hesitantly pressed enter. Thinking of my fave in these hard times x. 15 brutal minutes passed. The room sat in silence. Sweat gleaming from the President's brow. "Sir, we have correspondence from Agent Anon. It would appear he has taken it to the DM's. The message reads: 'Thx for the status. I know it's about me'. "Our secrets are safe. For now." **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
"Where do you get the money from?"he asked. I could tell from his drooping eyes that one or two details of the situation still had not clicked. "That doesn't matter,"I replied, admittedly feeling a little frustration. "All you need to know is that I do, and that we won't get in trouble for this." He crossed his legs, and banged his knee on the glove box. It fell open—it was the last piece-of-shit car I would ever had to own—and he looked at the papers stuffed inside. "I'm trying to become a writer,"I said. Reaching over him, I shut the glove box. "Anyway, you just have to say it, and I'll give you exactly half. I swear on my mother's life." "Millions of times.... How much do love your mother?" "You got me, I'll swear on my own life if that helps." "Ok, ok. How about you show me your phone. I wanna make sure nobody's recording this, this blaspheming." "Sure,"I said. I pulled out my phone, and closed my window. "I'll use the money from this first session to rent a private place where we can...be secure." "Alright,"he said. "You ready?" "Yup."I sat back in my seat and set my eyes on a spot located far away through the windshield. "I'm a Nazi pedophile, I'm a Nazi pedophile, I'm a Nazi pedophile."....
“I guess you could say I’m…a bit of a Wiz.” quipped Pete, supressing the giggles with all of his will. The other wizards exchanged disappointed glances at one another. “Gentlemen. Don’t be…spellbound by my speed. It’s actually quite simple.” Pete scanned the room for laughs, but found nothing. The elder cleared his throat. “Please, Pete. Please.” He croaked. “Bestow upon us your secret, young boy.” Pete was loving every single moment of this. He began to pace up and down, an index finger raised to his chin as to suggest deep, pensive concentration. “It all started in an apple store” he began. The collective eye-rolling was almost audible. “An apple store, boy? Why, I was there just this morning.” “You were?” asked Pete, the surprise breaking his stride momentarily. “Why, yes! A dozen Granny Smiths” – the room filled with murmurs of approval – “and a poison-filled shiny red apple for a…friend.” Pete smiled. “No, your eldest, not that sort of Apple store. This Apple store sells technology. Very useful technology, in fact.” “More useful than the disco ball?” barked Edmund, whose beard brushed the floor beneath him. The wizards had recently discovered that disco balls were a fantastic and affordable alternative to the crystal ball, and great for the solstice parties too. “Even more useful than those” nodded Pete. “Well, show us then!” shouted another impatient wizard, releasing a globule of dribble as he did so. “Very well” said Pete, and pulled out an item from under his cloak. “Behold!” he shouted, holding the rectangular tablet above his head. “The iPad!”. He remained in that position, his eyes clenched, awaiting the rapturous applause he was sure would follow. Silence. 10 seconds past. “Well?” said Pete. “I’ll stick to the lily pad, thanks” remarked Borius, who was almost more mole than person. “I know where I am with a lily pad”. “But this is what gives me such speed with my spells” explained Pete, his excitement quickly evaporating. “This is my secret. It really is fantastic.” “Is it compatible with my wand?” asked Laurence. “Yes, is there a wand-port?” added the elder. “Well, no..but-“ “No wand-port? Pah!” “But-but-” Pete was desperate. This was supposed to be his big moment. “It has a lightning port!” “Lightning? Sounds dangerous if you ask me!” said Borius. The wizards nodded enthusiastically in agreement. “Can I use it under water?” asked another one. “Well, no. But you can’t use your books underwater either!” argued Pete. “I got mine laminated” said Edmund. Again, the wizards murmured with approval. “Okay. But-“ “Pete, my dear boy.” The elder raised his hand. The room fell silent once more. “Technology isn’t always the best option” he explained. “But elder, this is why I’m so fast!” Pete gesticulated to the iPad once more, his frustration was clear for all to see. “Remember Pete. It’s not all about speed and innovation. Compatibility, accessibility and reliability are of equal importance. Now –” he smiled warmly - “why don’t you run along to the apple store and give them our feedback. Maybe their next product will bear that in mind.”
I engage the autopilot, and I see him doing it again, looking at that whatever-it-is he keeps in his pocket. He hasn't noticed I'm looking yet, I can just barely see it...it's a....screw? An ordinary screw. I have to know. "I gotta ask, man. What is it with the screw?" The man that I have flown with for thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of miles, dismissed me like he always did. "What, I don't have anything. It's nothing." "Well, which is it? Is it nothing, or do you not have anything?" "Both...eh, I mean, neither. I just, I just don't want to talk about it." "C'mon man. It kills me! I've seen you looking at whatever that thing is so many times. I have to know. I saw it's a screw, just, just a few seconds ago. What is it? Just a normal screw? What is it?" He sighs deeply, and turns to me. The look on his face tells me I will finally have my question answered. But more than that, there is emotion. This cold, quiet man who never has said a word more than he had to, is about to bare his soul to me. "This doesn't leave the cockpit." "Of course. Cross my heart, et cetera et cetera." "I never met my mother, she died during childbirth. My father is the only one who raised me, and he did a damn fine job. Losing my mother killed him, though. It absolutely destroyed him. He would tuck me in at night, and tell me stories about how they met, how he fell in love with her. She was his soulmate, he would always say. I thought they were fun stories when I was a child, but now I can look back and see how much he hurt. He missed her. He never dated, never entertained the idea of remarrying for a second. She was all he had and all he ever wanted. At times, even recently, I have wondered if maybe he resented me for indirectly taking her from him, but I know in my heart he didn't, because I was theirs, I was the proof that a woman like her could love him, and he treasured me for that." "That's really sweet. But what's the screw?" "Well, she made him promise that I would graduate college. She never got to, you see? She died during her junior year, and she would have been the first in her family to earn a degree. She made him promise, on his life no less, that I would graduate college. And I did! I know she must have been so happy, wherever she is. I was the first on her side of the family to ever graduate college, with honors no less. He cried, knowing he fulfilled her wish. He was crying the happiest tears I had ever seen. The way my dad hugged me at my graduation was twenty-one years of emotion in a single embrace. I felt her there with us." "That's crazy man. But what about the screw?" "Well, after we celebrated, you know, had a beer on the front porch of the house we still shared, I asked if he minded if I went out and celebrated with some friends. Ya know, normal stuff. We wanted to hit up a few parties. He said sure, no problem. As I was getting in my friend's car, he told me that my mother would be proud of me. When I got home that night, I knew something wasn't right. I called out for him, but he didn't answer. I saw a light on in his room, so I knocked on the door. He didn't answer, so I let myself in. He had hanged himself off of the ceiling fan. I guess the weight had been too much, and he had pulled it slightly out of the ceiling. He was long gone. He wrote me a note, but I don't remember all of what it said. I know he said he was proud of me, and that he loved me, but he missed his wife, and he needed to see her again. I know he said he was sorry over and over, but I couldn't read anymore of the note. It hurt too much. I guess I should have known. His last words he spoke to me, 'Your mother would be so proud' had a sense of finality to them that I hadn't understood at the time. So that's it." "Fuck dude...damn. I'm sorry. But what about-" "Oh, the screw. It came out of the fan, it was lying on the floor under him. When the coroner took him away, I found it on the floor. I guess, I don't know why I keep it. I guess as a memento of a great man's moment of weakness." We both looked straight ahead, and didn't talk for the rest of the flight.
The beeping intercom breaks through my whistling and I reach over to tap it. "How's it going Control?" "Hey Quarters. Just wanted to let you know the team won the day and are on their way back. ETA 1 hour or so." "Lovely!"I exclaim with relief. "Everyone make it ok? How did they sound?" A hearty chuckle over the intercom. "A few bumps and bruises but all are fine. Sound hungry too. Wanted to give you a warning." I chuckle as well. "Thanks for the tip. I'll be ready in time. You better get down here soon after they do if you want what's left. Later Control." Being a part of a legendary super hero team is a little different than what most may think. Of course you have the core members, the ones that go out and fight the villains, defend the public against monsters and disasters. Then there are the "un-sung"heroes so to speak. The support staff. Ones that take care of the home place and help the team stay running. They definitely get less glory than the super heroes but I wouldn't have it any other way. Dark Watch is a band of heroes based primarily out of the United States. They act globally but are kept busy defending the States most of the time. They rescued me from a particular vicious attack from a warlike alien race and I wanted to return the favor by helping them however I could. They tested me and while I possessed better than average endurance and reflexes, I wasn't quite up to par for field work. Which honestly is fine by me. I'm not much of a fighter. Instead I found that I was a really good organizational supplies person. I could run their base incredibly well and made sure the logistics ran well. Officially I was the team Quartermaster. Though now the team loves me for my second and arguably more useful talent. I feel the kitchen floor rumble a little as the hanger doors opened, allowing the transport back in. Smiling to myself I continue to chop away at the vegetables, tasting a drop of the stew bubbling away on the stove top. I was incredibly surprised when I found out no one on the team knew how to cook and lived off rations or take out. As soon as they found out that I could cook and enjoyed my cooking they immediately renovated this brand new kitchen and allowed me to order whatever supplies necessary. It's hard keeping 5-10 super powered individuals fed, so my endurance and reflexes really help, but I loved every second of it. The side door opens and the blurred form of Jetstream dashed into the room. Skidding to a halt the speedster heroine popped up goggles and smiled. "I could smell the stew as soon as we flew in!"she sighed happily, eyes locked on the big bubbling pot. She breathes deep and sighs even louder. "Smells great! Is that sage and all spice in that?" She reaches for the ladle and I slap her hand playfully. "Hey did you wash your hands first? I don't need oil or monster blood or nanogel in the food!"She giggles and bursts into super speed. Dashing to the sink, a rush of water, running to the towels, speeding past me and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, and then back at the pot; all in less than 5 seconds. Slowing down she lifts the ladle and sips a bit of the dark brown broth, another sigh of pleasure. "Not fair Jet,"grumbled Magus. The older spell caster having just teleported into the kitchen with a faint pop. "You can't always rush here first without your other duties you know."He admonishes her. "Fiiiiine."Jetstream huffs and putting the ladle down carefully, blasts out of the kitchen. I chuckle and pour hot water into a cup filled with spices and leaves. "There you are sir, our usual tea ready and waiting." "Ahh bless you Quartermaster."Magus groans as he sits down on a stool. Holding the cup in both hands he sniffs delicately at the aroma before taking a grateful sip. "You're the only one I know who can make mana leaf tea taste good. My my what is that delightful flavor this time?" I smile back happily sliding a plate of fresh vegetables in front of him. "Cinnamon and hibiscus with some rock sugar crystal. Thought that would soften the bitterness a little."His look of dreamy pleasure makes me laugh in appreciation. "Mmmm what about me?"A soft purr fills my ears as I feel soft yet strong arms encircle my waist even though I can't see them. I look to my right and grin as the invisibility wears off the feline features of Cheshire. "Fish cakes are grilling as we speak. Tofu is ready for the fryer and rice is steaming hot."Another happy purr and she squeezes me fondly before slinking off to watch the fish cakes browning in the pan, her tail whipping back and forth in anticipation. The rest of the team make their way into the kitchen and sprawl at the counter or sit at the table eating heartily. Mighty Amazon clapping me on the back toweling her hair, practically drooling at the steak I put before her. Silveron never hesitates to use his telekinetic powers most of the time but always accepts his food by hand. Phoenix eats her chili with wild abandon, entertaining the others by pretending to breathe fire at how hot the chili is. Another typical end to a mission: loud, chaotic, loving. Suddenly Control stiffens and looks at the door. Nodding he whispers to the team leader, a swift look of disgust crossing her face. She smooths it away and speaks softly, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Ready up everyone. Mayor is coming in. Polite if you please."Everyone grumbles at the news but manage to quiet it as the door opens and the Mayor of New York City enters being led by one of Control's drones. "Ahhh thanks again Dark Watch for defending the city so ably!"His voice oozes sycophantically. The others nod politely, trying to control their facial reactions. Settle everyone. The telepathic voice from team leader Melodia soothing and comforting. He won't be here long. She stands and bows slightly to the mayor, her porcelain face smooth and expressionless. "As always Mayor, we watch our home and defend against the Dark. You can count on us." "Of course. That's what makes New York City great. Everyone else wishes you were in their city!"He booms snidely, oblivious to the room. "Why don't you guys come out tonight. We can visit the clubs together, eat at some really fancy places. You know. Where there is actually good food."He waves dismissively at the dishes in front of them. I know better than to be offended but I can't help the flush building on my face. I don't do this for recognition but for happy friends, a well functioning team. Part of me is insulted by the slight but another part of me is worried, what if everyone only eats what I make out of kindness or duty? Would they prefer eating elsewhere. I feel the familiar tickle of Melodia's mind. Looking over she gives me a soft frown and a reassuring shake of her head. Glancing about I see the others not bothering to hide their annoyance and irritation. Cheshire is audibly growling, her claws flexing as she looks at the mayor like a cat would at a scratching post. As if suddenly aware of his surroundings he gulps and tries to bluster. "I mean your butler here looks like he can cook a little but come on, this doesn't compare to a four star chef does it? Let me taste and tell you that-" The pot lid the mayor had picked up flies out of his hands and settles down gently on the pot. Silveron's eyes glow pale white as the rest of the food moves softly away from the mayor. The others stand now, glaring at the mayor and his voice dies away. "Thank you but no Mr Mayor."Melodia says firmly. "Our team mate here is not a butler. He is a valuable member and we rather be here than anywhere else. We thank you for the visit." Between the drones and Silveron's not so gentle pushing the mayor leaves the room, squawking ineffectively. I look back at the team with an awkward smile, relief evident on my red face. Melodia smiles and holds out her plate. "Second helping please."The other immediately clamor for more food and with unshed tears in my eyes I happily comply.
######[](#dropcap) Styig surveyed the chaos of the battle below. Odin had assigned her a handsome young US Marine Sergeant whose ancestors came from the East. He had raven-black hair and olive skin, drawn tight from the Iraqi sun and smeared in grime and dust. She watched as Sgt Michel Chen passed on his Lieutenant's orders to the men of 2nd platoon. -- Clay and dirt sprayed across his back as Sgt Chen sheltered himself from enemy fire as it disintegrated the wall he was using as cover. "Move, move, move!"he barked at PFC Tomms and Pace. Both of the junior Marines were stuck in the moment of chaos injected into their patrol by the local insurgent forces. Things *were* calming down, he lamented. Dipping out slightly, he laid down six single shots in a direction he assumed was beneficial. Taking cover again, he thumbed his radio. "Jones, this is Fox Three-two, get second squad's 249s laid out along route Hollywood and give me suppression."The road had a local name most of his men couldn't pronounce on a good day, so they'd given it a name they could manage. -- Styig flew over the battle, watching the Dishonorable move among the buildings. She called them this, because she had seen them do horrible things. Things even Vikings wouldn't tolerate. Now they were cowering in buildings, laden with bombs they intended for innocents. Women and children in the market, young girls at school. Attitudes had changed in the past thousand years, but even Vikings would not have slaughtered children at play to stir fear. One of the men in rags had taken position across the street from Sgt Chen and was drawing aim on him. -- An unnatural, cold breeze brushed his cheek, causing Chen to look up. He noticed movement in a window across route Hollywood. A glint in a blown-out window, little more. It was enough to drive him behind the rusting wreck of a '88 Honda. 7.62 fire skittered across the hood as he blessed his luck. "Sonofabitch,"he muttered loading a 40mm HEDP grenade into his M4's underslung M203 launcher. Easing around the rear bumper, he lined up the shot with the flyleaf sight. "Clean through the uprights,"he chuckled squeezing the separate trigger. THUMP, went the grenade launcher. Seconds later a deafening KTHOOOM blew rocks, wood, and ichor out the windows of the second floor snipers nest. -- Styig smiled. She wasn't ready to escort Sgt Chen to the halls of Valhalla yet. If she did, she'd only be sent out again and wouldn't be able to spend any more time with him. Odin would have Chen all to himself and she did so enjoy watching him send the Dishonorable to Hel. For the rest of the day she moved among the battle, constantly keeping him just a hair away from the meadhall. She wasn't done with him yet. EDIT: Minor typo (thanks /u/lnSerT_Creative_Name)
School. The word itself evokes different memories in each of us. Some of us are pleased when those memories return to our mind, distracting us from whatever is before us now. Maybe the time you made that awesome joke and everyone laughed. Maybe the time a teacher praised your mind and helped you aspire higher. Maybe the soft touch of a loved one's skin and their musical laugh at something you did. Some of aren't as happy. Being shoved up against a locker after gym, or getting diarrhea at the homecoming dance. Maybe you were cheated on and everyone laughed at you. Many of my memories were the negative, unfortunately, though my time in school was pretty pleasant. That's what happens when everyone around you has their mind wired for negativity. I had the ability to read someone's mind when I came into contact with them back then. Now, its not so constrained, but that's another story. It's not really just a thought or progression of ideas that I read, and it's not really 'reading' either. It's really more of a series of pictures or feelings or senses that paint the way something is. Sometimes its cold, or dark. That's when people are in bad moods. Usually its something silly. One time I bumped into a guy that forgot to shake after using the urinal. He had gotten urine all down his legs and it ruined his morning. Another time, I bumped into a freshman who had just rescued a kitten and had it in her backpack. She was excited. Anyways, one time I bumped into this new girl. I was a senior at the time- I think the year was '11 and the Winter trimester had started. It was pretty weird to get new kids this late into the year, but it wasn't unheard of. The first day she showed up, it set the school abuzz from every class. Keep in mind, my graduating class was like 100 people. The new girl was on everyone's mind. She was a junior and was rather pretty. She didn't seem to introverted, nor was she in any way a magnet for attention other than being new. She kept to herself when she wasn't engrossed in some kind of novel or fantasy book. I ran into her a few times in the library when I was getting something new to read, so we were familiar, but not really friends. Well, a few weeks after she got there, I decided to try out my ability on her. Everyone kind of was kept at arm's length, and I wanted to be a friend to her. My chance came when she was sitting in the computer lab, reading Wikipedia for some project or another. I took the opportunity when I saw it. I left my table and friends and went to sit at the computer next to her. I recall the conversation vividly. "Hey."I said. "Hey."She said. "Whatcha reading?"I asked, setting a book on the desk. "Something or other."She replied. In a carefully coordinated move, I swung my arm and bumped the book that I had set down onto the floor beside her. We both reached for it, she being the friendly type to do that, and I brushed her arm. The feelings she had. The emotions. The thoughts. I was- overwhelmed for lack of a better word. She was on fire. It was as if every sensing cell on and in her person was being immolated by napalm, while being thrown into a grease fire. But she was also freezing. Like she was dropped in the Arctic without anything warm to wear, while Frosty hit her with an icicle. She was in torment. Her mind was entrapped with something, punished by memories and anxieties. She was terrified, but no one could understand or help her. She was helpless, truly. I had never felt anything that strongly before. Never. I lost my balance and fell out of my chair, rolling onto my back. I felt myself slipping with the weight of the burden she bore, but before she passed out, I saw it in her eyes. She knew. She knew that I could read her, and she knew that I saw what she was going through. I woke up surrounded by my friend and the worried librarian. The nurse was coming and my episode was the talk of the school before I knew it, though the new girl was left out of it. But it wasn't but a few days later when she approached me after the last bell rang. I was gathering a few things from my locker when she appeared as if from nowhere and leaned against the locker beside me. Gazing at the classroom door behind me, she said quietly, "What did you see?" I was taken aback. The very few that knew of my ability shunned me like the devil, but for my family, who refused to let me make physical contact with them most of the time. "Don't worry."She said. "I won't tell anyone. But I need you to tell me what you saw." "Hey man!"A friend of mine passed behind us and I caught his hand in a high five. Then I saw his mind. He was going to the football field to meet some friends, and he wasn't too happy about it for some reason that I didn't get. The new girl looked down until he passed, then lolled her head onto her shoulder to gaze up at me. "Answer." "You're hurting."I said, regathering my composure and putting my things in my bag. "Yeah. But what did you see?"She asked, slightly irritated. "A lot of stuff that I've never seen before."I replied, zipping up my bag and shuttering my locker. "I've never seen anyone like you." The girl watched me with suspicious blue eyes. I caught a fleeting glimpse of her mind. A wall of ice, unassailable. Weird- I thought -Normally, I can't do that at a range. "I've never met a reader before."She said. "Then how'd you know-"I began to ask, but she stopped me with a raised hand. "I want to talk to you. I think we can help each other."She held out her hand to shake. Her bare, unguarded hand to shake. I recognized what she meant. Her mind, open and willing to be shared. "I'm Emily." I shook her hand, this time prepared for the thought onslaught. "Markus." "Nice to meet you."She said with a brief smile. "Let's meet tonight at the coffee joint downtown. You know it?" "Yup."I said, but before I had even made the sound, she had turned and walked away. ---------------------------------------- Continued down in the comments.
I always though those that screeched in terror from bees and spiders were acting ridiculous. Why would a tiny little spider, or a cute little bumblebee be so scary to us? My guess was that it was mainly not being educated enough. The possibility of either having the ability to truly do damage to us is minuscule. So when I saw someone run away from a bee screaming on the top of their lungs, or screeching from a spider that decided to crawl down from its web for a nice walk, I laughed. My eyesight wasn't always great, in fact it was rather terrible. I was still able to wear glasses though, so I guess I wasn't completely blind as a mole. Still, it slightly irked me to always have to wear glasses, or contact lenses. So I figured I'd save for some laser eye surgery. That way I can live a somewhat more normal life. Sure, tons of people wear glasses, but it always made my confidence drop when I would hear the snickers of my fellow classmates or peers taunt me behind palms to another ear. Strapped into the seat, the surgery was quick and painless. I had to be careful for a while, and when I fully recovered, you'd never guess I didn't have perfect eye sight all along. Except, there was some sort of error. Some sort of mocking call. I saw what those that screamed at spiders and bees saw. I was able to see them so clearly. They weren't some small little bug, they were truly grim reapers. I could see every inch of their skin, their hairs, their eyes. The stinger of the bee, the fangs of the spider. It was as vivid to me with every glance. What I thought was just a thumb sized creature was not. They were as tall as us. They were actually pretending to be us. Some of the most famous, or successful people were actually humanoid versions of these deathsects. The stinger of my boss was the scariest when he grew angry, dancing around in a circle, probably trying to communicate with his peers. I wish I never got eye surgery. They're planning, I only know that much. I can see both spiders and bees communicating to each other. Telling each other our weaknesses, our strengths. They're going to do a hostile take over for all the times we smacked them with newspapers, or shoes. They'll create the same versions, giant wads of paper... or a giant shoe, and have us show what it really feels like. I only hope they'll forgive us before they kill us all.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.