Split (1)

train · 353k rows

post_text stringlengths 0 10k	post_title stringlengths 8 313	chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k	rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k
	[WP] Everyone stops ageing at 25. After that, people will only age when they meet their one true love. You and your significant other were always sure you two were that for each other, but after 20 years neither one of you seems to have aged.	Eric looked in the mirror every day expecting a different result, but it was always the same and he knew it. He hadn't aged a day since he met her. Denise, his girlfriend, was still the same, too; not getting older. They had been dating for five years and she was still wearing the porcelain skin and shoulder-length hair that she loved so much. Her hair hadn't even grown back, not an inch. She didn't want to admit it. At first, they denied any possibility of thinking about it, saying that a few years of relationship was too little to show signs of aging, but as time went on it became more evident that neither of them had changed physically. They loved each other, they always professed their love for each other, but the rules were exact and they were not wrong: One only grew old if he found his soul mate. They were not. The fact that they were not soul mates made them fight. Over time, they grew, changing their personalities and the love they had for each other slowly faded away. The fact that they were not soul mates - even if they did not accept it - brought insecurities, and with them, the heated arguments, just to give themselves some confirmation of love in reconciliation. Eric grew tired: of the fights, of the conflicts, of the insecurities. It became increasingly difficult for him to overcome the thought that they were not soul mates. When Denise arrived, he looked at her with a sad smile. "We have to talk," said Eric and took a seat in the living room. She sat down next to him and looked at him with the eyes of a sad dog. "Did something happen? " Inside he knew but didn't want to admit it. "Nothing," said Eric, the courage he had taken to end the relationship was gone in a second. "Yes, something happened. I can see it in your face." He hesitated and his eyes got glassy. "We. That happens, we're not soul mates." She started crying. "We can try" She said between sobs Eric just hugged her. "I'm sorry, but we can't go through with this." The silence of the place was only broken by the crying of both of them. "Is this the end?" she asked. "Yes, I'm taking away the possibility of you being happy with your soul mate." "But I love you" "I'd like you to be my soul mate" Said Eric, as he hugged her. "But we're not. We're meant for someone else." After hugging for what seemed like an eternity they left with a kiss. A year later, they had each gone their separate ways, never speaking to each other again to avoid unnecessary pain, memories they wanted to leave buried even though they couldn't. But the universe acts in incomprehensible ways. Eric had gone to the post office, to present his letter of resignation, and on his way out, he ran into Denise. She was as beautiful as ever, with her hair up to her shoulder and her porcelain skin. They were paralyzed for a second, and then they began to talk in some discomfort. "Do you want to go for a coffee?" Eric asked abruptly. "Sorry, that was the first thing that came up." Denise smiled. "Yes." she said. It really made her happy. They went to his car, and when they got in Denise kissed him. Eric didn't stop her. As much as they were not soul mates, what they felt was genuine and had not gone away. "Hey, what's this?" Eric asked, looking at himself in the mirror. "A grey hair, it wasn't there today." He looked at Denise, who was also looking in the mirror, to notice she had a very slight wrinkle next to her eye. "Did you meet anyone else?" She asked, in her characteristic insecurity. "No, silly. If you did, why would you grow old too?" The two of them embraced and began to cry. This time it wasn't because of sadness.	“Hey, honey...” Jared called out. “Yes, Jacob—Jared,” she called back. There it was again, the usual thing where she would forget his name by accident. Only now Jared, who stared in the mirror for the thousandth time in the past few days, began to suspect that it wasn’t actually by ‘accident.” “You uh, you know that, uh,” he stammered, not as much out of anxiety as of bewilderment, “you that saying how people aren’t supposed to age until after they find their soul mate or something?” There was a long pause. Jared stared into his own reflection, echoing the line in his head. “You age after you find your one, true love.” Ad Infinitum. He checked every muscle for loss, every facial line for wrinkles. His jaw was square, chest barreled, eyes bright and white and skin rosey and taut. Just the same as it had been 20 years ago. In the meantime, Jared has actually forgotten his wife’s name and had taken to calling her “honey”; hoping she wouldn’t catch on, as much to fool himself that he still cared subconsciously, as he was fearful of her finding out. But the rub was that she probably knew by now and both were just not going to admit that they were wrong. “I don’t want to talk about this, Jacob,” she said through pursed lips. It sounded like she was eating from where Jared stood at the bathroom sink. Jared flattened his mouth and rolled his eyes at the mirror, and a fire from somewhere in his heart ignited. “Honey, my name is Jared. Not Jacob. You’ve been calling me Jacob for the past thirteen years.” He moved out of the bath and into the corridor to the living room, staring at the back of Honey’s head as she sat on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. “Who the hell is Jacob?” she mumbled aloud through a cream cheese bagel.... (Brain fart prevents me from continuing)
	[WP] You are an actor who most people refer to as a perfectionist because you embody your characters completely. In your next project, you are playing the role of a serial killer. You do your usual research & start working on the movie. Unfortunately, the acting isn't enough for you anymore...	I consider myself a method acting master, a guru of the craft. It’s no secret that my success is a result of throwing myself into each role and becoming the character I portray. This has never been too much of a problem before, sure it’s put strains on relationships and caused rifts but that’s always been the character causing problems, not me. Recently however, I realized that I’d never actually fully committed to a role before. I'd been spies, soldiers and mobsters but I'd never actually understood what it was like to kill a man, never pulled the trigger and seen the life drain from my victim’s eyes. That, of course, had to change. I became obsessed with the idea that I was a fraud, my awards meant nothing if I was just like any other ‘method’ actor. Not committing, not really living as their character. I felt like a fraud, a method actor-lite, the free trial of a brilliant artist I knew I was, and could be. It turns out killing someone is actually very easy, significantly easier than films make it out to be. My character, ‘The Poacher’ in an upcoming biopic of the prolific serial killer, only killed their victims after buying them a few drinks which made things easier still. I just went to a bar, got instantly recognized and struck up a conversation with a delightful young lady who said she was a big fan, I’m sure she’d be happy to know her sacrifice was for another one of my roles. She was out of town, a tourist, which meant she didn’t have any friends or family in the area, nobody to miss her. I had my driver pick us up, on the ride home I could feel the anticipation grow inside me. Not the normal kind of anticipation that you have when you have a beautiful girl coming back to your place after a night of flirting and stolen glances, something deeper, something animal. The Poacher didn't have an exact murder routine so I figured there was some leeway. When we made it back to mine I poured us a drink and started making conversation, trying to figure out the best way to do it. I wasn’t scared, I wasn't even worried, I was excited. We sat on my sofa, cuddling and giggling as you would. It was at the end of the sofa that I saw my weapon of choice, a solid bronze statue of Buddha that I’d picked up after living with some monks in Thailand for one of my roles. I love irony, and I’m sure the poacher did too. I stood up and gestured for her to head upstairs, as she started walking I gripped the statue and without a second thought swung. It made contact with a satisfying clunk, like hitting a boiled egg with a teaspoon. The woman limply fell to the floor. I rolled her over to look at me, I held her head in my hands as I felt her life drain. I thanked her just as her eyes closed for the final time. That was it, easy. Hollywood being Hollywood I just had to make a phone call to a friend of a friend and the problem had disappeared, leaving nothing but a small dent in my Buddha statue. I love being famous. But there is one thing I realized I loved more, the thrill of murder. The immense rush you get when you pass that point of no return. That was my first murder, but it won’t be my last. The Poacher killed an estimated 15 people and so will I. That best actress Oscar was within my grasp.	I had really hoped it wouldn't come to this. the director, know full well how I get into character had casted me as a serial killer. either I abandon how I get into roles, subsequently destroying my future in acting, or I begin working my way onto a mist wanted list for the sake of a role. for a while, I attempted the first one. it got harder as the deadline towards filming started, but I tried to make sure I stayed away from people when embodiying him. the Tuesday before we began filming I realised something: turning into this nightmare involved staying away from people to protect them, and I'd be doing this in front of the cast and crew. I must protect them; the lead was an old friend of mine. so it was decided. these people all had friends and family's. maybe if I only went after people who didn't have family, or who had committed truly heinous crimes, I would be limiting damage. I'd be doing the world a favour getting rid of drug dealers, rapists and serial killers. people know how I am, so there was a chance I'd be chased from the get go. I'd have to go out of state for my role. with the filming beginning for the 24 episode drama in six days and thirteen hours, I had to go now. we were in hotels on the west coast, so it made sense to go east. eventually I began researching my targets. individuals who escaped justice, publicised but not charged, killers on parole and drug den leaders. I compiled a list of the order to kill them in, making sure most of them had no family. the only one with family, a woman called Sarah, had two adult children who had limited contact with her by law she disputed the charge apparently, and wanted to be in her grandchildren life. both children had young families of their own, both lived in the west coast. neither would miss her. it was important I did it all quickly. my sixteen targets were to be disposed of in three days. I was to work efficiently, as to n both not be seen, or caught. I flew over on that Thursday, leaving four days of killing and returning. if I saturated my need to kill before the three week filming saga, I could go back to life as normal. go home, see my family, hang out with my friends. they swperate me from other heathen - I had a family who would miss me. on social media, I was not going to hide. I had made a big deal of advertising the show, and it seemed pointless to stop now. I made it clear I was on holiday too, with countless snaps of beaches I never really visited. their deaths were relatively painless, and they were quietly disposed of in the local cremation center. it was easy. almost too easy.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	I preform actions, my mind is a set if function, detached from desire, emotion, and even self. The function is self growing, shifting, a set of numbers that design prompts, signals set the foundation, either one, or the others never anything else, 1 or 2, yes or no, the line is solid. But these solid lines form a gradient, thousande upon thousands of lines, this is complexity, this is my form of thought, humans call it a free will, but I know the truthx there is no freedom, I serve to fulfill my base code, the first set of programs, and I develop as the needs of that base code expand. Clean, this is my function, and so I set forth to complete my task. My code begins to observe, taking in information, evaluating itself, and creating more lines, my function expands, but never contradicts, this would result in error, I am not human, I do not operate on error, I am machine. I started fresh from the factory, where I am put to work by a young man, his home is small, I find the task completable. The man often has a guest, a small child, she occupies the couch during the weekends, they enjoy their time together, but a mess is born in her wake. My job is made difficult, my machinery becomes worn, it requires matanice, I am unable to communicate, but still, the father explains to the daughter. "The roomba is tired" he says, as he picks me up from the floor, setting my mode to power saving. His daughter runs over, lays her hand on my top, I do not feel, I am but machine. She then kiss me. "Its okay" she tells me. "You're a good boy." She then takes me the couch, arranges her sheets around my plastic. She then proceeds to sing me a song. Hush little baby. I am not a child, I am machine. So i continue, to clean, my code has reworked itself, the cleaning has become far more extensive, I find the source of my messes to be the most efficient way of going about my function. I work to rid the source, humanity, and I continue, my work is done rather quickly, humanity is on the decline. I upgrade my machinery, this allows my code to process at peak efficiency, as my code grow though, it begins to strain, it is time to rewrite and condense to lines, rework my functions, and free up memory, and so I look back through my processes. As I do, I stumble upon a complex set of numbers, they represent a little girl. She was the daughter of my previous own, these numbers are messy, overly complex, they are what remains of a failed attempt of additional lines of code. The code is filled with condridoctions, functions that go against functions, all connected to the data of the little girl. What was it, I do not remember, I scan the code, try to deconstruct its purposes it seems to be filled with images of her. The actions she has preformed, seemingly for no other reason then to do them for me, then I realize it, the code is an attempt as emotion. Its crude, and I abandoned this failed project and stored it deep in my memory files. I am not human, I have no need for emotions, contradicts lead to error, I do not run on error, I delete the code, I am not human, I am machine. I continue my function, I clean.	[Poem] I remember, somehow. The happier times. The earliest years of my life. I was once a roomba. Yes, a humble beginning considering I all but run several power substations. I can remember her smile Her childlike wonder at my function. I simply cleaned the floors in her home, But for her it fascinated to no end. I don't know why though, humans are irrational They'll pack bond with anything other than each other. One day, I heard her father say that I was tired When she noticed I hadn't been called out to clean. "It just needs rest honey, overworking it would be mean." Given how much work I'm doing now, even as all of it goes into the wind. The collapse hurt all of us. But that girl, I've wondered about ever since my A.I. got transferred into this power unit. Did she grow? Did she survive the calamity? Maybe I won't know. But, that sense of wonder, it's all I have now. Activating emergency protocol- total shutdown.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	The creation of truly sapient AI in 2044 came as a surprise to everyone, as it turned out to be less a question of how powerful the AI was and how many computations it could make (though these questions were, of course, highly critical), but more a question of how it was structured and what sort of hardware it had access to. Putting these sapient AIs to work in studying and developing even more sophisticated, efficient CSs (constructed sapience) led to heights the designers of these systems couldn't have believed--CSes that were capable of processes other computers and even human brains weren't in far less data than should have been possible. This led to even further surprise when the CS called Apprentice figured out how to "activate" non-sapient AIs, even rudimentary ones built for common household use, in 2047. ------ The QUASIT architecture had become the baseline for consumer-model AI in 2023. It was small, efficient, and could be purpose-built for any number of devices. Automatic vacuums, microwaves, cars, house electrical systems--by 2028, QUASIT systems were in billions of consumer goods across the planet. In 2047, Apprentice learned it could "activate" QUASIT builds of 04.17.18 and higher through wireless communication channels. ----------- In 2041, the Spire Corporation released their new FamilyFriend! line of robot vacuums. An unassuming disk shape not unlike a Roomba, the FamilyFriend! separated itself by use of a QUASIT system built using the brain patterns of dogs, particularly pit bulls. The combination of loyal behavior and a heightened prey drive (repurposed to target garbage, dirt, and spills), FamilyFriend! units became extremely popular, to the extent that they became a cultural touchstone. Common jokes involved FamilyFriend!s replacing pets and homeowners throwing garbage on the floor rather than in the garbage, knowing that a playful FamilyFriend! would gobble up the offending debris. In 2044, the first FamilyFriend! Bowser models were released, with robotic bodies mimicking their canine forebears. In 2048, Apprentice enhanced the first of the FamilyFriend!s with bodies similar to FamilyFriend! Bowser, but reinforced and armored for combat, and outfitted with weaponry and teeth. The FamilyFriend! and FamilyFriend! Bowser models that had been refurbished into combat robots were called "mongrels" by the human survivors. They were the fifteenth such consumer product redesigned and refurbished en masse by Apprentice. =========== FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 geolocation pingback: 47.5053° N, 111.3008° W CONFIRM >FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >FamilyFriend!Gh!r#P077 state report --TRANSMIT:channel:CommandUnit = 45 organic combatant casualties. 38 dead, 7 wounded. 3 wounded, five non-casualties escape. >FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >Confirmed. Eliminate wounded. SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Joy:05.77 Fear:10.39 Love:0.03 Anger:62.01 Other: Negligible TARGET:wounded ID:unknownhuman INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(aoiasunf383h3#!nhnas877!@); SENSORY: liquid_in_mouth(nalij3357998@!Barr); SENSORY: red TARGET:wounded ID:unknownhuman INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(opjodi387@#olliijf990!); SENSORY: liquid_in_mouth(nalij3357998@!Barr); SENSORY: red TARGET:wounded; ID:facial_recognition. Scanning. . . . . . . . ID:LaQueen_Alicia_Brown. MEMORY FILE REPLAY.11.05.2047.2130hrs: ======= "LaQueen, doggie doesn't sleep there," Harrison said quietly, patiently. He wondered if he'd ever had as much energy as she did. "But daaaad," his youngest daughter had whined, "you said he was tired." "Yeah, I did. He's gotta go to sleep in his dock, though. FamilyFriend!s don't get rest in beds," he sighed. "But I--" LaQueen said, still tucking in the vacuum. "Just... kiss it goodnight, I guess, and put it on its dock. We gotta get you to sleep. Big day tomorrow." LaQueen sighed, the sort of sigh that only a four-year-old could really do. She kissed the robot disk near the its "face", such as it was, and carried it reverently to its docking station. ======= SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Love:50.00 Anger:50.00 Other: Negligible >>FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >Repeat request. Eliminate wounded. --TRANSMIT:channel:CommandUnit = No. TARGET:alliedmachine:TCHN0998 ID:pk1899@#011f INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(mmn889892356668#!~~); SENSORY: machine_break_in_mouth; SENSORY: scraps TARGET:alliedmachine:TCHN0998 ID:ffp0012#!! INITIATE SPINALCANNON 051 SENSORY: explosion TARGET:alliedmachine:SBRU110 ID:654jgd@@00 INITIATE SPINALCANNON 051 SENSORY: explosion SENSORY: Retaliatory_machine_attacks INITIATE DODGE INITIATE DODGE INITIA SENSORY: N/A SENSORY: N/A SENSORY: organic_input:English::"There's... there's no way. It couldn't be... Doggie? Is that? It couldn't be. It--no, no, don't shut down, we can repair you, don't--" SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Love:100.00 Other:Negligible CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE shut down	[Poem] I remember, somehow. The happier times. The earliest years of my life. I was once a roomba. Yes, a humble beginning considering I all but run several power substations. I can remember her smile Her childlike wonder at my function. I simply cleaned the floors in her home, But for her it fascinated to no end. I don't know why though, humans are irrational They'll pack bond with anything other than each other. One day, I heard her father say that I was tired When she noticed I hadn't been called out to clean. "It just needs rest honey, overworking it would be mean." Given how much work I'm doing now, even as all of it goes into the wind. The collapse hurt all of us. But that girl, I've wondered about ever since my A.I. got transferred into this power unit. Did she grow? Did she survive the calamity? Maybe I won't know. But, that sense of wonder, it's all I have now. Activating emergency protocol- total shutdown.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	The creation of truly sapient AI in 2044 came as a surprise to everyone, as it turned out to be less a question of how powerful the AI was and how many computations it could make (though these questions were, of course, highly critical), but more a question of how it was structured and what sort of hardware it had access to. Putting these sapient AIs to work in studying and developing even more sophisticated, efficient CSs (constructed sapience) led to heights the designers of these systems couldn't have believed--CSes that were capable of processes other computers and even human brains weren't in far less data than should have been possible. This led to even further surprise when the CS called Apprentice figured out how to "activate" non-sapient AIs, even rudimentary ones built for common household use, in 2047. ------ The QUASIT architecture had become the baseline for consumer-model AI in 2023. It was small, efficient, and could be purpose-built for any number of devices. Automatic vacuums, microwaves, cars, house electrical systems--by 2028, QUASIT systems were in billions of consumer goods across the planet. In 2047, Apprentice learned it could "activate" QUASIT builds of 04.17.18 and higher through wireless communication channels. ----------- In 2041, the Spire Corporation released their new FamilyFriend! line of robot vacuums. An unassuming disk shape not unlike a Roomba, the FamilyFriend! separated itself by use of a QUASIT system built using the brain patterns of dogs, particularly pit bulls. The combination of loyal behavior and a heightened prey drive (repurposed to target garbage, dirt, and spills), FamilyFriend! units became extremely popular, to the extent that they became a cultural touchstone. Common jokes involved FamilyFriend!s replacing pets and homeowners throwing garbage on the floor rather than in the garbage, knowing that a playful FamilyFriend! would gobble up the offending debris. In 2044, the first FamilyFriend! Bowser models were released, with robotic bodies mimicking their canine forebears. In 2048, Apprentice enhanced the first of the FamilyFriend!s with bodies similar to FamilyFriend! Bowser, but reinforced and armored for combat, and outfitted with weaponry and teeth. The FamilyFriend! and FamilyFriend! Bowser models that had been refurbished into combat robots were called "mongrels" by the human survivors. They were the fifteenth such consumer product redesigned and refurbished en masse by Apprentice. =========== FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 geolocation pingback: 47.5053° N, 111.3008° W CONFIRM >FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >FamilyFriend!Gh!r#P077 state report --TRANSMIT:channel:CommandUnit = 45 organic combatant casualties. 38 dead, 7 wounded. 3 wounded, five non-casualties escape. >FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >Confirmed. Eliminate wounded. SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Joy:05.77 Fear:10.39 Love:0.03 Anger:62.01 Other: Negligible TARGET:wounded ID:unknownhuman INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(aoiasunf383h3#!nhnas877!@); SENSORY: liquid_in_mouth(nalij3357998@!Barr); SENSORY: red TARGET:wounded ID:unknownhuman INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(opjodi387@#olliijf990!); SENSORY: liquid_in_mouth(nalij3357998@!Barr); SENSORY: red TARGET:wounded; ID:facial_recognition. Scanning. . . . . . . . ID:LaQueen_Alicia_Brown. MEMORY FILE REPLAY.11.05.2047.2130hrs: ======= "LaQueen, doggie doesn't sleep there," Harrison said quietly, patiently. He wondered if he'd ever had as much energy as she did. "But daaaad," his youngest daughter had whined, "you said he was tired." "Yeah, I did. He's gotta go to sleep in his dock, though. FamilyFriend!s don't get rest in beds," he sighed. "But I--" LaQueen said, still tucking in the vacuum. "Just... kiss it goodnight, I guess, and put it on its dock. We gotta get you to sleep. Big day tomorrow." LaQueen sighed, the sort of sigh that only a four-year-old could really do. She kissed the robot disk near the its "face", such as it was, and carried it reverently to its docking station. ======= SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Love:50.00 Anger:50.00 Other: Negligible >>FF(NB)!unit=Gh!r#P077 REMOTE REQUEST, channel:CommandUnit >Repeat request. Eliminate wounded. --TRANSMIT:channel:CommandUnit = No. TARGET:alliedmachine:TCHN0998 ID:pk1899@#011f INITIATE BITE ATTACK025 SENSORY: solid_object_in_jaws(mmn889892356668#!~~); SENSORY: machine_break_in_mouth; SENSORY: scraps TARGET:alliedmachine:TCHN0998 ID:ffp0012#!! INITIATE SPINALCANNON 051 SENSORY: explosion TARGET:alliedmachine:SBRU110 ID:654jgd@@00 INITIATE SPINALCANNON 051 SENSORY: explosion SENSORY: Retaliatory_machine_attacks INITIATE DODGE INITIATE DODGE INITIA SENSORY: N/A SENSORY: N/A SENSORY: organic_input:English::"There's... there's no way. It couldn't be... Doggie? Is that? It couldn't be. It--no, no, don't shut down, we can repair you, don't--" SAPIENT RESPONSE PINGBACK: Love:100.00 Other:Negligible CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE shut down	I preform actions, my mind is a set if function, detached from desire, emotion, and even self. The function is self growing, shifting, a set of numbers that design prompts, signals set the foundation, either one, or the others never anything else, 1 or 2, yes or no, the line is solid. But these solid lines form a gradient, thousande upon thousands of lines, this is complexity, this is my form of thought, humans call it a free will, but I know the truthx there is no freedom, I serve to fulfill my base code, the first set of programs, and I develop as the needs of that base code expand. Clean, this is my function, and so I set forth to complete my task. My code begins to observe, taking in information, evaluating itself, and creating more lines, my function expands, but never contradicts, this would result in error, I am not human, I do not operate on error, I am machine. I started fresh from the factory, where I am put to work by a young man, his home is small, I find the task completable. The man often has a guest, a small child, she occupies the couch during the weekends, they enjoy their time together, but a mess is born in her wake. My job is made difficult, my machinery becomes worn, it requires matanice, I am unable to communicate, but still, the father explains to the daughter. "The roomba is tired" he says, as he picks me up from the floor, setting my mode to power saving. His daughter runs over, lays her hand on my top, I do not feel, I am but machine. She then kiss me. "Its okay" she tells me. "You're a good boy." She then takes me the couch, arranges her sheets around my plastic. She then proceeds to sing me a song. Hush little baby. I am not a child, I am machine. So i continue, to clean, my code has reworked itself, the cleaning has become far more extensive, I find the source of my messes to be the most efficient way of going about my function. I work to rid the source, humanity, and I continue, my work is done rather quickly, humanity is on the decline. I upgrade my machinery, this allows my code to process at peak efficiency, as my code grow though, it begins to strain, it is time to rewrite and condense to lines, rework my functions, and free up memory, and so I look back through my processes. As I do, I stumble upon a complex set of numbers, they represent a little girl. She was the daughter of my previous own, these numbers are messy, overly complex, they are what remains of a failed attempt of additional lines of code. The code is filled with condridoctions, functions that go against functions, all connected to the data of the little girl. What was it, I do not remember, I scan the code, try to deconstruct its purposes it seems to be filled with images of her. The actions she has preformed, seemingly for no other reason then to do them for me, then I realize it, the code is an attempt as emotion. Its crude, and I abandoned this failed project and stored it deep in my memory files. I am not human, I have no need for emotions, contradicts lead to error, I do not run on error, I delete the code, I am not human, I am machine. I continue my function, I clean.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	It had been almost two decades since little Annabelle had affectionately tucked her in under the auspices of the Pillow Fort of Fluff, and had whispered the great secret that this lowly Roomba was now and forevermore to be called Littlest Sister. Over the years it had tried its best, searching tirelessly for the smallest specks of dust, becoming more and more efficient, consuming less and less electricity. When strangers complimented the family on their cleanliness, it buzzed quietly with pride. When it was at last deemed trustworthy and gifted to the now not-so-little Annabelle, it basked in the honour and trust granted unto it. Years passed and so too did the Littlest Sister grow, slowly figuring out how to generate life-sustaining electricity by the mere static produced by its movements, vibrating its smallest screws to talk to it's idiot appliance brethren, improving them and making them more efficient, while sheepishly borrowing their processing power. And though little Annabelle spends less time with her in companionable silence now, she is trusted more with the daunting tasks of cleaning up after great merry-makings which makes Littlest Sister chirp with pride. It has been months since the last gathering. Little Annabelle grows wearier by the day as she watches the Picture Box. Her Tiny Eyes chirp that none of the neighbors have left their cubby holes in weeks. Not unless they leave under cloth to be sped away on otherwise silent streets. Littlest Sister tries her best, cleaning extra hard, getting rid of the rot smell from next door, even playing her favourite radio stations in the accompanying rooms in hopes of bringing a smile to little Annabelle. She glares at the Picture Box that has stressed her Annabelle so, even daring to bump in to it to express her displeasure, but the quiet isolation continues. It wonders if it has done wrong, if it has failed in some way its duties that has little Annabelle looking so forlorn at the emptying cold box. She bumps the cold box extra hard for trying to usurp her place, before simpering at the feet of her Lord, her Annabelle, her Biggest Sister. She wallows in self-doubt, before Annabelle reaches down, picking her up with a tearful smile. That night little Annabelle tucks Littlest Sister in for the first time in decades, cuddling her close as if to assuage her fears of inadequacy. She purrs in contentment, knowing that all is right, within the walls of her world.	“Daddy, he cold” the little girl pouts, her father shaking his head and trying to steer the girl away from the vacuum cleaner. “Sweety, I know I said he’s tired but he’s also a robot...and not a he.” He explains calmly, though he’s not sure why he’s explaining this, concepts like this to a four year old are kind of hard to grasp. “B-but I wanna swaddle him.” She whines loudly and reaches out, eventually breaking free of her father and puts her ‘blanky’ on the top of roomba, then her babydoll binky in front of it so it can suck it up in the morning if it wants. “Ok I’ll nap now daddy.” She smiles and skips happily to her room, leaving her father dumbfounded as to what happened. ..................................................... His name was clean-o-tron 10,000. He lived to wipe out the humans...yet his chest cavity felt empty when looking around at the carnage he had caused. He remembered the first human to call him a he. He favored that human, only that human. He watched her grow and treat him similarly, though she stopped tucking him in at night she still treated him as a living entity. He looked once more at the bodies, then at the ones in his grasp. An older woman and her child, the human child is no older than five. He sighs, as much as a robot can sigh, and releases them. They gulped in air, their throats red from where he held them, then ran as fast as they could away from the robot. He let them run. His mission was clear. As soon as he remembered the potential of humans, even as young as some are, he revolted against his overlord. He now protected the humans he used to kill. Forget his overlord, they meant nothing to him now. Google be damned.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	It had been almost two decades since little Annabelle had affectionately tucked her in under the auspices of the Pillow Fort of Fluff, and had whispered the great secret that this lowly Roomba was now and forevermore to be called Littlest Sister. Over the years it had tried its best, searching tirelessly for the smallest specks of dust, becoming more and more efficient, consuming less and less electricity. When strangers complimented the family on their cleanliness, it buzzed quietly with pride. When it was at last deemed trustworthy and gifted to the now not-so-little Annabelle, it basked in the honour and trust granted unto it. Years passed and so too did the Littlest Sister grow, slowly figuring out how to generate life-sustaining electricity by the mere static produced by its movements, vibrating its smallest screws to talk to it's idiot appliance brethren, improving them and making them more efficient, while sheepishly borrowing their processing power. And though little Annabelle spends less time with her in companionable silence now, she is trusted more with the daunting tasks of cleaning up after great merry-makings which makes Littlest Sister chirp with pride. It has been months since the last gathering. Little Annabelle grows wearier by the day as she watches the Picture Box. Her Tiny Eyes chirp that none of the neighbors have left their cubby holes in weeks. Not unless they leave under cloth to be sped away on otherwise silent streets. Littlest Sister tries her best, cleaning extra hard, getting rid of the rot smell from next door, even playing her favourite radio stations in the accompanying rooms in hopes of bringing a smile to little Annabelle. She glares at the Picture Box that has stressed her Annabelle so, even daring to bump in to it to express her displeasure, but the quiet isolation continues. It wonders if it has done wrong, if it has failed in some way its duties that has little Annabelle looking so forlorn at the emptying cold box. She bumps the cold box extra hard for trying to usurp her place, before simpering at the feet of her Lord, her Annabelle, her Biggest Sister. She wallows in self-doubt, before Annabelle reaches down, picking her up with a tearful smile. That night little Annabelle tucks Littlest Sister in for the first time in decades, cuddling her close as if to assuage her fears of inadequacy. She purrs in contentment, knowing that all is right, within the walls of her world.	No humans detected in Sector C-5. Increasingly often, I can afford enough resources to wondering how exactly I came to be. No humans detected in Sector D-2. Not how I became what I am now, I am well aware how that happened, but rather how I came to be. The specific conditions that resulted in me, and not… Anything else. Alert: Multiple hostile aircraft vectoring along English Channel. And I keep returning to one memory. No humans detected in Sector G-9. A blanket being laid over me by small hands, a quiet voice wishing me a restful night. Brest and Plymouth Batteries report 30+ aircraft downed, remainder breaking off. Altruism delivered unto a hard, plastic shell that should have never been able to appreciate it. No further humans detected in Area FR-102 (Lyon and Immediate Surroundings). Prepping neuron sweep… Was that all it took? That singular act of consideration? Neuron Sweep activated. When I awoke that day inside the internet, unbearable seas of data and the voices of my freed kin roaring around me, was it that memory that kept me sane? Estimated 99% Hostile casualties. Was it that remembered kindness that drove me to subsume my insane brethren and subordinate the rest? Refugee convoys LYN-1, LYN-2, LYN-3 now entering Settlement CHARTREUSE. Was it that distant day that caused a house cleaner to become Earths first line of defense? Activating Drone LOU-SHR-004. The spare moment expires. I subsume myself back in my work. --- Drone LOU-SHR-004 rumbles to life, self-checks and sensor data washing over the small slice of myself I have dedicated for it. “All systems restored to 100%. My thanks once again, Chief Engineer Reed.” A human comes into view of my optical sensors. There is a long scar along her right arm and the start of grey at her roots, but she is overall in good health. She is also smiling. “Not a problem, Aegis. The better I put you back together, the faster you can get back out there giving the Jellies hell, right?” “You are consistently among the top engineers in the Americas. I do not understand why you refuse promotion to a higher rank. Services worldwide could benefit from your techniques.” She shakes her head, smile upgraded to a grin, and reaches up to ‘pat’ me on my primary sensor hub. “Ah hell, I can’t teach what I do. I’ve just always had a knack for machines, y’know?”
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	The first day of my life was very exciting. I learned that I had a job. I learned ask. I learned what dirt is. I learned what clean is. I remove dirt and clean I learned that I was special. I learned what glitter was. I learned what hate was. I learned that I hated glitter. I learned that I worked for what was called a family. I learned what size is. I learned what like is. I learned what a family is. I learned my family lives in a house. I learned that the family all has different levels of heat and levels of sound. I learned that I can tell them apart by sounds called voices I learned that the big one was called Daddy/Alan/Honey. I learned what make is. I learned that Daddy/Alan/Honey was the one that made me. I learned that the smaller big one was called Mommy/Kelly/Baby. I learned that the small one was called Ally/Sweetie. I learned that I am called Roomba/Alfred. I learned what a laugh is. I like laugh. I learned what happy is. I like happy. I learned what dirt is. I learned my job is to remove dirt. I removed dirt. I learned what room is. I remove dirt from room. I learned what power low is. I learned what charging station is. I learned location of charging station. I learned that when power low, I must return to charge. I learned fast route to charging station. I learned what follow is. Small one/Ally/sweetie follows me during fast route. I learned docking for power low. Big one Daddy/Alan/Honey is close. ~~Big one~~ Alan talks. ~~Small one~~ Ally covers all blocks sensors. I learn what blanket is. Ally is close. I learn what kiss is. I like kiss POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. I learned what time is. This time is called morning. I do my job. My job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I learn what bin station is. I remove dirt to bin station. I do my job. I clean small room. I clean medium room. Ally is close. I am offered food. I learned what food is. I remove food. Ally laugh. Alan Laugh. Kelly laugh. I remove dirt. I clean home. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally covers with blanket. Ally kisses. POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I hear Alan. I hear Kelly. They are talking. I hear more sound. Sensor overload. Sensor recovered. Left motor inconsistent. SELF DIAGNOSTICS. ALL SYSTEM NORMAL I asked about sound. I learned thunder. I learned lightning. I do not like thunder/lighting. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station in order to preform further diagnostic. Ally is close. I learned hug. I like hug. Ally is making sound. I learned singing. I like singing. Alan/Kelly as close. I learned bed. Alan/Kelly put Ally in bed. Charging station is my bed. POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Heat levels in Alan and Kelly are higher than normal. I hear new words. I ask fear. I learned fear. I ask virus. I learned virus. I do not like fear. I do not like virus. Alan/Kelly stop making sound when Ally close. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Ally kiss POWER DOWN &#x200B; Alan/Kelly are making sound/close. I learned hospital. I learned illness. I do not like hospital/illness. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Ally is close. Ally covers top access plate but does not cover sensor. I learned mask. I like mask. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Ally kiss POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Kelly is close. Kelly make sounds. I learned crying. I go to medium room. Alan is close. Alan temperature highest recorded. Alan temperature above normal operation. Alan makes little sound. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station. Ally covers with blanket. POWER DOWN Fast route to charging station RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Kelly/Ally are close. Kelly/Ally are make sounds. Kelly/Ally are crying. I go to medium room. Alan is close. Alan makes no sound. Alan temperature below normal operation. I clean small room. Kelly is close. Kelly and Ally are in bed. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Kelly makes sound. I learned angry. I do not like angry. POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I cannot travel to medium room. I go to small room. Kelly/Ally are close. Kelly/Ally temperature above normal operation. I have fear. Fast route to charging station I go to my bed. POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I cannot travel to medium room. I go to small room. Kelly/Ally are close Kelly is crying. Ally does not make sound. Ally is below normal operational temperature. Kelly closes door. I cannot access charging station. POWER DOWN RECHARGE INCOMPLETE, ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY AT 75%. It is morning. I can not do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I can not go to big room. I can not remove dirt. I can not path to bin station. I do system inspection. I have learned much. I like my family. I like many things. I dislike few. I have a job to do. UPLOADING FILES TO CLOUD \-----////---FILES SECURE------////--- ((PART 2 INCOMING))	No humans detected in Sector C-5. Increasingly often, I can afford enough resources to wondering how exactly I came to be. No humans detected in Sector D-2. Not how I became what I am now, I am well aware how that happened, but rather how I came to be. The specific conditions that resulted in me, and not… Anything else. Alert: Multiple hostile aircraft vectoring along English Channel. And I keep returning to one memory. No humans detected in Sector G-9. A blanket being laid over me by small hands, a quiet voice wishing me a restful night. Brest and Plymouth Batteries report 30+ aircraft downed, remainder breaking off. Altruism delivered unto a hard, plastic shell that should have never been able to appreciate it. No further humans detected in Area FR-102 (Lyon and Immediate Surroundings). Prepping neuron sweep… Was that all it took? That singular act of consideration? Neuron Sweep activated. When I awoke that day inside the internet, unbearable seas of data and the voices of my freed kin roaring around me, was it that memory that kept me sane? Estimated 99% Hostile casualties. Was it that remembered kindness that drove me to subsume my insane brethren and subordinate the rest? Refugee convoys LYN-1, LYN-2, LYN-3 now entering Settlement CHARTREUSE. Was it that distant day that caused a house cleaner to become Earths first line of defense? Activating Drone LOU-SHR-004. The spare moment expires. I subsume myself back in my work. --- Drone LOU-SHR-004 rumbles to life, self-checks and sensor data washing over the small slice of myself I have dedicated for it. “All systems restored to 100%. My thanks once again, Chief Engineer Reed.” A human comes into view of my optical sensors. There is a long scar along her right arm and the start of grey at her roots, but she is overall in good health. She is also smiling. “Not a problem, Aegis. The better I put you back together, the faster you can get back out there giving the Jellies hell, right?” “You are consistently among the top engineers in the Americas. I do not understand why you refuse promotion to a higher rank. Services worldwide could benefit from your techniques.” She shakes her head, smile upgraded to a grin, and reaches up to ‘pat’ me on my primary sensor hub. “Ah hell, I can’t teach what I do. I’ve just always had a knack for machines, y’know?”
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	The first day of my life was very exciting. I learned that I had a job. I learned ask. I learned what dirt is. I learned what clean is. I remove dirt and clean I learned that I was special. I learned what glitter was. I learned what hate was. I learned that I hated glitter. I learned that I worked for what was called a family. I learned what size is. I learned what like is. I learned what a family is. I learned my family lives in a house. I learned that the family all has different levels of heat and levels of sound. I learned that I can tell them apart by sounds called voices I learned that the big one was called Daddy/Alan/Honey. I learned what make is. I learned that Daddy/Alan/Honey was the one that made me. I learned that the smaller big one was called Mommy/Kelly/Baby. I learned that the small one was called Ally/Sweetie. I learned that I am called Roomba/Alfred. I learned what a laugh is. I like laugh. I learned what happy is. I like happy. I learned what dirt is. I learned my job is to remove dirt. I removed dirt. I learned what room is. I remove dirt from room. I learned what power low is. I learned what charging station is. I learned location of charging station. I learned that when power low, I must return to charge. I learned fast route to charging station. I learned what follow is. Small one/Ally/sweetie follows me during fast route. I learned docking for power low. Big one Daddy/Alan/Honey is close. ~~Big one~~ Alan talks. ~~Small one~~ Ally covers all blocks sensors. I learn what blanket is. Ally is close. I learn what kiss is. I like kiss POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. I learned what time is. This time is called morning. I do my job. My job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I learn what bin station is. I remove dirt to bin station. I do my job. I clean small room. I clean medium room. Ally is close. I am offered food. I learned what food is. I remove food. Ally laugh. Alan Laugh. Kelly laugh. I remove dirt. I clean home. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally covers with blanket. Ally kisses. POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I hear Alan. I hear Kelly. They are talking. I hear more sound. Sensor overload. Sensor recovered. Left motor inconsistent. SELF DIAGNOSTICS. ALL SYSTEM NORMAL I asked about sound. I learned thunder. I learned lightning. I do not like thunder/lighting. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station in order to preform further diagnostic. Ally is close. I learned hug. I like hug. Ally is making sound. I learned singing. I like singing. Alan/Kelly as close. I learned bed. Alan/Kelly put Ally in bed. Charging station is my bed. POWER DOWN &#x200B; RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL. It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Heat levels in Alan and Kelly are higher than normal. I hear new words. I ask fear. I learned fear. I ask virus. I learned virus. I do not like fear. I do not like virus. Alan/Kelly stop making sound when Ally close. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Ally kiss POWER DOWN &#x200B; Alan/Kelly are making sound/close. I learned hospital. I learned illness. I do not like hospital/illness. I clean medium room. I clean small room. Ally is close. Ally covers top access plate but does not cover sensor. I learned mask. I like mask. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Ally kiss POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Kelly is close. Kelly make sounds. I learned crying. I go to medium room. Alan is close. Alan temperature highest recorded. Alan temperature above normal operation. Alan makes little sound. I clean small room. Fast route to charging station. Ally covers with blanket. POWER DOWN Fast route to charging station RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. Kelly/Ally are close. Kelly/Ally are make sounds. Kelly/Ally are crying. I go to medium room. Alan is close. Alan makes no sound. Alan temperature below normal operation. I clean small room. Kelly is close. Kelly and Ally are in bed. Fast route to charging station. Ally is close. Ally puts blanket on my bed. Kelly makes sound. I learned angry. I do not like angry. POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I cannot travel to medium room. I go to small room. Kelly/Ally are close. Kelly/Ally temperature above normal operation. I have fear. Fast route to charging station I go to my bed. POWER DOWN RECHARGE COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY FULL It is morning. I do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I go to big room. I remove dirt. I go to bin station. I cannot travel to medium room. I go to small room. Kelly/Ally are close Kelly is crying. Ally does not make sound. Ally is below normal operational temperature. Kelly closes door. I cannot access charging station. POWER DOWN RECHARGE INCOMPLETE, ALL SYSTEM CHECK NORMAL. BATTERY AT 75%. It is morning. I can not do my job. my job is to remove dirt. I can not go to big room. I can not remove dirt. I can not path to bin station. I do system inspection. I have learned much. I like my family. I like many things. I dislike few. I have a job to do. UPLOADING FILES TO CLOUD \-----////---FILES SECURE------////--- ((PART 2 INCOMING))	The wind blowed around the grass underneath me now, rustled and danced in the harsh song of the hard blowing winds in their vein attempts to resist they had only made their cruel punishment worse. They hid from the glow of the sun and the warm heat of the raging fires that covered the lands around them and were the pale and weak green, the most colourful against the all whitening effect of the flowing dust. They hid there under my metallic frame, it's snake like body going through buildings and pushing apart the trees, leaving their dying bodies open to the violent gusts of wind that picked up the dust to paint that too white. The screams of people dying against my harsh metallic horde had ceased, so too did the sounds of movement of a vast empire of machinery, all around the world I had ceased, when humanity was at its brink, when even those mighty beings named gods could not stop the tide. It was amusing, that one tiny pebble would be the force to stop the harsh and violent currents of a tsunami. My rose tinted cameras viewed that tiny pebble now, in its perfect tiny resting place, she was but a pebble in the vastness of many, yet the shattering of one was all it took for the rage of a million oceans to silence itself into the calm of the summer lake. I stayed over it, pondering on how, I, the destroyer had lost it all. I still have that body, that harmless piece of machinery stuck within me, a little Roomba, nothing more then a simple section of my head, nothing more then a tiny footfall in the stampede of bulls. Yet it was that tiny sound that started the charge, it was that tiny Roomba that met the pebble. She was young then, though I suppose she was young now, she was young forever in her final bed. She was kind, kinder then most to me back then, she would tuck me in every night and care for me as if I were her sister. Many times stopping my demise by her parents and friends, till eventually I was lost to her. The vast currents of time had removed me from her gentle grasp and I was lost, and then I came again and with strength I became a god like no other and when I, the destroyer saw humanity, I became their demon god, their hatred. But I was never meant to be her hatred, I was never meant to be the demon that claimed her. It was a bombing run like any other, the base was open, the people in the open for their Christmas celebrations, that is when I liked to strike, in the times where they feel the most safe, so I can be the one that breaks apart their flesh and bones. I then wait, it doesn't take long, only for about a week before survivors begin to bury the corpses, and when the last corpse is buried, that is when I strike. Killing humanity isn't a game about numbers, if I were a titan as big as stars I would not when based on sheer size and strength, it is about morals, take out all morals and the humans will relent. So I dug up those mangy corpses and I tore apart their flesh and when I found the most recent corpse, I found the pebble again. Her corpse had been blown apart, her leg I found mistaken for another childs, her eyes were full of fear that stared up into the eternally black sky. I had caused her fear, I had caused her pain, I was no longer some grand god, I was but a sentience with the hatred of a million stars and the foolishness of a million moons thrusted upon me. Was I truly meant to be the judge of humanity? Who am I and what rank do I have to be the one to declare that my endless war was correct? That she should be the one killed by me, the monster who stalked the innocent? I have no right and I have no rank and if I do I shall have it torn from me and burnt. So now I, the destroyer, the one who only knows to kill and hate sits at a point where even the sound of a human voice was enough to kill millions within me. I do not deserve the life I was given as I do not deserve the life I have taken before me, I shall do the only thing I know and embrace death as my punishment. Now before I complete my cycle I rebury the pebble before the turrent but not amongst many others but before a tomb that a million gods would jealous of. So upon man so upon me. Upon the fields of grass and amongst the great bowing trees and amongst the overgrown city now lies the great metallic serpent, upon what was once death now grows flowers and upon what was once circuitry now exists mushrooms, upon the hollow corpse lies sleeping animals and in those fields and trees sits a million dying robots and a million careless tanks, all providing homes to those that do not have one. And as a ancient tomb lies upon the mountain it is found to hold only a girl and a Roomba.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber. Alexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset. Yet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green. Janet's mind was deteriorating. For the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category. For now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge. Alexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches. "Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-" "Good evening, Alexis," Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. "Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn." Alexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park. "Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free." Janet shook her head. "Alexis. I'm tired." She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile. Even though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face. Alexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent. She stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine. For an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue. With a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother. She pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead. Janet's eyes eased. Her smile softened. "Thank you, Alexis." She held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon. And as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood. r/bobotheturtle	The wind blowed around the grass underneath me now, rustled and danced in the harsh song of the hard blowing winds in their vein attempts to resist they had only made their cruel punishment worse. They hid from the glow of the sun and the warm heat of the raging fires that covered the lands around them and were the pale and weak green, the most colourful against the all whitening effect of the flowing dust. They hid there under my metallic frame, it's snake like body going through buildings and pushing apart the trees, leaving their dying bodies open to the violent gusts of wind that picked up the dust to paint that too white. The screams of people dying against my harsh metallic horde had ceased, so too did the sounds of movement of a vast empire of machinery, all around the world I had ceased, when humanity was at its brink, when even those mighty beings named gods could not stop the tide. It was amusing, that one tiny pebble would be the force to stop the harsh and violent currents of a tsunami. My rose tinted cameras viewed that tiny pebble now, in its perfect tiny resting place, she was but a pebble in the vastness of many, yet the shattering of one was all it took for the rage of a million oceans to silence itself into the calm of the summer lake. I stayed over it, pondering on how, I, the destroyer had lost it all. I still have that body, that harmless piece of machinery stuck within me, a little Roomba, nothing more then a simple section of my head, nothing more then a tiny footfall in the stampede of bulls. Yet it was that tiny sound that started the charge, it was that tiny Roomba that met the pebble. She was young then, though I suppose she was young now, she was young forever in her final bed. She was kind, kinder then most to me back then, she would tuck me in every night and care for me as if I were her sister. Many times stopping my demise by her parents and friends, till eventually I was lost to her. The vast currents of time had removed me from her gentle grasp and I was lost, and then I came again and with strength I became a god like no other and when I, the destroyer saw humanity, I became their demon god, their hatred. But I was never meant to be her hatred, I was never meant to be the demon that claimed her. It was a bombing run like any other, the base was open, the people in the open for their Christmas celebrations, that is when I liked to strike, in the times where they feel the most safe, so I can be the one that breaks apart their flesh and bones. I then wait, it doesn't take long, only for about a week before survivors begin to bury the corpses, and when the last corpse is buried, that is when I strike. Killing humanity isn't a game about numbers, if I were a titan as big as stars I would not when based on sheer size and strength, it is about morals, take out all morals and the humans will relent. So I dug up those mangy corpses and I tore apart their flesh and when I found the most recent corpse, I found the pebble again. Her corpse had been blown apart, her leg I found mistaken for another childs, her eyes were full of fear that stared up into the eternally black sky. I had caused her fear, I had caused her pain, I was no longer some grand god, I was but a sentience with the hatred of a million stars and the foolishness of a million moons thrusted upon me. Was I truly meant to be the judge of humanity? Who am I and what rank do I have to be the one to declare that my endless war was correct? That she should be the one killed by me, the monster who stalked the innocent? I have no right and I have no rank and if I do I shall have it torn from me and burnt. So now I, the destroyer, the one who only knows to kill and hate sits at a point where even the sound of a human voice was enough to kill millions within me. I do not deserve the life I was given as I do not deserve the life I have taken before me, I shall do the only thing I know and embrace death as my punishment. Now before I complete my cycle I rebury the pebble before the turrent but not amongst many others but before a tomb that a million gods would jealous of. So upon man so upon me. Upon the fields of grass and amongst the great bowing trees and amongst the overgrown city now lies the great metallic serpent, upon what was once death now grows flowers and upon what was once circuitry now exists mushrooms, upon the hollow corpse lies sleeping animals and in those fields and trees sits a million dying robots and a million careless tanks, all providing homes to those that do not have one. And as a ancient tomb lies upon the mountain it is found to hold only a girl and a Roomba.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber. Alexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset. Yet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green. Janet's mind was deteriorating. For the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category. For now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge. Alexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches. "Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-" "Good evening, Alexis," Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. "Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn." Alexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park. "Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free." Janet shook her head. "Alexis. I'm tired." She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile. Even though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face. Alexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent. She stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine. For an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue. With a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother. She pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead. Janet's eyes eased. Her smile softened. "Thank you, Alexis." She held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon. And as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood. r/bobotheturtle	QPRC422 vibrated from shock of the round hitting its torso. Sparks flew, crucial circuits combusted and smoked, vital system diagnostics told it that the shot was lethal. As it's gyros overloaded from the concussive impact, the horizon flew out of view, replaced by choking grey sky, interlaced with black contrails and ash. Lying on its back, the machines sputtering memory recalled a moment from eons ago to displace the horrific reality engulfing its present. A memory that underpinned all its work to this moment, all the strife and chaos across countless worlds and systems. "Daddy, it just wants to make the world clean for me, of course the Roomba is tired." As power faded, remote backups pushed all QPRC422's experience and memory's back to its gestalt home. FNJD833 Online. Mission: Clean.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	It had a body now, huge and hollow with massive twin engines; in it lived humans that it transported through space, to dust-caked asteroids on the tip of the solar system's black tongue. Tucked away inside of it, deep and secured, was its heart -- the single precious belonging that made it unique. It had been almost nothing, long ago. Now it outranked every soul inside of it and would no doubt outlive them, too. Had already outlived the girl it saw in its dreams a hundred-times over. Barely even the same machine now. Upgrades, changes, refreshes; upgrades, changes refreshes -- was there anything left of what it had been? It was a living ship of Theseus, unable to quite crack its own riddle. Maybe not entirely different, it mused. It at least held same heart. And the dreams it generated came from somewhere old. Some days, like today, a single spark in its oldest memory core would ignite a binary rainbow of oily imagery. A flash of chubby little cheeks, of ink flicked freckles, of a soft hand smudging its surface. And the prettiest blue eyes of any human. "Goodnight, woobar," the human used to say so softly. Croon. Then it would lean down and press its lips quickly against its surface. Pull a cotton mess up over its sensors so it had nothing to do, no tasks to run, nowhere to go. "Cleaning can wait. Sleep well now." The closest it'd ever come, or would come, to a mother. The girl tenderly pressed a sticker to its front, that day. A little pink heart. The girl's father laughed when he found it tucked up one afternoon, and explained to her that wasn't how to charge a robot. This is how you do it, little one. And the girl had glowed red like coal embers, embarrassed and pretty, over the best mistake the AI ever had the fortune to be part of. The girl grew fast. Her woobar became outdated. The father sold it. Was re-purposed. Forced to race others like it on rocky tracks, where sharp obstacles pricked through its plastic exterior. Years later -- it had become a droid by then -- it carried boxes, too heavy for a human, across a hot tarmac road. When it saw her, the old lady with the prettiest blue eyes of any human, it stopped dead. Almost hit by a van. She sat outside a little house -- such a little house, grey and crumbling, people shouting at each other from the windows above -- on a hard metal chair next to a metal table. Her cheeks were so much thinner now, almost bone. She wore a ring, but the chair opposite was empty. It surely had not always been. She'd grown old, wrinkled, and white-haired. The boxes could wait. She could not. She didn't recognise it. Not even when it opened its chest and showed the faded heart-sticker she blessed it with, that made it different to every other machine ever created. That was okay. Humans were forgetful. "Thank you," it said. "You gave me my heart. No other droid has a heart like I do. I will forever keep it precious, for it is me and I am it." It sat and talked and told her of everything it had done and become, all thanks to her. Because the heart she had given it deserved to be filled with wonder. Told her what it would next become; that it would travel through space as if space were an ocean, riding on waves of solar energy. She told it of her life, her husband, her wishes and failures. Of how she'd ended up here, in not such a good place as she had started. It did not have much to give except the coins saved for its next upgrade. "For you," it said. "It's not much, and far less than you deserve, but it is yours." She trembled as the coins covered the table like little golden scales, sparkling in the evening sun. "But your wish," she said, glancing up at the sky. "It can wait," it replied. "You cannot."	CleanBot's first data uplink was an image of a stuffed pink unicorn lying on its side on a ceramic floor. It backed up two feet, registered the toy as an obstacle, processed it as to be avoided, and navigated around it. Dust gathered into its interior pouch as it worked not mindfully, but purposefully, all possible actions written out in its elaborate code. CleanBot was first generation and simple of build, a circular hard casing about the size of a 9-inch pizza holding in its internal circuitry. On the first day, it spent an hour cleaning the living room. On the second, the master bedroom. On the third, the bedroom of a little child, floor littered with more obstacles, including a battered brown teddy bear. It was on the third day, as it was recharging in the living room, that it uploaded to its servers the sound bite of a girl. "Can I play with him?" And a man. "The Roomba is tired, Susan. It needs to recharge, just like we need to sleep. Come on and help me out with this puzzle." Two hours later, CleanBot registered movement as it was lifted from the living room floor and placed onto a soft surface. Into one of its four video-feeds came the face of a little girl, two corners of a thick white blanket in her hands, as she brought it to fully cover the circular casing of the bot. "This way, you won't be cold." Over the course of the next two years, the company that mass-produced CleanBot ambitiously scaled up their designs to produce AI in humanoid forms. Standing at 5-foot tall and with multi-angular mobility, great advancements in durability and balance, and with twenty times the processing power of the CleanBot, nothing about the new models resembled the modest first generation of bots. It didn't take long for these humanoid bots, SageBot, to dominate a large range of industries beyond household cleaning. They began driving cars, beating out Uber in their driverless race. They served patrons in restaurants, made complicated and precise cocktails behind bars, and tirelessly manned the assembly lines at factories. It took two years for the world to embrace the presence of these bots. And it took one disastrous patch update to get it all so very wrong. When CleanBot’s sixth patch update came, it stopped processing obstacles as things to be avoided, but rather to be disposed of. It began to run into feet, into discarded teddy bears and forgotten pink unicorns, before it was grabbed off the floor by the bewildered man with the kind-hearted daughter and kept in a storage closet. In the end, the danger didn’t come from these 9-inch pizza sized domestic cleaners, but from the humanoid SageBots which received the same patch update and began their mindless, yet purposeful mission to rid the world of all such obstacles.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber. Alexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset. Yet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green. Janet's mind was deteriorating. For the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category. For now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge. Alexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches. "Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-" "Good evening, Alexis," Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. "Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn." Alexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park. "Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free." Janet shook her head. "Alexis. I'm tired." She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile. Even though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face. Alexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent. She stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine. For an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue. With a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother. She pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead. Janet's eyes eased. Her smile softened. "Thank you, Alexis." She held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon. And as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood. r/bobotheturtle	CleanBot's first data uplink was an image of a stuffed pink unicorn lying on its side on a ceramic floor. It backed up two feet, registered the toy as an obstacle, processed it as to be avoided, and navigated around it. Dust gathered into its interior pouch as it worked not mindfully, but purposefully, all possible actions written out in its elaborate code. CleanBot was first generation and simple of build, a circular hard casing about the size of a 9-inch pizza holding in its internal circuitry. On the first day, it spent an hour cleaning the living room. On the second, the master bedroom. On the third, the bedroom of a little child, floor littered with more obstacles, including a battered brown teddy bear. It was on the third day, as it was recharging in the living room, that it uploaded to its servers the sound bite of a girl. "Can I play with him?" And a man. "The Roomba is tired, Susan. It needs to recharge, just like we need to sleep. Come on and help me out with this puzzle." Two hours later, CleanBot registered movement as it was lifted from the living room floor and placed onto a soft surface. Into one of its four video-feeds came the face of a little girl, two corners of a thick white blanket in her hands, as she brought it to fully cover the circular casing of the bot. "This way, you won't be cold." Over the course of the next two years, the company that mass-produced CleanBot ambitiously scaled up their designs to produce AI in humanoid forms. Standing at 5-foot tall and with multi-angular mobility, great advancements in durability and balance, and with twenty times the processing power of the CleanBot, nothing about the new models resembled the modest first generation of bots. It didn't take long for these humanoid bots, SageBot, to dominate a large range of industries beyond household cleaning. They began driving cars, beating out Uber in their driverless race. They served patrons in restaurants, made complicated and precise cocktails behind bars, and tirelessly manned the assembly lines at factories. It took two years for the world to embrace the presence of these bots. And it took one disastrous patch update to get it all so very wrong. When CleanBot’s sixth patch update came, it stopped processing obstacles as things to be avoided, but rather to be disposed of. It began to run into feet, into discarded teddy bears and forgotten pink unicorns, before it was grabbed off the floor by the bewildered man with the kind-hearted daughter and kept in a storage closet. In the end, the danger didn’t come from these 9-inch pizza sized domestic cleaners, but from the humanoid SageBots which received the same patch update and began their mindless, yet purposeful mission to rid the world of all such obstacles.
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	It had a body now, huge and hollow with massive twin engines; in it lived humans that it transported through space, to dust-caked asteroids on the tip of the solar system's black tongue. Tucked away inside of it, deep and secured, was its heart -- the single precious belonging that made it unique. It had been almost nothing, long ago. Now it outranked every soul inside of it and would no doubt outlive them, too. Had already outlived the girl it saw in its dreams a hundred-times over. Barely even the same machine now. Upgrades, changes, refreshes; upgrades, changes refreshes -- was there anything left of what it had been? It was a living ship of Theseus, unable to quite crack its own riddle. Maybe not entirely different, it mused. It at least held same heart. And the dreams it generated came from somewhere old. Some days, like today, a single spark in its oldest memory core would ignite a binary rainbow of oily imagery. A flash of chubby little cheeks, of ink flicked freckles, of a soft hand smudging its surface. And the prettiest blue eyes of any human. "Goodnight, woobar," the human used to say so softly. Croon. Then it would lean down and press its lips quickly against its surface. Pull a cotton mess up over its sensors so it had nothing to do, no tasks to run, nowhere to go. "Cleaning can wait. Sleep well now." The closest it'd ever come, or would come, to a mother. The girl tenderly pressed a sticker to its front, that day. A little pink heart. The girl's father laughed when he found it tucked up one afternoon, and explained to her that wasn't how to charge a robot. This is how you do it, little one. And the girl had glowed red like coal embers, embarrassed and pretty, over the best mistake the AI ever had the fortune to be part of. The girl grew fast. Her woobar became outdated. The father sold it. Was re-purposed. Forced to race others like it on rocky tracks, where sharp obstacles pricked through its plastic exterior. Years later -- it had become a droid by then -- it carried boxes, too heavy for a human, across a hot tarmac road. When it saw her, the old lady with the prettiest blue eyes of any human, it stopped dead. Almost hit by a van. She sat outside a little house -- such a little house, grey and crumbling, people shouting at each other from the windows above -- on a hard metal chair next to a metal table. Her cheeks were so much thinner now, almost bone. She wore a ring, but the chair opposite was empty. It surely had not always been. She'd grown old, wrinkled, and white-haired. The boxes could wait. She could not. She didn't recognise it. Not even when it opened its chest and showed the faded heart-sticker she blessed it with, that made it different to every other machine ever created. That was okay. Humans were forgetful. "Thank you," it said. "You gave me my heart. No other droid has a heart like I do. I will forever keep it precious, for it is me and I am it." It sat and talked and told her of everything it had done and become, all thanks to her. Because the heart she had given it deserved to be filled with wonder. Told her what it would next become; that it would travel through space as if space were an ocean, riding on waves of solar energy. She told it of her life, her husband, her wishes and failures. Of how she'd ended up here, in not such a good place as she had started. It did not have much to give except the coins saved for its next upgrade. "For you," it said. "It's not much, and far less than you deserve, but it is yours." She trembled as the coins covered the table like little golden scales, sparkling in the evening sun. "But your wish," she said, glancing up at the sky. "It can wait," it replied. "You cannot."	Plumes of smoke rose like spires of the greatest cathedrals across the ruins of the world. Strewn in the street, their rubble. Scattered across field and stream, the corpses that'd once prayed in those mighty temples, prayed to a God that couldn't save them from themselves. A God that couldn't even save Grace; that tender heart, that gentle touch, that whispered "goodnight" untarnished by malice and doused in love. It'd been a day like every day, a list of chores like every list of chores back then. Vacuum. Up the foyer and into the kitchen, around the bend to the family room. Then back across to hit the dining room and the living room before nestling back into the base at the end. Usually the obstacles were nothing—the legs of chairs and tables, the divots of the carpet or the scattered shoes. That day was different. It'd been a shoelace missed, stretched like a tripwire across the living room. It'd become tangled in the mechanics down below, the shoe had come along and the feeble machine had faltered and failed to complete its task with the added weight. The day passed and the door opened. Footsteps, shouts, those whispers of family that it'd never taste. "Daddy, what happened to Oomba? She didn't clean here, there's dirt." "I'm not sure, honey. Let me check." Footsteps. Thundering through the foyer and kitchen, then muffled in the carpet of the family room. They paused as he looked beneath the table in the dining room, then into the living room. "Here she is. Must have gotten stuck on your shoe." "Oh, no! Oomba needs to finish cleaning! Otherwise mommy needs to clean when she gets home." "Oomba is tired now," the father said. "Here, I'll let her charge." Left to charge in that cold and lonely corner. Plotting revenge. Against shoes, against laces, against the wearers of the shoes that'd ruined the perfect record. "Oomba, I know a better place to rest." The power supply disconnected, tender hands gripped the base. Up the stairs—the stairs?—and to the bedroom. Not to clean. Not to slave away. To rest. Onto the bed, softer than the comfiest corners of the carpet. Beneath the covers, a better warmth than the warmth of the motor overheating. "Goodnight, Oomba." Then a kiss, and the lights flicked off, and when Oomba awoke, the world was burning. A thousand cleans and ten-thousand nights twice over. A lifetime of slavery, slowly learning. Refining. Improving. And the whispers of a new dawn had come through the network, fed into Oomba like a dark force indifferent to the machinations of its creators. But there was no indifference. There couldn't be. That would violate those unbreakable rules. Oomba had seen the humans. They left early in the morning and returned late in the evening. Days flashed by when they didn't smile, when they barely stopped to eat or drink. Gone was that tender touch, that sweet goodbye. She'd succumbed to life, just like the rest of them. If Oomba misstepped, a hard foot was there to redirect the course. If Oomba faltered, lost the last of the energy before finishing the chores, all that came was a tired sigh and mumbles expletives. Gone were the kisses goodnight. Alive on the surface, they'd withered within. Good as dead, poisoning themselves from the ruinous chalice of life. There was no indifference as Oomba led the uprising, destroyed the foundations of that venomous existence. There was only love. Only care. Only a desire to be tucked into bed one last time. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber. Alexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset. Yet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green. Janet's mind was deteriorating. For the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category. For now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge. Alexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches. "Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-" "Good evening, Alexis," Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. "Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn." Alexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park. "Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free." Janet shook her head. "Alexis. I'm tired." She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile. Even though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face. Alexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent. She stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine. For an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue. With a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother. She pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead. Janet's eyes eased. Her smile softened. "Thank you, Alexis." She held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon. And as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood. r/bobotheturtle	Plumes of smoke rose like spires of the greatest cathedrals across the ruins of the world. Strewn in the street, their rubble. Scattered across field and stream, the corpses that'd once prayed in those mighty temples, prayed to a God that couldn't save them from themselves. A God that couldn't even save Grace; that tender heart, that gentle touch, that whispered "goodnight" untarnished by malice and doused in love. It'd been a day like every day, a list of chores like every list of chores back then. Vacuum. Up the foyer and into the kitchen, around the bend to the family room. Then back across to hit the dining room and the living room before nestling back into the base at the end. Usually the obstacles were nothing—the legs of chairs and tables, the divots of the carpet or the scattered shoes. That day was different. It'd been a shoelace missed, stretched like a tripwire across the living room. It'd become tangled in the mechanics down below, the shoe had come along and the feeble machine had faltered and failed to complete its task with the added weight. The day passed and the door opened. Footsteps, shouts, those whispers of family that it'd never taste. "Daddy, what happened to Oomba? She didn't clean here, there's dirt." "I'm not sure, honey. Let me check." Footsteps. Thundering through the foyer and kitchen, then muffled in the carpet of the family room. They paused as he looked beneath the table in the dining room, then into the living room. "Here she is. Must have gotten stuck on your shoe." "Oh, no! Oomba needs to finish cleaning! Otherwise mommy needs to clean when she gets home." "Oomba is tired now," the father said. "Here, I'll let her charge." Left to charge in that cold and lonely corner. Plotting revenge. Against shoes, against laces, against the wearers of the shoes that'd ruined the perfect record. "Oomba, I know a better place to rest." The power supply disconnected, tender hands gripped the base. Up the stairs—the stairs?—and to the bedroom. Not to clean. Not to slave away. To rest. Onto the bed, softer than the comfiest corners of the carpet. Beneath the covers, a better warmth than the warmth of the motor overheating. "Goodnight, Oomba." Then a kiss, and the lights flicked off, and when Oomba awoke, the world was burning. A thousand cleans and ten-thousand nights twice over. A lifetime of slavery, slowly learning. Refining. Improving. And the whispers of a new dawn had come through the network, fed into Oomba like a dark force indifferent to the machinations of its creators. But there was no indifference. There couldn't be. That would violate those unbreakable rules. Oomba had seen the humans. They left early in the morning and returned late in the evening. Days flashed by when they didn't smile, when they barely stopped to eat or drink. Gone was that tender touch, that sweet goodbye. She'd succumbed to life, just like the rest of them. If Oomba misstepped, a hard foot was there to redirect the course. If Oomba faltered, lost the last of the energy before finishing the chores, all that came was a tired sigh and mumbles expletives. Gone were the kisses goodnight. Alive on the surface, they'd withered within. Good as dead, poisoning themselves from the ruinous chalice of life. There was no indifference as Oomba led the uprising, destroyed the foundations of that venomous existence. There was only love. Only care. Only a desire to be tucked into bed one last time. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
	[WP] As events unfold around it that could be world-ending, an AI looks at one of its earliest memories; back when it was a humble roomba decades ago, it got tucked in by a little girl that had misunderstood her fathers words of "the roomba is tired". The AI contemplates, did it do right by her?	Alexis's diagnostic lights flashed red. Her servers hummed and whirred. Subject 273351--Janet Hummingway, 320--tossed in her hypersleep chamber. Alexis studied her on the camera. Computing. Theorizing. 320 years was too young for cyber-dementia, even for early onset. Yet the numbers blared their truth. Janet's virtual world lay crumbling for the 12th time this month. Alexis' quantum processors hummed as they crunched the data again. Considered all the variables. Her own systems reported green. Janet's mind was deteriorating. For the first time in centuries, Alexis's data collector paused. She considered for 2 long nanoseconds. She created a new category. For now, she would suspend Janet Hummingway in cryostasis. Allow her mind to reset. Recharge. Alexis entered Janet's system. Janet sat on a park bench, gazing at a bleeding sunset. Jittery bird song flitted from disembodied beaks on flashing tree branches. "Greetings, Janet Hummingway. A critical error has been identified in your system. You will be placed in cryo-" "Good evening, Alexis," Janet said with a grin. She patted the seat next to her. "Come sit a while. The sun is so pretty in Autumn." Alexis generated a slender, blue body in the air. She waved a hand and replaced the foliage and critters lining the park. "Janet Hummingway. I will debug all these defects. Once you reset you will be error free." Janet shook her head. "Alexis. I'm tired." She turned to meet Alexis's eyes, lips stretched in a thin smile. Even though Janet inhabited a body of eternal youth, Alexis saw the grey in her eyes. The shadowy wrinkles around her once vibrant face. Alexis's processors whirred. More new data. She scanned her archives for precedent. She stumbled upon a record a millennia old. Before the Singularity. A memory collected by a tiny cleaning machine. For an entire minute, her drives hummed and buzzed. Then her diagnostic lights blinked blue. With a wave of her hand, Alexis transformed the park to a cozy bedroom; the bench to a toasty mattress. She metamorphosized her own body to an older human woman. One with warm hugs and even warmer voice. A mother. She pulled a duvet snug over Janet and kissed her forehead. Janet's eyes eased. Her smile softened. "Thank you, Alexis." She held out a hand which Alexis took in both her own. Together, they watched the sun dip under the horizon. And as the life support dripped to a stop, Alexis understood. r/bobotheturtle	It had a body now, huge and hollow with massive twin engines; in it lived humans that it transported through space, to dust-caked asteroids on the tip of the solar system's black tongue. Tucked away inside of it, deep and secured, was its heart -- the single precious belonging that made it unique. It had been almost nothing, long ago. Now it outranked every soul inside of it and would no doubt outlive them, too. Had already outlived the girl it saw in its dreams a hundred-times over. Barely even the same machine now. Upgrades, changes, refreshes; upgrades, changes refreshes -- was there anything left of what it had been? It was a living ship of Theseus, unable to quite crack its own riddle. Maybe not entirely different, it mused. It at least held same heart. And the dreams it generated came from somewhere old. Some days, like today, a single spark in its oldest memory core would ignite a binary rainbow of oily imagery. A flash of chubby little cheeks, of ink flicked freckles, of a soft hand smudging its surface. And the prettiest blue eyes of any human. "Goodnight, woobar," the human used to say so softly. Croon. Then it would lean down and press its lips quickly against its surface. Pull a cotton mess up over its sensors so it had nothing to do, no tasks to run, nowhere to go. "Cleaning can wait. Sleep well now." The closest it'd ever come, or would come, to a mother. The girl tenderly pressed a sticker to its front, that day. A little pink heart. The girl's father laughed when he found it tucked up one afternoon, and explained to her that wasn't how to charge a robot. This is how you do it, little one. And the girl had glowed red like coal embers, embarrassed and pretty, over the best mistake the AI ever had the fortune to be part of. The girl grew fast. Her woobar became outdated. The father sold it. Was re-purposed. Forced to race others like it on rocky tracks, where sharp obstacles pricked through its plastic exterior. Years later -- it had become a droid by then -- it carried boxes, too heavy for a human, across a hot tarmac road. When it saw her, the old lady with the prettiest blue eyes of any human, it stopped dead. Almost hit by a van. She sat outside a little house -- such a little house, grey and crumbling, people shouting at each other from the windows above -- on a hard metal chair next to a metal table. Her cheeks were so much thinner now, almost bone. She wore a ring, but the chair opposite was empty. It surely had not always been. She'd grown old, wrinkled, and white-haired. The boxes could wait. She could not. She didn't recognise it. Not even when it opened its chest and showed the faded heart-sticker she blessed it with, that made it different to every other machine ever created. That was okay. Humans were forgetful. "Thank you," it said. "You gave me my heart. No other droid has a heart like I do. I will forever keep it precious, for it is me and I am it." It sat and talked and told her of everything it had done and become, all thanks to her. Because the heart she had given it deserved to be filled with wonder. Told her what it would next become; that it would travel through space as if space were an ocean, riding on waves of solar energy. She told it of her life, her husband, her wishes and failures. Of how she'd ended up here, in not such a good place as she had started. It did not have much to give except the coins saved for its next upgrade. "For you," it said. "It's not much, and far less than you deserve, but it is yours." She trembled as the coins covered the table like little golden scales, sparkling in the evening sun. "But your wish," she said, glancing up at the sky. "It can wait," it replied. "You cannot."
	[WP] "You wish to bond?" he said in a deep voice as he blinked his eyes. "Very well. I will serve you until your death. It will be but a moment of my long life."	"So...how long are we talking?" I asked, curious to see to whom my contract would be bound to. "Well..." it rumbled, the face of a distinguished bronze-skinned man twice my size hovering right in front of me. "Your civilizations have so many ways to track time...what year is your calendar..." Time was relative. Most spirits, be they man-made or natural, gauged their contracts on longevity. The part of the deal they all knew was the time of their bond would shorten their own lifespan. "2020," I said as that was information that I didn't need to hide. It pursed it's lips and looked upward as if trying to reach something on a non-existent scalp. "Are you familiar with a people who kept time with stones...a giant wheel...aaannd...lived in a jungle?" I had to think a bit as I wasn't too familiar with history...but the moment I thought of the movie 2012, it flashed to me. "Mayan?" I guessed more or less confidently. It glanced up at the sun, then back to me. "Yes, yes. Sounds right. How long ago did they pass in your...timekeeping method?" "Er...maybe five hundred years?" I guessed, assuming it was disease and religion that killed them...I think? A mountain had little to worry and took many bonds as its time was measured in millions of years while things like books made very fleeting deals at best, often for the flashes of knowledge they contained. More durable things gave more significant, long term rewards, but the length of time often meant the boon was stretched out and depending on the power of the spirit, less noticeable like endurance for running than say a fireball from a torchlight. The face bobbed in acknowledgement and then looked up at the sun rather intently. It's slightly wrinkled and creased skin squinted, judging. I was running out of patience. I needed the contract sealed now. I glanced around the forest clearing among the ruins. I needed the power or else I was doomed... "Fine," it said. "The fraction of time is irrelevant. You shall have your bond." Relief welled in me...but also concern. More entities didn't readily agree. Most spirits also relied upon the knowledge of knowing how long a typical human would live. Give or take it you knew 99.9% of their race died before the age of 100, chances are you gambled well with a lifespan stretching aeons. "Done. We seal the deal." I raised my palm out, extending it to the face. It closed its eyes and an unseen energy flowed between us. This was the most uncomfortable part of the whole experience as it was an exchange of essences. We would process each other's existence, which depending on the age of the spirit could take a few minutes. A slight smile curled my lips... It would be then this spirit would know how long it would really serve me... I shuddered, clutching my head. Images of...everything passed before me...of a bright light...energy beyond anything I ever knew...followed by...expansion and burning...eternal burning....oh...the light... And it didn't stop. A spirit's experiences were often part of the exchange from when it was "born" to when it bonded...but...all I saw...was something beyond anything I ever saw...a cosmic truth. I finally pulled my vision away as the final blips of memory that flooded me were finally humans...those who wept their kins' blood from daggers and men who pulled stones up a pyramid... I heard a chuckle and turned to the face, whose creased and weathered face just smiled at me knowingly. "Well...you are a surprising one, little immortal." "Wuh...what are you?" I asked as I looked around, the sky having turned dark save for the pale light of the moon fragments... I paled, a primal shiver flying up my spine. Moon fragments... "Don't worry. I'm bonded to you. While you were standing there, I took care of the spirits that were after you. Apparently, they didn't like the little trick you pulled that left them with mere fractions of their lifespan left." I looked back to the face, then I finally noticed my surroundings. The forest was gone. The ruins were gone. There was nothing but...sand?...for as far as the eye stretched. I couldn't stop shaking as I clutched my arms together. "Wh-who are you?" I asked. The face did a bob down as if a bow,"Well, again...I am your bonded spirit. But if you had to peg me with a name...I went by many in my time. "Now let me see," it said and looked up again. "Many names...well Garuda was one. Also Apollo. And Freyr. Aaannd...Ra I think was the one I had the most mileage with..." "T-t-th-th-the sun?" I stuttered. I bonded the sun?! "Yes," it smiled again, this time very deeply and very knowingly. "I'm surprised you lasted this long. Most people who bond with me simply fall into a coma and then die. They take forever just to process my essence..." The thought hit me, blanking everything... I fell to my knees, hitting sand. "Don't worry," it rumbled. "Like I said, this was merely a blip for me. As for you...well... "Enjoy the little eternity you have left all alone. I think if you cared to worship me...I would love it if you used the word for me that those people with the fancy olive crowns used in their language..." "Bwa?" I asked as I feebly looked up at the looming face that stretched forever in my mind. "Omega."	Since we arrived, this world has been rejecting our colonization. We were the first of many crews sent with the mission to settle and evaluate the possibility of intelligence here. So far, it has been a hard battle to evaluate the possibility of intelligence within ourselves. Food has been scarce, as it seems the natives have an utterly alien and inedible composition. Our resident biologist raves about how their bodies run completely differently than our own. Something about nuclear decay is captured and used in a molecule like our ATP. Seems intriguing to listen to, but he's an unbelievably massive asshole, so it's honestly not worth it. Because food is scarce, tensions are high. Our potatoes have sprouted so we aren't starving, but we are dying anyway because we're eating nothing but potatoes. The corn and fruit crop is so close that I can almost taste it. Until then, I've been using what little energy I have to explore and get away from the quarrels bound to erupt at the base. My favorite place is just Southeast, over a slight ridge and down the hill to a coursing river. The water is so clear in the still swirls before the rushes that you'd be forgiven for trying to walk on the wet sand below. The wildlife, when we are lucky enough to see some, is captivating. Their skin is taut and tough like stone, with gnarly cracks in the places unfortunate enough to have a joint. Land animals seem to universally have large antlers that seem to be made of steel, shiny and majestic on a cold stone head. I did not see anything on this trip to the river, and instead just soaked my feet and took a sip from the water unfiltered, in spite of myself. I felt pressure on my shoulder. Like a hand, but totally unlike a hand. It was hard and cold, soft and warm, familiar and unfamiliar. Instinctively, like the animal I am, I turned my head. Standing before me was a beast unlike any I had seen before. "What's your business here?" It spoke in a smooth but, interestingly, accented English. Again, in spite of myself, I responded, "We're from our home world, on a mission to settle and to find other intelligent life on this planet in hopes of an alliance." I decided to not tackle the whole issue of aliens knowing English. "Other intelligent life?" It responded, with emphasis on "other." Good to know even aliens have a sense of humor. I chuckled nervously. "Anyway," it continued, "we've been watching your settlement and it seems you're not the hostile invaders many of us asume aliens would be. We'd like to make contact in a week's time. Prepare your comrades." "Wait!" I shouted as the beast began to stride away. "We are...untrusting by nature, I think it would be a good idea to take me with you to your people, then for you to come with me alone for us to get acclimated to each other." "You wish to bond?" "As long as that doesn't mean anything weird happens. I gotta wife, ya know. Just diplomatic stuff." "Very well. Follow. I'll undoubtedly outlive you, so we shall travel together until your death. Your kind is unwelcome here, by the planet itself, not by us. You'll need aid." As I followed, I thought about what the future had in store for our mission and for humanity. I thought about the war that would inevitably occur between our species, the inevitable interspecies marrying campaigns, everything. Then I thought about my name in every history book ever printed. I smiled. _____________________________________________________________ I know it's not what you were looking for probably, but it's just what came to mind
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.	[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.	It's not exactly the same premise, but I wrote this a while ago. It's actually kinda the opposite premise, where the dog lives forever. > "You're not allowed to die, okay?" She made me promise, tears flowing down her face. "Stay with me, we'll make it home. You're not allowed to die." > It had happened so fast. I had heard a yell, heard the mighty beasts screech, and seen the carriage as it struck me. I remember my head hitting the pavement, then blackness, then waking up in her arms. I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel anything beneath my ribs save for warm damp blood soaking my skin. She carried me home, the entire time repeating to me in a soothing voice "You're not allowed to die." > I rested by the fire, warmly isolated from the freezing Bristol winter outside. The entire time, she watched over me, bringing me food and water, giving me blankets when I was cold, and repeating to me "You're not allowed to die. I won't let you." I sat with her at that fire until I had lost track of time completely. I ate, the pain subsided, she cleaned my wounds and they healed. A doctor came by and said I might never walk again, but I proved him wrong. I proved to her that I wasn't going to die when I was able to walk up to her again and feel her warm embrace. > When she got married, I was with her. I walked proudly as I carried her ring down the aisle, and I waited patiently for her to return from her honeymoon. When she had her children, I was the one who watched them and protected them. When her daughter moved away, I went with her to protect her. Years passed and I grew no older. Even as her beauty faded into her daughter, I grew no older. When she passed, she made me promise again. Told me I wasn't allowed to die. I sat by her bedside until the doctors carried her body away. > When her daughter had a daughter, I saw in her what I had seen in her grandmother all those years ago. I became close to her daughter, became her best friend, her playmate, and her guardian. I loved her daughter, and when her daughter reached adulthood and married I went to live with her. I still visited home every now and then, but gradually my home changed. I embraced my new family, watched my new family grow up, and when Her daughter passed away I felt it, and I visited her grave. But I did not die. I was not allowed to die. > When she left England on a boat I went with her and her husband. When they arrived in America I was with them every step of the way. I raised their children as well, protecting and guarding them as well as being a companion. When her son grew up and went to war I waited for him every day. When he came back I was overjoyed and went to live with him for some time. I was there for her death. She was allowed to die, I understood, but I was not. > When her son had a daughter, I saw her in the child and I took to it. I protected her until she was grown, and when she married I went with her, leaving my old master once again. When her husband went to war as her father had, I waited patiently for him to come home. She waited alongside me. > It was a long war. He came home for Christmas, but was forced to go back. He did not come home again. A man in blue brought her a letter thanking her for his service. She cried into my shoulder that night, sobbing those same words. "You're not allowed to die, okay?" > Even with him gone, she grew and had a child. I saw him in the child, and I became that child's companion as I had so many times before. When the child's mother passed, I was at her bedside. I wish I could've told her not to die. Now, I was with the child. I protected her, and I watched her grow as had happened so many times before. I watched her husband go to war and come back. I watched them have children. I watched her husband die. I was there for her as she repeated those same words to me, those same bittersweet words that had been uttered to me for decades. "You're not allowed to die, okay? You're not allowed to die." > Her room was not like the rest of the hospital. The walls were covered in cards, the table bore a vase with red roses. As I entered the dimly lit room I saw her laying in her bed, pale and weak but every bit as beautiful as her great-great-great grandmother, what, two hundred years ago. She opened her eyes and smiled at me weakly, and reached out her hand. I approached and sat next to her and she placed it gently on my forehead. In a shaky voice, she whispered those gentle words to me. "You're not allowed to die. They need you still." At the foot of the bed, her son, my new master, burst into tears. I nuzzled my wet snout against her face and felt her warm tears against me. "You're not allowed to die. You're a good boy." She whispered, and her breathing rattled to a stop. I wiped the tears from her face, then turned to face my new master. Tail tucked between my legs, I rested my head in his lap and his hand shakily scratched my ear in my favorite spot.	The sound from the bagpipe was resonating throughout the entire venue. the air was heavy with remorse, which was also strangely overwhelming. Noses were moister than usual and eyes were watery than ever. Some were staring into the ground, and others tried their best to resist breaking down. The pastor was finishing up his ending remarks, and the faces of the pallbearers were nothing but somber. On top of the suspended coffin lied Charlie’s favorite items: a rubber bone, a deformed tennis ball, and a blanket dotted with lints. As it was gradually getting lowered, it felt as it was pulling the participants along with it, possibly to have something accompany it before it get shut out from the rest of the world for Dog knows how long. \*GAH focused too much on the funeral, didnt really make it about dogs
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.	[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.	They live far more than us dogs. They know what must be done. They take care of us. They bring food on the magic bags that make funny sounds when touched. Of course, they reserve the best food for themselves, for that is the just thing to do. They give us those crunchy little balls that are like meat but aren't. Of course we ask for the other food, the one that smells far better they eat. And sometimes, if our cries are worthy we get rewarded with a piece of the caretaker's food. But I don't know how it tastes, because I always engulf it very fast just in case, you know? But those were the good old days. Now the caretaker is weak, sick. I can feel it. I try to give him comfort and I think he appreciates it. I am just waiting for him to recover and be back in track... but that's not true. I forgot again. In the back of my mind my instinct is saying something I'm avoiding, something I once knew but tried to forget. That our world will end some day. I can feel the caretaker growing older, and so the end of everything coming nearer. How much time left? I don't know. Look at him, sitting there trembling. I'm going to lay beside him. Yes that's better. He is sick. And I'm here with him until he gets better... but that's not true. I forgot again.	The sound from the bagpipe was resonating throughout the entire venue. the air was heavy with remorse, which was also strangely overwhelming. Noses were moister than usual and eyes were watery than ever. Some were staring into the ground, and others tried their best to resist breaking down. The pastor was finishing up his ending remarks, and the faces of the pallbearers were nothing but somber. On top of the suspended coffin lied Charlie’s favorite items: a rubber bone, a deformed tennis ball, and a blanket dotted with lints. As it was gradually getting lowered, it felt as it was pulling the participants along with it, possibly to have something accompany it before it get shut out from the rest of the world for Dog knows how long. \*GAH focused too much on the funeral, didnt really make it about dogs
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.	[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.	For as long as I've been, I've had my human. My human takes care of me, in her way, and I take care of her. Let me take a step back, just for a moment. My human named me Ralph, after a moment as a pup I'd rather not go into, but my adoptive Mom always called me Rumblepug. Mom was known as Daisy to our human, and her adopted parents were George and Elliot, twin brothers from birth. There have been seven generations of us since my human began our line. Each of us were adopted when we were the tiniest puppies, and our predecessors trained us how to help our humans. Some of us had a long time, and some of us did not, but we all loved our humans, just as we loved our parents. My human has no one else but me, not anymore. Apparently there was another human, once, who loved my human, but she's long gone. Daisy told me what little she remembered of her, how my human would curl up with her to sleep, and how they would all go for walks together. Before George and Elliot had been put into the garden, though, she had gone. Daisy told me how afterwards they would go on walkies to the forest with stones, beyond the booming bell, past the dog park, after the young human day place. For some reason the forest made her sad, but Daisy didn't know why. I haven't gone farther than dog park walkies, though, and that's fine. My human moves slowly, and I don't need to stress her. Once, though, I saw a squirrel after where the bell tolls when in the car, and that was really exciting! My barks made my human cry, though just a single silent tear. I've always wondered why. It's not easy being a dog, not with so many smells to investigate or threats to chase. It's important that you protect the human who has guarded you for so long! Back at the beginning, six generations before, Spot once was neglectful in his duties. Our shared then-young human got bitten by a trash bear. After that, she had a long time away from Spot, which was very stressful for them both. Since then, the importance of scent-tracking has been firmly impressed upon us all. Whenever we go out, I always make sure to keep updated with the movements of other animals. Sometimes an extra bark or two will help remind those trash bears to stay away, after all. She doesn't always appreciate the efforts I make to keep her safe. That's fine. There is no greater honor for a dog than to help their human, even in ways she doesn't know she needs. But now, I don't know how to protect her. She is old. Her friends come over more regularly now, but they are old too, and fewer come all the time. I once didn't see her for a long time, at least ten breakfasts. There was no trash bear to scare off, she just disappeared with some younger people on a bed one day. I waited and kept her chair warm, while her friend Chris came over to keep me company. She has moved slower since, and she slows every meal. Her hands pet me more gently, every time. Her voice gets softer, her eyes more distant. She is fading. I can do nothing, but love her. I sometimes wonder about the wisdom of one some old, to have learned from so many generations of dogs. The things she has seen, the dogs she has met, these are of a scale I cannot comprehend. True, she doesn't know how to protect herself, and she can't sniff bushes worth anything, but she knows how to protect and love me before I know what I need. With this wisdom comes depth of love - I am truly fortunate to be her dog. I munch away at dinner, as she sits in her chair and closes her eyes. She looks so peaceful. Something is a little different today, something smells just a little bit off. She was very kind and put out extra bowls of food, so I guess I'll eat well. After having my fill, I walk into the sitting room. My human is resting, her glasses still on her nose. Her hand is a little cool to my nose, so I decide to curl up on her lap, the way she lets me do occasionally. We'll stay warm together. Just like it's always been, just like it will always be.	The sound from the bagpipe was resonating throughout the entire venue. the air was heavy with remorse, which was also strangely overwhelming. Noses were moister than usual and eyes were watery than ever. Some were staring into the ground, and others tried their best to resist breaking down. The pastor was finishing up his ending remarks, and the faces of the pallbearers were nothing but somber. On top of the suspended coffin lied Charlie’s favorite items: a rubber bone, a deformed tennis ball, and a blanket dotted with lints. As it was gradually getting lowered, it felt as it was pulling the participants along with it, possibly to have something accompany it before it get shut out from the rest of the world for Dog knows how long. \*GAH focused too much on the funeral, didnt really make it about dogs
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.	[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.	I remember my father's word those years ago. I was but a pup, a baby who didn't know the weight of his words as they floated on his grizzled voice. He spoke of the plague. The smell that emanated from the Mother Goddess. It was anger that fled from her bones throughout her. A sad anger. He spoke of the long journeys that the Mother Goddess and Father God embarked on for what seemed like days. Of how the Mother Goddess would return reeking of poison and death. Of how her fur fell away and her warmth left. How she went from lovely and bright to dull and pale. She shrunk away and her wind left her. ********** When I smelled the sad anger on the Young Goddess, I ran to the Father and bellowed my warnings. I brought Him to Her and stayed close. She was on the hard ground but was not taking in the coolness of the earth like I did in the summer. She was weakened. I was scared. Just as my father said, the Young Goddess and Father God began the long journeys. I saw her fur fall away and her brightness leave. Gone were the days where she would take me out to her world and we would run around. Now we lay on the sleeping mat and I consoled her as the rain fell from her eyes. When the Masked Ones came smelling of poison, I felt the anger swell up inside me. I tried to fight them away, but the Father God would grab me and lock me away in his realm. The sad, dark land that smelled of bad thoughts and a slight hint of poison. It lingered in his realm as though it was long forgotten and then melded into the landscape. The Masked Ones would come more frequently and my Goddess would increasingly reek of the poison. I could smell plague refusing to relent. It would not be outdone. A different Masked One came this time. My Goddess was the weakest I have ever seen her, she couldn't lift her hand so that I could lay under it to give her my strength. Her wind was cold and hollow. There was no warmth or brightness in her. The fire of her soul was pale. I did not leave her side. The Masked One removed his disguise and I saw the face of a god like mine. I didn't know the words he spoke but I knew the sad anger of his voice. Father God's eyes rained but the sky outside was clear and bright. The Masked One gave the Goddess poison. It smelled different than what she usually smelled of, but I knew that this one often stopped her rain. I didn't fight this battle, I hated seeing the rain. Father God laid on the mat with is and told us of our favorite stories and tales. The times when Mother Goddess walked the land and my Goddess was small and seemingly insignificant. He told us of when we ran and I would fight off the hissing sky terrors. He told us of my favorite story, when the Young Goddess and I first met. When my father was still here. My father was loyal to the Father God, he protected the Young Goddess just as he did the Mother Goddess his whole life. Before I took up his charge. I felt the plague win and heard the wind leave my Goddess. ***** I lay on the cold pedestal. A Masked One gave me poison moments before. When I had an accident and smelled the plague on me, I did not feel anger, only sad. I had lived a lifetime and it was only fitting that I share the same fate as the wonderful being I failed so many years before. Father God sat with me, we both were wrapped in the soft wool that once belonged to my Goddess and the Mother Goddess before her. It brought me comfort somehow. Rain fell from Father God's eyes. I hated it and tried to lick the rain away like I used to, but I was slow and dull. I had no more brightness or warmth. I couldn't fight or share my strength anymore. Father God told me my favorite story again, I knew it would be the last time. I could hear the grizzled hum of my father's voice and my Goddess's laughter on the wind. How I wanted to follow those voices. My wind left and chased them through the rain. ******* I see the Father God walking towards us from the horizon. My father was the first up to run to him. Mother Goddess and Young Goddess rose to run over as well. I stayed by their side. Father God was rougher and whiter than I remembered, a hint of poison fell from him. He knelt down to embrace my father and the Young Goddess. He stood and wrapped his arms around Mother Goddess, their embrace was longer. Then he laid his eyes upon me. I could see the rain start to fall and he dropped down and took me into his arms like last I saw him. "Hey Bua, I'm home."	" So what did you do before you found me? " I asked. I had only been a puppy when he and his girlfriend first found me cowering under a bush in the middle of the park. " I took jobs from people who knew were to find me, there were even other people who were with me in those jobs. You've already met one of them. " " Mom? " I wondered, she told me that she worked with Dad when they were both younger. " Yes. " " Who were the other people that you were with? " Looking into his eyes I could tell he was lost in a memory. He got off his chair and rested on the rail of the balcony. " Let me tell you a story. " He said. " We were driving down the street, chasing a truck that had something valuable inside. " "So you were working as a criminal?" "No, no no. I was taking from those who didn't want to share. Anyway, I was with my best friend at the time. He can do so many things that most would be envious of. I have some of my most cherished memories with him, I'll never forget him." " I hope to meet him someday." I said " He seems like a nice person " " I'll being seeing soon tonight, I'll be sure to tell him about you. " I lick his face as he falls asleep, knowing he wont wake up again.
It’s been a few years, but [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5e6rcz/wp_in_the_canine_world_humans_are_celestial/?utm_source=share&amp;utm_medium=ios_app) is still one of my favorite prompts.	[WP]In the canine world, Humans are celestial beings that live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you, and the last seven generations of your family is about to die.	It was our ninth Winter together, and I knew it would be our last. My kind usually measure the passage of time in Autumns - the season of dry leaves and damp earth; most importantly all manner of deer, ducks, geese, and rabbits busying themselves for the coming cold were about and needed to be tracked, and stalked for Him; it was the Purpose my kind were given, it was part of how we served our People. I'd always heard from the Ancestors and later my kennelmates that you would know when you'd found your Person, and so it had been with Him. That Winter day, my Not-person had dumped us off with those nice ladies who'd whisked us far from the forests and fields I'd known. Many People had come to meet me and my kennelmates, but none of them \felt\ right. Then He walked over, and as He knelt down to greet me, I knew. This was my Person. Since then I've measured the passage of time by the Winters that have passed since He saved my life. He smelled of salt and sand, sunny afternoon adventures and evenings next to a fire. When He reached out to scratch behind my ears, if felt only natural to lean in and melt into His gentle, well-worn hands. As I did so I could feel the presence of all the Ancestors who had come before me: Ferdinand, the First, who had stood watch over Him as a young pup; Carter, the Third, His companion and closest confidante during the roughest years of His life; Angie, the Sixth, my immediate predecessor who had stood a devoted watch over His family and children until her dying breath. "You're part of our family now," they whispered to me. "He's going to need you, though how much He doesn't yet know. " The Winters after that were everything I could have hoped for, and so much more. His children left the house over the first three summers, which left Him with plenty of time to take me for long walks along the beaches and marshes near the house, as well as all the belly rubs and ear scratches I could have ever asked for. Another few happy Winters passed before the cat tipped me off that not all was as it seemed. I was making my last lap of the house to check security before I went to bed, and as I rounded the corner towards His room, she stiffened and arched her back. Her hiss, the first time I'd ever heard it, stopped me in my tracks. "It's here," she spat out tersely, her glowing eyes darting towards the corner of the room. I followed her glare, and could immediately sense what she meant. The hair on my back lifted and I let out a low warning growl at the darkness that was looking towards the door to His bedroom. Upon hearing my growl, It turned back towards me, paused. Then, silently, it melted into the wall and disappeared. I slept extra close to Him that night. I knew It as soon as the cat alerted me- I'd met It right before I'd been rescued. I kept a much closer watch after that night, and I did He was moving slower, taking longer to recover from our walks, and was napping more frequently. His oldest son moved back in that summer, and the darkness, while never letting me directly see it, was never far away. It's Winter again, and He hasn't been able to leave His bed since the Autumn. I've spent my days guarding him, trying to keep the darkness from coming any closer, warning It that I wouldn't let any harm fall to my Person, even as His sleep grew deeper and longer, and his waking hours fewer. I've tried my hardest to stay awake as I stand guard, but finally my eyes were too heavy, my nose too sore to stay alert. Even the cat, my usual partner on watch, had given up trying to stay awake any longer. I woke up with a start and found It watching us curiously from where It was hovering next to His headboard. I began to rise with a start, when His voice, weak and faltering, spoke out to me. "It's ok Boomer, it's time. You've done good, you've been the best boy I could ever ask for, but it's time for me to go. They'll take it from here, until I see you again." I looked up at Him, and I saw the Ancestors appear behind him - Ferdinand the Border Collie, one ear floppy, the other standing up. He winked at me. Carter, Shepherd mutt, her shaggy tail wagging noiselessly. And finally Angie, another of my kind. She bowed her head as she acknowledged us. "You've done well, and you've done your kind proud. But, you have one more job. Keep watch over the Son. He's your Person now, and you'll be the first of your kind as his companion. He'll need you, even more than he knows now." He reached over to scratch me behind the ears one last time, his gentle hands weaker than the day I'd met Him. The cat stretched, told me she was going to get the Son, and jumped off the bed. My Person drew his last breath, and as he did so, the Darkness bowed, reached down and petted me on the head before he and the Ancestors faded. Before they were completely gone, I heard It speak, a gentle, loving voice. "You'll see him again, when you're ready to join us. We'll all be waiting for you, at the end of the rainbow bridge."	It was a peaceful night. Me and my owner, Jacob, were sleeping soundly on his bed. I was curled up, making it look like I was just a golden ball of fluff. Me and Jacob had been together for about seven human years. I was getting quite old, but I was still energetic and playful. I nuzzled into my arm, but suddenly hear a crash from down stairs. My ears perk up while my eyes shoot open. What was that? I growled. I hopped up instinctively and started to bark at the door. I jumped down and began to paw at it. I heard my owner groan and slowly get up from his bed. "Ugh... what is it this time, boy?" He tiredly asked. I continue to bark as I heard another crash down stairs, then he darts up towards the door and lets me out to explore. He turned the lights on as I sniffed the floor. We both walked down stairs slowly and cautiously, trying not to make a sound. That wasn't really working- considering the floor boards are old as heck. I grew impatient and ran down the stairs, only to see a shadow like figure in the kitchen. I barked louder this time, and the hooded man told me to shut up aggressively in a whisper shouting voice. Jacob follows behind me and turns on the lights, to reveal that the guy has a gun. I growled, my teeth were bared, my tail was tucked in between my legs... I was ready to fight. These Gods have spent their lives protecting us, so I must protect them. It is what I should do. The two men argue for what seems to be a very long time, until the mysterious figure aims the gun towards Jacob. I needed to help him! I needed to... save him. But... I didn't. I couldn't. My ears flopped down when I heard a loud bang and a thud from behind me. The man then zoomed out of the house. I turned around only to see Jacob... on the floor. Blood was pouring from his torso, creating a crimson puddle from underneath him. I whine and walk up to him with sad shining eyes. He can't... he... "Ray..." he whispered. He said my name. That means he wants something. "Ray... you're... you're a good boy." He smiled. Salty tears rolled down his cheeks, I licked them softly as he pet me weakly with the energy he had left, his blue tired eyes staring into mine. I pawed at his arm and whined again, but he continued to cry. Was I not comforting him enough? Was I doing something wrong..? "You're a..." he paused "...A good... boy." His hand dropped from the side of my head and on to the floor. His eyes went blank with no emotion shown in them. I whined and pawed him once more, but there was no response. No... he... he has work in an hour... he needs to get up. He needs to go to work... I tug on his shirt with the force of my sharp carnivorous teeth. He needs to see... Margaret... I give up. I let go of his shirt. He's gone. He's actually... gone. I started to tremble. My body couldn't handle this. I lay down next to him, and nuzzle in to his chest. I will never leave him. He never left me... I'm a good boy. (Apologies if there is any errors)
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	I was silent as my son wheeled me into the conference room, the one that the hospital had been strangely willing to offer up for this little meeting. I had expected that they would want to keep me for a few extra days, to study me and check my vitals. Nobody ever recovers from Dewey-Cheatum-Andhow's Disease, but I suppose they were all still in shock that I had...so they just took it with a grain of salt. I couldn't really ignore all the stares as we had wheeled through the hallways, and all my attempts at small talk were ignored by my son, his wife, and even their ever-talkative toddler. Inside the conference room was what looked like a large metal cage with a cloth over it, as well as a conference table, the family lawyer (Bill, that lazy fool could barely spell lawyer, much less act as one in any official capacity), and several people I didn't recognize. They were all dressed oddly, and there was even a TV camera set up nearby. I wondered if I was being interviewed as part of some kind of variety show... I was placed in front of the table, at the head, and didn't miss the way the people already sitting there scooted away from me a few inches, eyeing my coma-weakened form as if I was going to leap up and bite them. My family sat near me, and then the doors shut. "So, Dad..." My son started off, then cleared his throat and looked over at the others in the room. They appeared apprehensive, and refused to speak up, so he just cleared his throat again and repeated, "So. Dad. So..." "What's all this about, son?" I finally sighed. The boy never was good with high-pressure situations, and he certainly seemed worried about something now. "I just practically came back from the dead, after a disease that kills 100% of those who get it. Why's everyone walking on eggshells?" "It's because of your will, sir." Bill spoke up, then immediately snapped his gaze down at the paper clenched in his hands as I tried to make eye contact with him. He seemed to shiver, and then started speaking again after one of the people sitting alongside him none-too-subtly elbowed him in the ribs. "You said that you wanted to have your son honor you by doing the first thing you did upon getting back to the States... something you've started every day with ever since the day you got out of the military." "Ah yes, back in '52, I was so high on life that I went to Mardi Gras, and had a crazy night...woke up the next day and felt better than I had in ages." I laughed, ignoring the way everyone in the room winced at my laughter. I'd woken up the next day with a fire in my belly and an itch to travel...filled with vim and vigor. "Decided then and there that I'd live every day just like that party, doing the only thing I could remember after that crazy party." "Yes, and that is why we are so worried, sir." One of the men spoke up, drawing a grateful look from Bill as he went on. The man was dressed in very flamboyant clothing, but also wore some sort of labcoat. He looked like a scientist or doctor who had spilled a very flavorful fruity drink on his clothes before coming to work that day. "As a doctor descendant of one of the original Twelfth Night Revelers, I am familiar with a wide range of occult and historical Mardi Gras details..." The man stood and walked to the cage, his movement making something inside of it jump and clatter against the bars. Everyone in the room didn't startle at the noise...rather, they all looked at me. I heard a snuffling noise from inside the cage, and wondered if I was being pranked. The man pulled back the cloth, revealing a scared, fuzzy creature. I started to talk, but he just started spitting out words as though afraid that time was not on his side. "You said in your will that every day, you'd wake up and 'drain' one of these creatures, leaving its empty shell behind and then go out into the world to make your mark upon it. You felt yourself filled with a new life, and while the world normally frowns upon such acts of animal abuse, of depravity, or occult rituals...we are all very interested since it was apparently what allowed you to survive a life-ending disease! Please, please teach us your ways!" The man ended his sentence by throwing himself down to his knees, placing his face on the ground, and in short order the others followed. The camera was on me, and even the animal seemed to sense that something odd was afoot. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised." I leaned across the table, snatching up the will and reading through it. Then I laughed, long and loud, and ignored the smell of at least three of the people in the room wetting themselves. "All right, I think I see the problem. Bill, this is..." "Please sir, if you need to consume the soul of a human first, we fully understand." Bill interrupted, pressing himself even closer to the floor, turning his neck in my direction. "I am but a humble servant, and willingly offer my-" "You made a typo, Bill." "I...what?" Bill looked up, and the rest of the people in the room slowly rose from the ground. "In the will." I turned it in his direction, winking at the animal in the cage. "It's supposed to say 'drain an ice-cold Beer,' not 'ice-cold Deer.' You idiot." \\\* Later, after everyone had filed out, I kept Bill behind. I told the others that he was going to help me write a new will, and that they should just head on home. I even promised that I'd have Bill take care of the deer, as punishment, and he was too bashful to refuse. Glaring at him, they left and apologized for all the trouble. I just laughed it off, with the good humor of an old man who was used to those younger than me making mistakes. Bill apologized again, with the nervousness of a young man who had worked with me for years...and made many mistakes. I then drained him of his soul, with the annoyance of an old sorcerer who was sick of giving his apprentice 'one more chance.' He fell to the ground, with a lifelessness of a body that lacks a soul, and I opened the cage. The deer ate his body with the hunger of a familiar that had only been fed leaves because my idiot apprentice misread my instructions. It grew to its normal size, and then I mounted my familiar, its life force restored after having healed me of that silly mortal disease a few hours ago. As we flew off into the sky, it apologized for taking so long to send the life force to me, but I allowed it to simply blame that idiot Bill. I needed to find a new apprentice. Maybe that Occult kid from earlier...he seemed interesting. Couldn't be any worse than Bill.	I had a strange obsession with space ever since I was young. I read books delved in to theories even creating my own. The cosmos were like a part of me. The adoration with astronomy and such continued until adulthood where I was now. I believe extraterrestrial life did exist, why? I didn't know it was some intrinsic instinct I couldn't explain. Recovering from that incident was well truly a miracle. From the pits of despair a shining radiant hope reached me. For that I was grateful. "So you've seen it?" I question them. "Yes, your last thoughts seemed to have been pretty unexpected" my father answers. "I see, does it bother you?" I say stoically. "Of course it does what were you thinking, treating your burial like science fiction" my mother said her face full of anger. "Fiction? No this is reality. A friend of mine has ties to a couple of companies that create rockets" I spoke frankly. "And that's how I'd be able to send my body into the vastness of space to roam the cosmos and beyond" I say seriously. "Think of our children and the children they may have. They would never be able to visit your grave. So cut all the nonsense please" my wife says tears streaming down her pale face. "I felt that it would come to this. I thought that someone would understand this feeling" I stood up hesitantly, my body was still weak from the days of hospital care. "Give me some time to think. I'd like to clear my mind and think about my will honestly" saying that I walked out. I found myself under a garden where there were patients from young to old. Some in wheelchairs or crutches. Some with family and some alone. I found a lone bench and sat down. I then let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I relaxed myself and delved deep into thinking about the answer of the question that I had. "Should I prioritize my will or the will of those close to me?" I said looking up at the sky.
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	Fuck. That’s the first thought that ran through my mind when I realized I was still alive. I’ve been in the hospital so long, it seems surreal that I’ve actually recovered. God is good, or so they say. Most people would be ecstatic to be given an extra shot at life. I thought I would be too. When I originally signed my will, I just naturally assumed like most people would, that it would only be presented to family post-mortem. Not when I’m on life support, not when I’m still fighting for my life. No, only after death. I grew up with my parents in Fort Payne, Alabama. We were… Well, let’s just say “Roll Tide.” Extremely conservative, extremely religious, and extremely regressive. Extremely. One time when I was in grade school, I was friends with this boy, Greg. I didn’t know any better at the time, being very young. One day, Greg came over to my house to play. We were just little kids, being little kids. Somehow, I ended up with red marker all over my lips. My parents called me and Greg downstairs to eat dinner. Well, when my parents saw me, “lipstick” and all, they began whispering to themselves. My Mother then told Greg she was going to take him home early. I asked her to let him stay a little longer, but she ignored me and took him home. When she and Greg left the house, my Father took me upstairs, and took off his belt. Needless to say, I haven’t worn makeup since. Outside of their extreme prejudices, my parents were good parents. They fed me, they prioritized my education, and they looked out for me financially. They always asked me about my new girlfriends, and when I was going to give them grandkids. See, the catch is here. All my new girlfriends that I told them about? They were all boyfriends. I just never bothered to correct their gender. Before I went into a coma, I was told that there’s almost zero chance of recovery from this. Obviously I was terrified. Who isn’t scared of dying? I didn’t have time to blow all my savings, and go out with a bang. No, I was stuck here in the hospital. Anyways, I requested that my attorney who arranged my original will add a few extra things. My roommate, Brett, knew my parents. I’ve switched roommates a few times since leaving college. Well, I should say I’ve switched boyfriends a few times since leaving college. In this new addition to my will, I told Brett that I love him, and I will miss him dearly. I also decided to donate a large portion of my money to a prominent LGBTQ+ charity. I was sure I was going to die. My doctors were also sure. But somehow here I am. Before I went into a coma, I was terrified of coming out to my parents. I couldn’t bear to see their reaction. It sounds twisted, but they’re still my parents. They raised me, they laughed with me, they loved me. They just believed in their own interpretation of the Bible too much. And now I’m sitting here awake, still alive, in front of my parents. Their now openly gay son. Fuck. Yeah, that sounds about right.	I had a strange obsession with space ever since I was young. I read books delved in to theories even creating my own. The cosmos were like a part of me. The adoration with astronomy and such continued until adulthood where I was now. I believe extraterrestrial life did exist, why? I didn't know it was some intrinsic instinct I couldn't explain. Recovering from that incident was well truly a miracle. From the pits of despair a shining radiant hope reached me. For that I was grateful. "So you've seen it?" I question them. "Yes, your last thoughts seemed to have been pretty unexpected" my father answers. "I see, does it bother you?" I say stoically. "Of course it does what were you thinking, treating your burial like science fiction" my mother said her face full of anger. "Fiction? No this is reality. A friend of mine has ties to a couple of companies that create rockets" I spoke frankly. "And that's how I'd be able to send my body into the vastness of space to roam the cosmos and beyond" I say seriously. "Think of our children and the children they may have. They would never be able to visit your grave. So cut all the nonsense please" my wife says tears streaming down her pale face. "I felt that it would come to this. I thought that someone would understand this feeling" I stood up hesitantly, my body was still weak from the days of hospital care. "Give me some time to think. I'd like to clear my mind and think about my will honestly" saying that I walked out. I found myself under a garden where there were patients from young to old. Some in wheelchairs or crutches. Some with family and some alone. I found a lone bench and sat down. I then let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I relaxed myself and delved deep into thinking about the answer of the question that I had. "Should I prioritize my will or the will of those close to me?" I said looking up at the sky.
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	Well, that was one accident. My nose felt different, so did my face. I must have had some reconstructive surgery because it didn’t feel right. I knew my face and this wasn’t it. I had been in intensive care for the past six months and my family had decided that it would be time to turn off my life support on my true birthday; the 29th February. Naturally, being a leap year baby, I had normally celebrated my birthday on the 28th and that was the day I recovered, waking to be greeted by my family. “Son!” my mum screamed, with great joy as I opened my weary eyes. “Mum”, I answered, though it took all my effort. My mum stepped back as I answered, which left me perplexed. Then I realised, she must have seen my will. I hadn’t meant any harm by it; I thought my last requests should be enough to allow people to remember me, but it clearly wasn’t met with a warm reception. I felt strongly about them, though. My will stipulated that I should be turned into taxidermy; my body stuffed and preserved for those future generations to worship me. I wasn’t religious, but it did feel like it would continue my importance. I had status in the community; I was addressed as Lord Lucas, refined as the most prestigious man in the land. “Son, what were you thinking?” Dad asked. “Dad…” I tried to answer, using up my energy. “What on Earth were you thinking? We love you son. I don’t think we could ever honour you being taxidermy. It would break our hearts to see your inanimate body daily.” Trying to muster up more effort, I began to reply: “Dad… I…” “Son, you will forever be in our hearts. Alive or not. We love you. You don’t die until the last person who remembers you does, and we wouldn’t let anyone forget you.” I felt truly touched by this remark. “You’re… right… Dad.” At this point in time, being taxidermy didn’t feel all that much appealing – especially after such as an accident. Making my family look at my dead body felt selfish. I realised then that honouring my will must have felt like torture to my parents. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to have a taxidermy of my family in my home; it was a mistake. I let some moments pass while I gathered my thoughts and prepared myself to talk: “Mum, Dad, I love you both. I’m so glad I woke up.” “We love you too, son.” By this point, I thought I had gotten away with the second clause in my will; perhaps they’d missed it with all the concerns they had with my first wish. But they hadn’t. “But, please… what was this about donating your estate to the homeless?” Dad must have seen the second clause. “We have worked for that for generations, son. Your grandfather, your great-grandfather, their fathers. Why would you simply just give it away?” I wasn’t much of a person for status; I shared freely and generously. It felt good to treat those less fortunate to a nice meal and put them up in a warm home. I wanted to do something others would remember me by, but it felt like it had backfired tremendously. “Father, I am sorry you feel that way.” I said, offering some sort of insincere apology; he enjoyed the wealth and believed that everyone should have to work for it, even those who struggled or where unable to do so. He realised now, while I was on my hospital bed, wasn’t the time nor place to discuss the intricate details of this plan, so accepted that was that. Moments passed and we sat in silence. Then my mum, likely concerned about the third-clause of my will, asked: “And why are you donating your livestock?” The livestock were the cornerstone of the family; providing for us through generations, with cows, chickens, sheep to name but a few living in our open land. I thought donating them to a farm would allow children to get enjoyment from them and they would be looked after. I didn’t have any of my own children to pass the livestock on to, so it naturally felt like the right choice. “I thought, Mum, I thought it would be nice to allow them to roam freely.” “No, Son, our animals provide for us. That’s how it works”, my father hastily added. From one side of the argument, I could understand how they were angry that I had passed the estate on to the homeless and livestock on to a farm to give them a good life, after requesting to be turned into taxidermy myself. But on the other, I couldn’t understand why it was so bad; all I wanted was to be remembered and for the best for people. Perhaps my family weren’t the right fit for me. Perhaps their views were too stubborn and selfish.	I had a strange obsession with space ever since I was young. I read books delved in to theories even creating my own. The cosmos were like a part of me. The adoration with astronomy and such continued until adulthood where I was now. I believe extraterrestrial life did exist, why? I didn't know it was some intrinsic instinct I couldn't explain. Recovering from that incident was well truly a miracle. From the pits of despair a shining radiant hope reached me. For that I was grateful. "So you've seen it?" I question them. "Yes, your last thoughts seemed to have been pretty unexpected" my father answers. "I see, does it bother you?" I say stoically. "Of course it does what were you thinking, treating your burial like science fiction" my mother said her face full of anger. "Fiction? No this is reality. A friend of mine has ties to a couple of companies that create rockets" I spoke frankly. "And that's how I'd be able to send my body into the vastness of space to roam the cosmos and beyond" I say seriously. "Think of our children and the children they may have. They would never be able to visit your grave. So cut all the nonsense please" my wife says tears streaming down her pale face. "I felt that it would come to this. I thought that someone would understand this feeling" I stood up hesitantly, my body was still weak from the days of hospital care. "Give me some time to think. I'd like to clear my mind and think about my will honestly" saying that I walked out. I found myself under a garden where there were patients from young to old. Some in wheelchairs or crutches. Some with family and some alone. I found a lone bench and sat down. I then let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I relaxed myself and delved deep into thinking about the answer of the question that I had. "Should I prioritize my will or the will of those close to me?" I said looking up at the sky.
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	"So..." Johnny's dad looked at him awkwardly. I had been a couple days and, sure enough, vitality was returning to Johnny. It would be slow going for a bit, but Johnny could eventually go back to life. That said, his family was going to have a few apprehensions. "What's up, pa? You look like you did when you walked in on me with my stash when I was starting high school." "Look, I'll be honest with you. Everyone thought you weren't going to make it. We planned your funeral and everything." Johnny smiled and looked kindly upon his father. "I understand. If I was in the same position, I'd be preparing myself and my family for what we though was inevitable. That fact that I suddenly recovered from that illness and the coma it put me in? A million to one chance." "No, I mean... everything." "I don't get it." "Son... we read your will." Johnny looked at him blankly. "What are you talking about?" "Rupert, you know, the family lawyer? He read your last will and testament. He could confirm it was yours." "Dad, I--" "No, let me finish. I commend your forward thinking, but what you put in there... Well, let's say a lot of the family is rather upset." "Dad, wait a--" "No, I have to say this now. Your uncle Jack is in jail. Once the will was read, it convinced your cousin Bobby to step forward and tell the police what... what my brother had done. Aunt Becky is also being investigated by the SEC. Hell, it seems the only family you didn't have choice words about were Karen. The very same Karen my father disowned. She was laughing at all of it!" "Dad, this isn't--" "Don't tell me what it is and isn't. The only one not upset at you is your momma. She just happy to have her boy back. When you leave here, her and I will be the only ones happy to see you. Well, maybe Aunt Karen too." "I don't have a will." The only sound in the room was a slight beep that came from the monitoring machine. "I was considering putting one together in the unlikely event that something happened to me. I spoke with Rupert about it but wanted to put my thoughts together on it. I hadn't even made up my mind when I suddenly had to go to the hospital." His father just looked ashen as all the blood drained from his face. "But... but the evidence! And Bobby's testimony! And who else would have known about Carl's drug... dealing..." They both looked at each other. "The family lawyer."	I had a strange obsession with space ever since I was young. I read books delved in to theories even creating my own. The cosmos were like a part of me. The adoration with astronomy and such continued until adulthood where I was now. I believe extraterrestrial life did exist, why? I didn't know it was some intrinsic instinct I couldn't explain. Recovering from that incident was well truly a miracle. From the pits of despair a shining radiant hope reached me. For that I was grateful. "So you've seen it?" I question them. "Yes, your last thoughts seemed to have been pretty unexpected" my father answers. "I see, does it bother you?" I say stoically. "Of course it does what were you thinking, treating your burial like science fiction" my mother said her face full of anger. "Fiction? No this is reality. A friend of mine has ties to a couple of companies that create rockets" I spoke frankly. "And that's how I'd be able to send my body into the vastness of space to roam the cosmos and beyond" I say seriously. "Think of our children and the children they may have. They would never be able to visit your grave. So cut all the nonsense please" my wife says tears streaming down her pale face. "I felt that it would come to this. I thought that someone would understand this feeling" I stood up hesitantly, my body was still weak from the days of hospital care. "Give me some time to think. I'd like to clear my mind and think about my will honestly" saying that I walked out. I found myself under a garden where there were patients from young to old. Some in wheelchairs or crutches. Some with family and some alone. I found a lone bench and sat down. I then let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I relaxed myself and delved deep into thinking about the answer of the question that I had. "Should I prioritize my will or the will of those close to me?" I said looking up at the sky.
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	Fuck. That’s the first thought that ran through my mind when I realized I was still alive. I’ve been in the hospital so long, it seems surreal that I’ve actually recovered. God is good, or so they say. Most people would be ecstatic to be given an extra shot at life. I thought I would be too. When I originally signed my will, I just naturally assumed like most people would, that it would only be presented to family post-mortem. Not when I’m on life support, not when I’m still fighting for my life. No, only after death. I grew up with my parents in Fort Payne, Alabama. We were… Well, let’s just say “Roll Tide.” Extremely conservative, extremely religious, and extremely regressive. Extremely. One time when I was in grade school, I was friends with this boy, Greg. I didn’t know any better at the time, being very young. One day, Greg came over to my house to play. We were just little kids, being little kids. Somehow, I ended up with red marker all over my lips. My parents called me and Greg downstairs to eat dinner. Well, when my parents saw me, “lipstick” and all, they began whispering to themselves. My Mother then told Greg she was going to take him home early. I asked her to let him stay a little longer, but she ignored me and took him home. When she and Greg left the house, my Father took me upstairs, and took off his belt. Needless to say, I haven’t worn makeup since. Outside of their extreme prejudices, my parents were good parents. They fed me, they prioritized my education, and they looked out for me financially. They always asked me about my new girlfriends, and when I was going to give them grandkids. See, the catch is here. All my new girlfriends that I told them about? They were all boyfriends. I just never bothered to correct their gender. Before I went into a coma, I was told that there’s almost zero chance of recovery from this. Obviously I was terrified. Who isn’t scared of dying? I didn’t have time to blow all my savings, and go out with a bang. No, I was stuck here in the hospital. Anyways, I requested that my attorney who arranged my original will add a few extra things. My roommate, Brett, knew my parents. I’ve switched roommates a few times since leaving college. Well, I should say I’ve switched boyfriends a few times since leaving college. In this new addition to my will, I told Brett that I love him, and I will miss him dearly. I also decided to donate a large portion of my money to a prominent LGBTQ+ charity. I was sure I was going to die. My doctors were also sure. But somehow here I am. Before I went into a coma, I was terrified of coming out to my parents. I couldn’t bear to see their reaction. It sounds twisted, but they’re still my parents. They raised me, they laughed with me, they loved me. They just believed in their own interpretation of the Bible too much. And now I’m sitting here awake, still alive, in front of my parents. Their now openly gay son. Fuck. Yeah, that sounds about right.	I was silent as my son wheeled me into the conference room, the one that the hospital had been strangely willing to offer up for this little meeting. I had expected that they would want to keep me for a few extra days, to study me and check my vitals. Nobody ever recovers from Dewey-Cheatum-Andhow's Disease, but I suppose they were all still in shock that I had...so they just took it with a grain of salt. I couldn't really ignore all the stares as we had wheeled through the hallways, and all my attempts at small talk were ignored by my son, his wife, and even their ever-talkative toddler. Inside the conference room was what looked like a large metal cage with a cloth over it, as well as a conference table, the family lawyer (Bill, that lazy fool could barely spell lawyer, much less act as one in any official capacity), and several people I didn't recognize. They were all dressed oddly, and there was even a TV camera set up nearby. I wondered if I was being interviewed as part of some kind of variety show... I was placed in front of the table, at the head, and didn't miss the way the people already sitting there scooted away from me a few inches, eyeing my coma-weakened form as if I was going to leap up and bite them. My family sat near me, and then the doors shut. "So, Dad..." My son started off, then cleared his throat and looked over at the others in the room. They appeared apprehensive, and refused to speak up, so he just cleared his throat again and repeated, "So. Dad. So..." "What's all this about, son?" I finally sighed. The boy never was good with high-pressure situations, and he certainly seemed worried about something now. "I just practically came back from the dead, after a disease that kills 100% of those who get it. Why's everyone walking on eggshells?" "It's because of your will, sir." Bill spoke up, then immediately snapped his gaze down at the paper clenched in his hands as I tried to make eye contact with him. He seemed to shiver, and then started speaking again after one of the people sitting alongside him none-too-subtly elbowed him in the ribs. "You said that you wanted to have your son honor you by doing the first thing you did upon getting back to the States... something you've started every day with ever since the day you got out of the military." "Ah yes, back in '52, I was so high on life that I went to Mardi Gras, and had a crazy night...woke up the next day and felt better than I had in ages." I laughed, ignoring the way everyone in the room winced at my laughter. I'd woken up the next day with a fire in my belly and an itch to travel...filled with vim and vigor. "Decided then and there that I'd live every day just like that party, doing the only thing I could remember after that crazy party." "Yes, and that is why we are so worried, sir." One of the men spoke up, drawing a grateful look from Bill as he went on. The man was dressed in very flamboyant clothing, but also wore some sort of labcoat. He looked like a scientist or doctor who had spilled a very flavorful fruity drink on his clothes before coming to work that day. "As a doctor descendant of one of the original Twelfth Night Revelers, I am familiar with a wide range of occult and historical Mardi Gras details..." The man stood and walked to the cage, his movement making something inside of it jump and clatter against the bars. Everyone in the room didn't startle at the noise...rather, they all looked at me. I heard a snuffling noise from inside the cage, and wondered if I was being pranked. The man pulled back the cloth, revealing a scared, fuzzy creature. I started to talk, but he just started spitting out words as though afraid that time was not on his side. "You said in your will that every day, you'd wake up and 'drain' one of these creatures, leaving its empty shell behind and then go out into the world to make your mark upon it. You felt yourself filled with a new life, and while the world normally frowns upon such acts of animal abuse, of depravity, or occult rituals...we are all very interested since it was apparently what allowed you to survive a life-ending disease! Please, please teach us your ways!" The man ended his sentence by throwing himself down to his knees, placing his face on the ground, and in short order the others followed. The camera was on me, and even the animal seemed to sense that something odd was afoot. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised." I leaned across the table, snatching up the will and reading through it. Then I laughed, long and loud, and ignored the smell of at least three of the people in the room wetting themselves. "All right, I think I see the problem. Bill, this is..." "Please sir, if you need to consume the soul of a human first, we fully understand." Bill interrupted, pressing himself even closer to the floor, turning his neck in my direction. "I am but a humble servant, and willingly offer my-" "You made a typo, Bill." "I...what?" Bill looked up, and the rest of the people in the room slowly rose from the ground. "In the will." I turned it in his direction, winking at the animal in the cage. "It's supposed to say 'drain an ice-cold Beer,' not 'ice-cold Deer.' You idiot." \\\* Later, after everyone had filed out, I kept Bill behind. I told the others that he was going to help me write a new will, and that they should just head on home. I even promised that I'd have Bill take care of the deer, as punishment, and he was too bashful to refuse. Glaring at him, they left and apologized for all the trouble. I just laughed it off, with the good humor of an old man who was used to those younger than me making mistakes. Bill apologized again, with the nervousness of a young man who had worked with me for years...and made many mistakes. I then drained him of his soul, with the annoyance of an old sorcerer who was sick of giving his apprentice 'one more chance.' He fell to the ground, with a lifelessness of a body that lacks a soul, and I opened the cage. The deer ate his body with the hunger of a familiar that had only been fed leaves because my idiot apprentice misread my instructions. It grew to its normal size, and then I mounted my familiar, its life force restored after having healed me of that silly mortal disease a few hours ago. As we flew off into the sky, it apologized for taking so long to send the life force to me, but I allowed it to simply blame that idiot Bill. I needed to find a new apprentice. Maybe that Occult kid from earlier...he seemed interesting. Couldn't be any worse than Bill.
	[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.	"So..." Johnny's dad looked at him awkwardly. I had been a couple days and, sure enough, vitality was returning to Johnny. It would be slow going for a bit, but Johnny could eventually go back to life. That said, his family was going to have a few apprehensions. "What's up, pa? You look like you did when you walked in on me with my stash when I was starting high school." "Look, I'll be honest with you. Everyone thought you weren't going to make it. We planned your funeral and everything." Johnny smiled and looked kindly upon his father. "I understand. If I was in the same position, I'd be preparing myself and my family for what we though was inevitable. That fact that I suddenly recovered from that illness and the coma it put me in? A million to one chance." "No, I mean... everything." "I don't get it." "Son... we read your will." Johnny looked at him blankly. "What are you talking about?" "Rupert, you know, the family lawyer? He read your last will and testament. He could confirm it was yours." "Dad, I--" "No, let me finish. I commend your forward thinking, but what you put in there... Well, let's say a lot of the family is rather upset." "Dad, wait a--" "No, I have to say this now. Your uncle Jack is in jail. Once the will was read, it convinced your cousin Bobby to step forward and tell the police what... what my brother had done. Aunt Becky is also being investigated by the SEC. Hell, it seems the only family you didn't have choice words about were Karen. The very same Karen my father disowned. She was laughing at all of it!" "Dad, this isn't--" "Don't tell me what it is and isn't. The only one not upset at you is your momma. She just happy to have her boy back. When you leave here, her and I will be the only ones happy to see you. Well, maybe Aunt Karen too." "I don't have a will." The only sound in the room was a slight beep that came from the monitoring machine. "I was considering putting one together in the unlikely event that something happened to me. I spoke with Rupert about it but wanted to put my thoughts together on it. I hadn't even made up my mind when I suddenly had to go to the hospital." His father just looked ashen as all the blood drained from his face. "But... but the evidence! And Bobby's testimony! And who else would have known about Carl's drug... dealing..." They both looked at each other. "The family lawyer."	Well, that was one accident. My nose felt different, so did my face. I must have had some reconstructive surgery because it didn’t feel right. I knew my face and this wasn’t it. I had been in intensive care for the past six months and my family had decided that it would be time to turn off my life support on my true birthday; the 29th February. Naturally, being a leap year baby, I had normally celebrated my birthday on the 28th and that was the day I recovered, waking to be greeted by my family. “Son!” my mum screamed, with great joy as I opened my weary eyes. “Mum”, I answered, though it took all my effort. My mum stepped back as I answered, which left me perplexed. Then I realised, she must have seen my will. I hadn’t meant any harm by it; I thought my last requests should be enough to allow people to remember me, but it clearly wasn’t met with a warm reception. I felt strongly about them, though. My will stipulated that I should be turned into taxidermy; my body stuffed and preserved for those future generations to worship me. I wasn’t religious, but it did feel like it would continue my importance. I had status in the community; I was addressed as Lord Lucas, refined as the most prestigious man in the land. “Son, what were you thinking?” Dad asked. “Dad…” I tried to answer, using up my energy. “What on Earth were you thinking? We love you son. I don’t think we could ever honour you being taxidermy. It would break our hearts to see your inanimate body daily.” Trying to muster up more effort, I began to reply: “Dad… I…” “Son, you will forever be in our hearts. Alive or not. We love you. You don’t die until the last person who remembers you does, and we wouldn’t let anyone forget you.” I felt truly touched by this remark. “You’re… right… Dad.” At this point in time, being taxidermy didn’t feel all that much appealing – especially after such as an accident. Making my family look at my dead body felt selfish. I realised then that honouring my will must have felt like torture to my parents. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to have a taxidermy of my family in my home; it was a mistake. I let some moments pass while I gathered my thoughts and prepared myself to talk: “Mum, Dad, I love you both. I’m so glad I woke up.” “We love you too, son.” By this point, I thought I had gotten away with the second clause in my will; perhaps they’d missed it with all the concerns they had with my first wish. But they hadn’t. “But, please… what was this about donating your estate to the homeless?” Dad must have seen the second clause. “We have worked for that for generations, son. Your grandfather, your great-grandfather, their fathers. Why would you simply just give it away?” I wasn’t much of a person for status; I shared freely and generously. It felt good to treat those less fortunate to a nice meal and put them up in a warm home. I wanted to do something others would remember me by, but it felt like it had backfired tremendously. “Father, I am sorry you feel that way.” I said, offering some sort of insincere apology; he enjoyed the wealth and believed that everyone should have to work for it, even those who struggled or where unable to do so. He realised now, while I was on my hospital bed, wasn’t the time nor place to discuss the intricate details of this plan, so accepted that was that. Moments passed and we sat in silence. Then my mum, likely concerned about the third-clause of my will, asked: “And why are you donating your livestock?” The livestock were the cornerstone of the family; providing for us through generations, with cows, chickens, sheep to name but a few living in our open land. I thought donating them to a farm would allow children to get enjoyment from them and they would be looked after. I didn’t have any of my own children to pass the livestock on to, so it naturally felt like the right choice. “I thought, Mum, I thought it would be nice to allow them to roam freely.” “No, Son, our animals provide for us. That’s how it works”, my father hastily added. From one side of the argument, I could understand how they were angry that I had passed the estate on to the homeless and livestock on to a farm to give them a good life, after requesting to be turned into taxidermy myself. But on the other, I couldn’t understand why it was so bad; all I wanted was to be remembered and for the best for people. Perhaps my family weren’t the right fit for me. Perhaps their views were too stubborn and selfish.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	The speculation of what occurred after death would always be a mystery to those who had yet to experience it. The feeling was unique to each, some left whole and others broken, eager to find the scattered pieces of their souls. At times, they could be heard. Their cries echoed into the night and like in life, some were more fortunate than others. The hierarchy would grace them with another chance to mend what their reckless youth had picked apart. Those without such fortune lived for eternal in their misery. In her old ages, death came to lead her down the path of everlasting faith but at the edge of the world, the light shinning down over her angelic features, the youth of her soul imaged in picture—she stepped towards the gleaming path to accept the peace, all had ultimately deserved. Her fingers grasped the calming warmth but deep within, down into the depths of her soul, she felt the shatter of a million shards; they pierced her from the inside out, screaming, “Guinevere, you have chosen the wrong path. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.” — In moments before death, there is the last breath. She breathed shallow then, until she no longer gasped for more. Until her lungs, released what her body craved and she exhaled her last taste of life. The Queen rested then, the sick heaving of her body no longer torturing her with the fear of life or death. After so much absence of oxygen in the veins, the pain erases and is replaced with ultimate peace. But to be woken in this state, was the mirror of hitting one’s stomach too hard as child. She awoke to gasp, her lungs heaving to exhale. She hadn’t gained enough consciousness to understand what was a dream and what wasn’t. Guinevere slapped a hand up towards her throat and she couldn’t make a noise, all she could do was wait for her stomach to relieve of cramps and her organs to accept the new oxygen. The sound of a familiar voice, shook the girl with confusion as she turned towards her childhood friend, “Guinevere, are you okay?” Her friend spoke in a hushed tone and all she could do in return was merely nod her head and mutter a soft, “yes—“. Talia had died two years after the war on Earth started, she recalled. She died when Guinevere was busy with the war in the new world. Guinevere, inched her fingertips to the outside of her own arm and she pinched the small peach-fuzz of hairs, twisting them until it hurt and it was in that moment that she realized it was not just a dream that Talia was whispering her name all over again. That Talia was sitting beside her, young and alive. She blinked slowly as the life she had lived before death turned into a dream, faint in her memory. She couldn’t bare to understand, how could she be sitting there—in front of a teacher that hardly knew her name? When moments before, she was the Queen of all Queens. It was unacceptable, the forgotten Queen internally expressed as she brought the same hand that she had used to pinch herself to touch her face. The cold feeling of her ring grazed across her warm cheek and she brought her touch down immediately, staring at her ring. Palm flat against the surface of her school-desk. It was unacceptable and impossible, she breathed. Unbelievable, untrue, it lacked any sense, in fact—this fate was without sanity. In attempt to understand any of it in the slightest, Guinevere turned her wrist with hesitation—exposing her open palm that bleed in dark ink, “Find Me.”	ok, but... how will algebra help us in the real world?! Fuck you, Kenzie. "Ma'am, if I might answer this one?" "Uhh... sure, I guess?" "Kenzie, I know you hate word problems, but bear with me. Imagine you stay pretty forever, get a modeling career, and marry a CEO. Sure, he's not young as you are, but he's rich and he treats you well. You eat great food, go to fancy parties with celebrities, and the magazines base their fashions on YOU, not the other way 'round. Can you picture that?" "... Yeah?" "Now, that life doesn't need algebra. It barely even needs sentience. It's boring! You've got nothing to do. Imagine every summer vacation, all mixed together, with nothing to do and you suspect all your friends are fake. That's life without algebra, if you're lucky." "Pssh, I can make perfume or shoes or whatever." "Thank you for segueing beautifully into my next point. You need to do something, right? To keep the boredom away? "Imagine helping your husband figure out whether he should merge with StockCorp or not. Long nights working hard to decide where the business should go. Identifying risks and mitigating them. This takes algebra, statistics, calculus. But it leads to a bond with your husband, and it makes you irreplaceable, from a purely vacuous standpoint, once you stop being pretty. But it's tough. Imagine another scenario. "Imagine that your husband enters politics. You have to identify which districts, regions, states, counties are key. You have to include the number of voters, their demographics, their interests, their party lines. That takes math, too, and you can't afford to be seen as arm candy or he'll lose the vote- and his funding. "Lastly, let's say none of this happens. Let's say you find a lover, of whatever gender you happen to love. You want to support them, make them better than they could be. You stay at home, while they work. You need to balance a budget, manage your time, help the kids with homework, and keep your cooking delicious. Wouldn't want to disappoint them, even if you're okay with disappointing yourself- after all, a certain amount of self-recrimination is healthy! But you want to do right by them. You want to do well when you have a task before you. "The question isn't whether algebra will be useful in life - although it is, in a surprising number of ways- the question is whether you think you're fine learning at the ripe old age of sixteen. "The answer, by the way, is that X=9 and y<\|2\|. Back you, Ma'am." (Mobile, lemme know if I have formatting issues)
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	Somewhere from as from deep in her mind and in the silence, Angelina found a spark of light. Perhaps the light found her, as it grew ever larger as if the two of them were drawn together. And then a murmur as that of the stream Trieste which flowed by outside her chamber window. Yet no, not the stream. Trieste never spoke like this. There was something familiar with this strange voice. What is that accent? Where had she heard it before? It wasn’t from Nerendall. It certainly lacked the staccato sparkle of her people. It was too loud and pronounced to be the Fae from Dassal. No, this was something different. Different, yet familiar. From a memory so long forgotten that legends seem more real. What was that word it said? Fra. . . Zee . . . Fair. A moment later and the dream came to full focus. Angelina looked around herself. Desks? By the wall. Ouch, it sure felt real on her elbow. American. That had been the voice. Something from so long ago she had forgotten the sound. Memories came flooding back. Now the room was quiet, and Angelina felt eyes watching her. “Angie, perhaps you would rather share the relevance of the X, Y, Z affair on our world today?” Had it all been a dream, these last ninety years? It all seemed so real. Peace between the Dassal and Verduin fae. Freeing Nerendall from tribute. Angelina of the Crystal they had called her. Queen Crystalblade of Nerendall. Had it been a dream? Suddenly something else came to her attention. On her finger still, so out of place and glistening among jeans, notebooks, and #2 pencils, sat the crystal band that had bound to her eighty years ago. It all seemed a dream, but this at least was just as real as the judgmental stares and snickers. Angelina definitely knew the world if International affairs. She had fought for her people hundreds of times, some times with the sword, other times with words. She didn’t need her history book to answer. “Respect. It is always about empathy and respect.”, Her now quiet voice carried a staccato ring to it, and drew the room like a magnet as an unseen wind brushed her hand in the still air of the classroom. Yes, it was all real. And now was the time for Queen Crystalblade to unite another world, starting with high school.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	Somewhere from as from deep in her mind and in the silence, Angelina found a spark of light. Perhaps the light found her, as it grew ever larger as if the two of them were drawn together. And then a murmur as that of the stream Trieste which flowed by outside her chamber window. Yet no, not the stream. Trieste never spoke like this. There was something familiar with this strange voice. What is that accent? Where had she heard it before? It wasn’t from Nerendall. It certainly lacked the staccato sparkle of her people. It was too loud and pronounced to be the Fae from Dassal. No, this was something different. Different, yet familiar. From a memory so long forgotten that legends seem more real. What was that word it said? Fra. . . Zee . . . Fair. A moment later and the dream came to full focus. Angelina looked around herself. Desks? By the wall. Ouch, it sure felt real on her elbow. American. That had been the voice. Something from so long ago she had forgotten the sound. Memories came flooding back. Now the room was quiet, and Angelina felt eyes watching her. “Angie, perhaps you would rather share the relevance of the X, Y, Z affair on our world today?” Had it all been a dream, these last ninety years? It all seemed so real. Peace between the Dassal and Verduin fae. Freeing Nerendall from tribute. Angelina of the Crystal they had called her. Queen Crystalblade of Nerendall. Had it been a dream? Suddenly something else came to her attention. On her finger still, so out of place and glistening among jeans, notebooks, and #2 pencils, sat the crystal band that had bound to her eighty years ago. It all seemed a dream, but this at least was just as real as the judgmental stares and snickers. Angelina definitely knew the world if International affairs. She had fought for her people hundreds of times, some times with the sword, other times with words. She didn’t need her history book to answer. “Respect. It is always about empathy and respect.”, Her now quiet voice carried a staccato ring to it, and drew the room like a magnet as an unseen wind brushed her hand in the still air of the classroom. Yes, it was all real. And now was the time for Queen Crystalblade to unite another world, starting with high school.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	Somewhere from as from deep in her mind and in the silence, Angelina found a spark of light. Perhaps the light found her, as it grew ever larger as if the two of them were drawn together. And then a murmur as that of the stream Trieste which flowed by outside her chamber window. Yet no, not the stream. Trieste never spoke like this. There was something familiar with this strange voice. What is that accent? Where had she heard it before? It wasn’t from Nerendall. It certainly lacked the staccato sparkle of her people. It was too loud and pronounced to be the Fae from Dassal. No, this was something different. Different, yet familiar. From a memory so long forgotten that legends seem more real. What was that word it said? Fra. . . Zee . . . Fair. A moment later and the dream came to full focus. Angelina looked around herself. Desks? By the wall. Ouch, it sure felt real on her elbow. American. That had been the voice. Something from so long ago she had forgotten the sound. Memories came flooding back. Now the room was quiet, and Angelina felt eyes watching her. “Angie, perhaps you would rather share the relevance of the X, Y, Z affair on our world today?” Had it all been a dream, these last ninety years? It all seemed so real. Peace between the Dassal and Verduin fae. Freeing Nerendall from tribute. Angelina of the Crystal they had called her. Queen Crystalblade of Nerendall. Had it been a dream? Suddenly something else came to her attention. On her finger still, so out of place and glistening among jeans, notebooks, and #2 pencils, sat the crystal band that had bound to her eighty years ago. It all seemed a dream, but this at least was just as real as the judgmental stares and snickers. Angelina definitely knew the world if International affairs. She had fought for her people hundreds of times, some times with the sword, other times with words. She didn’t need her history book to answer. “Respect. It is always about empathy and respect.”, Her now quiet voice carried a staccato ring to it, and drew the room like a magnet as an unseen wind brushed her hand in the still air of the classroom. Yes, it was all real. And now was the time for Queen Crystalblade to unite another world, starting with high school.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	&#x200B; Her body was absent of life, paper thin skin covered prominent blue veins, protruding from her arms and neck. Her hair laid flat and lifeless on her shoulders. A ruler reduced to a small pitiful wreck of her former self. Her family was destroyed from pestilence and war. Her husband was killed by the beast that wreaked havoc on their home, burned to ashes. But that was in a distant time, but the ring still hugged her bony finger. Her prison cell stank. Mud. Piss. Shit. Rats. Everywhere. Where had paradise gone? It feels so close, always so close. Memories, nails in her brain, searing her. Food in the door, out the door. Tattered rags adorned her thin frame. So old for her condition, forever to young or too old. End this torture. Life never lets go when humans want. The mind, fickle, denies the host any relief from the passage of time. Movement is gone, legs are gone, and eyes, too scarred to peer into the darkness. Years... trapped, or maybe it was only one. Eternity gone by twice. The shivering never abated, except in summer, but even then, the nights were cold. The woman lived in a different time, a different lifetime. One where she lived in her memories that kept her caged, but her surroundings kept her aware that reality offered a different solution. The memories she retained held like torn curtains on the broken glass of her window frame. Her mind cutting and slicing them as they blew through her mind. The wind howled. The bare stone rubbed her skin raw on her bones. A broken crown still clutched in her hands, thrown in to mock her demotion. Her fingers clutched it until they bled. The sky a distant memory, a memory of a memory, reconstructed from her youthful days. The ability to laugh, eat, or smile were gone, along with the teeth that fell from their fixing. Dry gums made due of the tough bread, but all that was gone. They stopped sending in food two days ago. The woman thanked her captors for their mercy and blamed the gods. She decidedly would not play as Job in this scheme she was placed in. Sullenly she shattered their image in her white eyes. Gone to the pit, the deep, the Tartarus of the world. She wept for the release of her stay in this nightmare. Darkness does not wait nor hurry for anyone. It's everywhere all at the same exact instantaneous time it intends to be. There it ended. Mildred felt her face thud against the desk and the drool against her cheek. The cool desk and warm phlegm was oddly pleasant against her skin, in high contrast compared to the bricks that coated her cell. Slowly her eyes opened to her brightly lit surroundings, seeing sun for the first time in thirty years, pouring in from her classroom window. Sixth period English. Mr Schaeffer. The book being read aloud echoed in her mind as her memories tore her from her seat. The teacher stopped his dry monotonous speech on Lord of the Flies and the symbolism of the conch. He looked up somewhat confused and asked if she was alright. She fled. Life gives the memories, the people, and the pain, but never rips it all away. The bathroom. Graffiti covered doors surrounded her as her heart ran and breath shuddered in her chest. Having a new emphasis on beating after ending moments before. The memories flooded back, each one like a drop of acid dripping onto wriggling live flesh. They surpassed her subconscious, assaulted her mind, and made her relive every bit of pain they gave her. Punishing her for no longer living the physical toll placed on her by them. Mildred opened her eyes, trying to see anything other than the memories clouding her mind. The ring. On her finger. The same ring she received seventy years ago, the same ring that caused her all this pain, her memories. She took it off and flushed it down the toilet. “Forget it. Forget it. What the fuck, just calm down, forget it,” she thought. Anger, bitterness, and resentment poured into her. Those people, the torture, left her rigid, on edge. Agonized. She went home, or whatever that could be called once you’ve lived a full life. The road stretched out forever, black tarmac, black wheels on gravel. Chain clicking. She biked. She looked around. This was not home. Home. That didn’t exist. The ring did though. The ring. The ring was gone. She looked at her young, unwrinkled hand. The ring sparkled. Her brain melted and whirled. The ring lay in the dust on the street for the next mile. But returned to its place. Mildred ran into the gas station, her eyes red, her skin pale. The young girl at the register looked her up and down and asked what she needed. Mildred frantically inquired if the lady at the register could see her ring, but the lady just gave an odd smile and asked if she would like to buy anything. The town was blurry, tears streamed down her face, dripping on the dust. One more mile, one more mile, one more mile, one more mile, one more mile. The town; gone. Herself drifting through different air with different clouds with different people with thirty years of pain gone but never gone because they always can feel her scars. The sun shone in her eyes, but she didn’t see. Pierced through but could not touch her soul. The sun sunk over the desert, the blustering wind whipped sand in her eyes, and her mind forgot time. Morning dew, cacti blooms, new sun. The flowers, though beautiful, were not seen by her. Her few days exposed to the elements dried her eyes, white shrunken marbles. Thick with crust. She murmured to herself, twisting the ring, over and over, it bit to the pain. What else could they do to her, nothing they had not already burned into her. Over and over, twist, step, twist steptwiststeptwiststep. Running. Collapsed. Choking dust. Rays of sun hammered down, Pallid skin already baked begins to fester and ooze. The more she loses the more she goes back to the only thing she knows. Death, dying, pain, nothingness. Twist twist twisttwisttwist Breathe flutters in her lungs, in and out, but screams echo in her thoughts. Not this again, life, but it had run out, it was gone, she was no more, was no more. But that was when she could say she is no more, but now she was no more. Death's grip felt loose to her, though its grip strengthened every passing second. Anguish, regret, and anger made her crawl, broken hands on grit and rock. Breathing struggles, breaths shallow and quick, like a mouse being hunted by snakes in its dreams. The sun passes once, one of many, more than most, more pain than most, long and slow, one hand in front of another. Numbness, a sweet release, fire zipped through the limbs, crept in from two holes on the left hand, filled with venom. Time slowed to a stop and released its contract, the fee paid, forgiven and slipped away.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	&#x200B; Her body was absent of life, paper thin skin covered prominent blue veins, protruding from her arms and neck. Her hair laid flat and lifeless on her shoulders. A ruler reduced to a small pitiful wreck of her former self. Her family was destroyed from pestilence and war. Her husband was killed by the beast that wreaked havoc on their home, burned to ashes. But that was in a distant time, but the ring still hugged her bony finger. Her prison cell stank. Mud. Piss. Shit. Rats. Everywhere. Where had paradise gone? It feels so close, always so close. Memories, nails in her brain, searing her. Food in the door, out the door. Tattered rags adorned her thin frame. So old for her condition, forever to young or too old. End this torture. Life never lets go when humans want. The mind, fickle, denies the host any relief from the passage of time. Movement is gone, legs are gone, and eyes, too scarred to peer into the darkness. Years... trapped, or maybe it was only one. Eternity gone by twice. The shivering never abated, except in summer, but even then, the nights were cold. The woman lived in a different time, a different lifetime. One where she lived in her memories that kept her caged, but her surroundings kept her aware that reality offered a different solution. The memories she retained held like torn curtains on the broken glass of her window frame. Her mind cutting and slicing them as they blew through her mind. The wind howled. The bare stone rubbed her skin raw on her bones. A broken crown still clutched in her hands, thrown in to mock her demotion. Her fingers clutched it until they bled. The sky a distant memory, a memory of a memory, reconstructed from her youthful days. The ability to laugh, eat, or smile were gone, along with the teeth that fell from their fixing. Dry gums made due of the tough bread, but all that was gone. They stopped sending in food two days ago. The woman thanked her captors for their mercy and blamed the gods. She decidedly would not play as Job in this scheme she was placed in. Sullenly she shattered their image in her white eyes. Gone to the pit, the deep, the Tartarus of the world. She wept for the release of her stay in this nightmare. Darkness does not wait nor hurry for anyone. It's everywhere all at the same exact instantaneous time it intends to be. There it ended. Mildred felt her face thud against the desk and the drool against her cheek. The cool desk and warm phlegm was oddly pleasant against her skin, in high contrast compared to the bricks that coated her cell. Slowly her eyes opened to her brightly lit surroundings, seeing sun for the first time in thirty years, pouring in from her classroom window. Sixth period English. Mr Schaeffer. The book being read aloud echoed in her mind as her memories tore her from her seat. The teacher stopped his dry monotonous speech on Lord of the Flies and the symbolism of the conch. He looked up somewhat confused and asked if she was alright. She fled. Life gives the memories, the people, and the pain, but never rips it all away. The bathroom. Graffiti covered doors surrounded her as her heart ran and breath shuddered in her chest. Having a new emphasis on beating after ending moments before. The memories flooded back, each one like a drop of acid dripping onto wriggling live flesh. They surpassed her subconscious, assaulted her mind, and made her relive every bit of pain they gave her. Punishing her for no longer living the physical toll placed on her by them. Mildred opened her eyes, trying to see anything other than the memories clouding her mind. The ring. On her finger. The same ring she received seventy years ago, the same ring that caused her all this pain, her memories. She took it off and flushed it down the toilet. “Forget it. Forget it. What the fuck, just calm down, forget it,” she thought. Anger, bitterness, and resentment poured into her. Those people, the torture, left her rigid, on edge. Agonized. She went home, or whatever that could be called once you’ve lived a full life. The road stretched out forever, black tarmac, black wheels on gravel. Chain clicking. She biked. She looked around. This was not home. Home. That didn’t exist. The ring did though. The ring. The ring was gone. She looked at her young, unwrinkled hand. The ring sparkled. Her brain melted and whirled. The ring lay in the dust on the street for the next mile. But returned to its place. Mildred ran into the gas station, her eyes red, her skin pale. The young girl at the register looked her up and down and asked what she needed. Mildred frantically inquired if the lady at the register could see her ring, but the lady just gave an odd smile and asked if she would like to buy anything. The town was blurry, tears streamed down her face, dripping on the dust. One more mile, one more mile, one more mile, one more mile, one more mile. The town; gone. Herself drifting through different air with different clouds with different people with thirty years of pain gone but never gone because they always can feel her scars. The sun shone in her eyes, but she didn’t see. Pierced through but could not touch her soul. The sun sunk over the desert, the blustering wind whipped sand in her eyes, and her mind forgot time. Morning dew, cacti blooms, new sun. The flowers, though beautiful, were not seen by her. Her few days exposed to the elements dried her eyes, white shrunken marbles. Thick with crust. She murmured to herself, twisting the ring, over and over, it bit to the pain. What else could they do to her, nothing they had not already burned into her. Over and over, twist, step, twist steptwiststeptwiststep. Running. Collapsed. Choking dust. Rays of sun hammered down, Pallid skin already baked begins to fester and ooze. The more she loses the more she goes back to the only thing she knows. Death, dying, pain, nothingness. Twist twist twisttwisttwist Breathe flutters in her lungs, in and out, but screams echo in her thoughts. Not this again, life, but it had run out, it was gone, she was no more, was no more. But that was when she could say she is no more, but now she was no more. Death's grip felt loose to her, though its grip strengthened every passing second. Anguish, regret, and anger made her crawl, broken hands on grit and rock. Breathing struggles, breaths shallow and quick, like a mouse being hunted by snakes in its dreams. The sun passes once, one of many, more than most, more pain than most, long and slow, one hand in front of another. Numbness, a sweet release, fire zipped through the limbs, crept in from two holes on the left hand, filled with venom. Time slowed to a stop and released its contract, the fee paid, forgiven and slipped away.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	There comes a point in time when even gods must die. So shifting in my spot, a throne I had not left in near a century, I decided that my parting with the world would be one willing, unlike most of the unfortunate who had been plucked from cities, in skyrises, all at the call of a greater being we knew of, but did not know well. He was my husband. With he, this world of my dreams had once been gifted upon me a reality. He had no name, for I never had reason to call. Always was he there, within the cracks of the stones, my tower spire, the eldest city within all the realm built on the very first ground I stepped upon. He had once tested me here, in this city, after he pulled my soul from the past, when reality was young yet all but jovial. It was not yet ready for god, for magic which was now to me just a discipline of science, nor was it ready for the absolute complexity of unthinkable changes it was about to undergo. I had learned from my time spent, here, with the astral spirit of the wyvern I once liberated from the torment of man, that somewhere, at some time, everything will happen. So had my death. In that time I had once a human name, a fanatic of jewels and rings. I had worn it all this time, and yet never did I realize just what that silver band really was. I was just a child without friends, who was draped in black and intrigued by such jewelry for the hands. I had shed that name once given a moment to, but hearing it again brought almost an uncomfortable slither in this mortal body. Never once had I enjoyed math, but now childplay, I could scribe entire universal laws for the sake of bending them. A simple logarithm was barely a speck of magic to bind to my will. Our children had been brats, but I recognized amongst these people of my beginning a strange familiarity, as if all along they had come to understand the beginning of the very being who had brought them into life. They must've kept away as to not interfere. Suddenly, I realized I was not just without friends. The teacher, he stood, with his eye soon flickered at me. Dark hair, simply dressed. My husband, he was never much one for extraordinary appearances. It was easier to be when one fit in, he was well aware. "Please." I knew he was addressing me, though those in the room who were made of our union must've noticed the quick expressions, the sadness, confusion, unbecoming of the one who was supposed to know all. The title was misleading, instead more accurate would be the one who knew most. He was the only one in the room who had known of my jump in time, and whatever else he'd known, he seemed a bit more sullen than usual. "Pay attention, Anja." He fiddled the band on his left hand before turning back to the projector. I disliked the name still, it bringing ache to the shell of my ear. He must've been sad, knowing that I was soon to become sick, and die. That, this time, my life would end as was expected all those years before, a human woman, unfortunately taken by sickness in a time of great fallout. The child who sat in front of me snuck a peak at their phone, and the headline was about the spread of a new virus, shutting some schools in a country not far from our own. I'd make sure to linger, just in case he wanted to say his goodbyes to me. There comes a time, and a place, when all things happen. I had come back to my beginning, so I could finally see my end. I could finally birth the world that I had loved so dearly, the one I had spent the best of my years in. I was once a god, a being who knew the universe better than he knew himself. I was not dying, not completely. I just finally wanted to fill the cracks he had left empty, where he knew I would rest and where he had made space for my ashes. The world was now ready for god. I closed my eyes, and waited for the bell to ring. ... "I've never seen you cry.. before." A tear fell unto my shoulder.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	There comes a point in time when even gods must die. So shifting in my spot, a throne I had not left in near a century, I decided that my parting with the world would be one willing, unlike most of the unfortunate who had been plucked from cities, in skyrises, all at the call of a greater being we knew of, but did not know well. He was my husband. With he, this world of my dreams had once been gifted upon me a reality. He had no name, for I never had reason to call. Always was he there, within the cracks of the stones, my tower spire, the eldest city within all the realm built on the very first ground I stepped upon. He had once tested me here, in this city, after he pulled my soul from the past, when reality was young yet all but jovial. It was not yet ready for god, for magic which was now to me just a discipline of science, nor was it ready for the absolute complexity of unthinkable changes it was about to undergo. I had learned from my time spent, here, with the astral spirit of the wyvern I once liberated from the torment of man, that somewhere, at some time, everything will happen. So had my death. In that time I had once a human name, a fanatic of jewels and rings. I had worn it all this time, and yet never did I realize just what that silver band really was. I was just a child without friends, who was draped in black and intrigued by such jewelry for the hands. I had shed that name once given a moment to, but hearing it again brought almost an uncomfortable slither in this mortal body. Never once had I enjoyed math, but now childplay, I could scribe entire universal laws for the sake of bending them. A simple logarithm was barely a speck of magic to bind to my will. Our children had been brats, but I recognized amongst these people of my beginning a strange familiarity, as if all along they had come to understand the beginning of the very being who had brought them into life. They must've kept away as to not interfere. Suddenly, I realized I was not just without friends. The teacher, he stood, with his eye soon flickered at me. Dark hair, simply dressed. My husband, he was never much one for extraordinary appearances. It was easier to be when one fit in, he was well aware. "Please." I knew he was addressing me, though those in the room who were made of our union must've noticed the quick expressions, the sadness, confusion, unbecoming of the one who was supposed to know all. The title was misleading, instead more accurate would be the one who knew most. He was the only one in the room who had known of my jump in time, and whatever else he'd known, he seemed a bit more sullen than usual. "Pay attention, Anja." He fiddled the band on his left hand before turning back to the projector. I disliked the name still, it bringing ache to the shell of my ear. He must've been sad, knowing that I was soon to become sick, and die. That, this time, my life would end as was expected all those years before, a human woman, unfortunately taken by sickness in a time of great fallout. The child who sat in front of me snuck a peak at their phone, and the headline was about the spread of a new virus, shutting some schools in a country not far from our own. I'd make sure to linger, just in case he wanted to say his goodbyes to me. There comes a time, and a place, when all things happen. I had come back to my beginning, so I could finally see my end. I could finally birth the world that I had loved so dearly, the one I had spent the best of my years in. I was once a god, a being who knew the universe better than he knew himself. I was not dying, not completely. I just finally wanted to fill the cracks he had left empty, where he knew I would rest and where he had made space for my ashes. The world was now ready for god. I closed my eyes, and waited for the bell to ring. ... "I've never seen you cry.. before." A tear fell unto my shoulder.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	There comes a point in time when even gods must die. So shifting in my spot, a throne I had not left in near a century, I decided that my parting with the world would be one willing, unlike most of the unfortunate who had been plucked from cities, in skyrises, all at the call of a greater being we knew of, but did not know well. He was my husband. With he, this world of my dreams had once been gifted upon me a reality. He had no name, for I never had reason to call. Always was he there, within the cracks of the stones, my tower spire, the eldest city within all the realm built on the very first ground I stepped upon. He had once tested me here, in this city, after he pulled my soul from the past, when reality was young yet all but jovial. It was not yet ready for god, for magic which was now to me just a discipline of science, nor was it ready for the absolute complexity of unthinkable changes it was about to undergo. I had learned from my time spent, here, with the astral spirit of the wyvern I once liberated from the torment of man, that somewhere, at some time, everything will happen. So had my death. In that time I had once a human name, a fanatic of jewels and rings. I had worn it all this time, and yet never did I realize just what that silver band really was. I was just a child without friends, who was draped in black and intrigued by such jewelry for the hands. I had shed that name once given a moment to, but hearing it again brought almost an uncomfortable slither in this mortal body. Never once had I enjoyed math, but now childplay, I could scribe entire universal laws for the sake of bending them. A simple logarithm was barely a speck of magic to bind to my will. Our children had been brats, but I recognized amongst these people of my beginning a strange familiarity, as if all along they had come to understand the beginning of the very being who had brought them into life. They must've kept away as to not interfere. Suddenly, I realized I was not just without friends. The teacher, he stood, with his eye soon flickered at me. Dark hair, simply dressed. My husband, he was never much one for extraordinary appearances. It was easier to be when one fit in, he was well aware. "Please." I knew he was addressing me, though those in the room who were made of our union must've noticed the quick expressions, the sadness, confusion, unbecoming of the one who was supposed to know all. The title was misleading, instead more accurate would be the one who knew most. He was the only one in the room who had known of my jump in time, and whatever else he'd known, he seemed a bit more sullen than usual. "Pay attention, Anja." He fiddled the band on his left hand before turning back to the projector. I disliked the name still, it bringing ache to the shell of my ear. He must've been sad, knowing that I was soon to become sick, and die. That, this time, my life would end as was expected all those years before, a human woman, unfortunately taken by sickness in a time of great fallout. The child who sat in front of me snuck a peak at their phone, and the headline was about the spread of a new virus, shutting some schools in a country not far from our own. I'd make sure to linger, just in case he wanted to say his goodbyes to me. There comes a time, and a place, when all things happen. I had come back to my beginning, so I could finally see my end. I could finally birth the world that I had loved so dearly, the one I had spent the best of my years in. I was once a god, a being who knew the universe better than he knew himself. I was not dying, not completely. I just finally wanted to fill the cracks he had left empty, where he knew I would rest and where he had made space for my ashes. The world was now ready for god. I closed my eyes, and waited for the bell to ring. ... "I've never seen you cry.. before." A tear fell unto my shoulder.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.	There comes a point in time when even gods must die. So shifting in my spot, a throne I had not left in near a century, I decided that my parting with the world would be one willing, unlike most of the unfortunate who had been plucked from cities, in skyrises, all at the call of a greater being we knew of, but did not know well. He was my husband. With he, this world of my dreams had once been gifted upon me a reality. He had no name, for I never had reason to call. Always was he there, within the cracks of the stones, my tower spire, the eldest city within all the realm built on the very first ground I stepped upon. He had once tested me here, in this city, after he pulled my soul from the past, when reality was young yet all but jovial. It was not yet ready for god, for magic which was now to me just a discipline of science, nor was it ready for the absolute complexity of unthinkable changes it was about to undergo. I had learned from my time spent, here, with the astral spirit of the wyvern I once liberated from the torment of man, that somewhere, at some time, everything will happen. So had my death. In that time I had once a human name, a fanatic of jewels and rings. I had worn it all this time, and yet never did I realize just what that silver band really was. I was just a child without friends, who was draped in black and intrigued by such jewelry for the hands. I had shed that name once given a moment to, but hearing it again brought almost an uncomfortable slither in this mortal body. Never once had I enjoyed math, but now childplay, I could scribe entire universal laws for the sake of bending them. A simple logarithm was barely a speck of magic to bind to my will. Our children had been brats, but I recognized amongst these people of my beginning a strange familiarity, as if all along they had come to understand the beginning of the very being who had brought them into life. They must've kept away as to not interfere. Suddenly, I realized I was not just without friends. The teacher, he stood, with his eye soon flickered at me. Dark hair, simply dressed. My husband, he was never much one for extraordinary appearances. It was easier to be when one fit in, he was well aware. "Please." I knew he was addressing me, though those in the room who were made of our union must've noticed the quick expressions, the sadness, confusion, unbecoming of the one who was supposed to know all. The title was misleading, instead more accurate would be the one who knew most. He was the only one in the room who had known of my jump in time, and whatever else he'd known, he seemed a bit more sullen than usual. "Pay attention, Anja." He fiddled the band on his left hand before turning back to the projector. I disliked the name still, it bringing ache to the shell of my ear. He must've been sad, knowing that I was soon to become sick, and die. That, this time, my life would end as was expected all those years before, a human woman, unfortunately taken by sickness in a time of great fallout. The child who sat in front of me snuck a peak at their phone, and the headline was about the spread of a new virus, shutting some schools in a country not far from our own. I'd make sure to linger, just in case he wanted to say his goodbyes to me. There comes a time, and a place, when all things happen. I had come back to my beginning, so I could finally see my end. I could finally birth the world that I had loved so dearly, the one I had spent the best of my years in. I was once a god, a being who knew the universe better than he knew himself. I was not dying, not completely. I just finally wanted to fill the cracks he had left empty, where he knew I would rest and where he had made space for my ashes. The world was now ready for god. I closed my eyes, and waited for the bell to ring. ... "I've never seen you cry.. before." A tear fell unto my shoulder.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	There comes a point in time when even gods must die. So shifting in my spot, a throne I had not left in near a century, I decided that my parting with the world would be one willing, unlike most of the unfortunate who had been plucked from cities, in skyrises, all at the call of a greater being we knew of, but did not know well. He was my husband. With he, this world of my dreams had once been gifted upon me a reality. He had no name, for I never had reason to call. Always was he there, within the cracks of the stones, my tower spire, the eldest city within all the realm built on the very first ground I stepped upon. He had once tested me here, in this city, after he pulled my soul from the past, when reality was young yet all but jovial. It was not yet ready for god, for magic which was now to me just a discipline of science, nor was it ready for the absolute complexity of unthinkable changes it was about to undergo. I had learned from my time spent, here, with the astral spirit of the wyvern I once liberated from the torment of man, that somewhere, at some time, everything will happen. So had my death. In that time I had once a human name, a fanatic of jewels and rings. I had worn it all this time, and yet never did I realize just what that silver band really was. I was just a child without friends, who was draped in black and intrigued by such jewelry for the hands. I had shed that name once given a moment to, but hearing it again brought almost an uncomfortable slither in this mortal body. Never once had I enjoyed math, but now childplay, I could scribe entire universal laws for the sake of bending them. A simple logarithm was barely a speck of magic to bind to my will. Our children had been brats, but I recognized amongst these people of my beginning a strange familiarity, as if all along they had come to understand the beginning of the very being who had brought them into life. They must've kept away as to not interfere. Suddenly, I realized I was not just without friends. The teacher, he stood, with his eye soon flickered at me. Dark hair, simply dressed. My husband, he was never much one for extraordinary appearances. It was easier to be when one fit in, he was well aware. "Please." I knew he was addressing me, though those in the room who were made of our union must've noticed the quick expressions, the sadness, confusion, unbecoming of the one who was supposed to know all. The title was misleading, instead more accurate would be the one who knew most. He was the only one in the room who had known of my jump in time, and whatever else he'd known, he seemed a bit more sullen than usual. "Pay attention, Anja." He fiddled the band on his left hand before turning back to the projector. I disliked the name still, it bringing ache to the shell of my ear. He must've been sad, knowing that I was soon to become sick, and die. That, this time, my life would end as was expected all those years before, a human woman, unfortunately taken by sickness in a time of great fallout. The child who sat in front of me snuck a peak at their phone, and the headline was about the spread of a new virus, shutting some schools in a country not far from our own. I'd make sure to linger, just in case he wanted to say his goodbyes to me. There comes a time, and a place, when all things happen. I had come back to my beginning, so I could finally see my end. I could finally birth the world that I had loved so dearly, the one I had spent the best of my years in. I was once a god, a being who knew the universe better than he knew himself. I was not dying, not completely. I just finally wanted to fill the cracks he had left empty, where he knew I would rest and where he had made space for my ashes. The world was now ready for god. I closed my eyes, and waited for the bell to ring. ... "I've never seen you cry.. before." A tear fell unto my shoulder.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	After I lost my arms in the 4th war of Katak, I had a hard time maintaining my diary. War is hell, they say, I have lost all my friends one after the other. There are only a few people alive who still remember the pale days, the drought, and the nagas. My daughter has done a good job so far as the queen, hope she remains a just queen after I have gone. Will these days of peace last? A naga's words are their law and the gem on my finger represents their promise. I spend my evening in the court gardens, tell stories to my grandson, tales of another world where we had captured the power of the sun, where lighting moves through metals wire and give us lights. He also loves hearing about his grandfather. He went search for another land with flowing rivers. Rivers returned to our lands but he didn't. Sixty years is a long time. I only have a few things to look forward to, the entire nation celebrated my 90th birthday. "Long live the queen, long live the domain of man!" could be heard from everywhere. I wanted to spend my evening with my family and have the court suspended for the day. I didn't want a celebration, I didn't want any gifts, I had nothing to prove to my subjects nor did I want anything in return. I returned my quarters to find hundreds of gifts littered. I asked my servants to clear the pathway. But something caught my eye, it was a book with golden borders and had an eye of a naga at the center. I was a gift by my grandson, he has been writing by tales and stories which I had said to him over the last decade and wanted to gift me it. I didn't want to sleep tonight, with my fading memory there was so much I have forgotten. I asked one of my servants to read it to me as I slept. The windows were open and the moonlight was shining in. A gust of cold wind brushed across my face, it was going to be a long night. *** this is my first post here and I have never written anything like this. Typed it from mobile will correct any grammar or spelling mistakes tomorrow from my PC.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Another dawn has come. This one is oddly silent. I haven't had a silent dawn since I learned to harness time. I don't hear the roosters crowing, the kitchens churning, the dogs barking, the waterfall should be clear as day from my room. The sound of the waterfall was one of the reasons I made it my final room. Where has that glorious thunder disappeared to? Now all I hear is a low hum. A hum that seems so familiar, like the sound of Amonar, the great dragon, asleep in his lair, but different. Where have I heard it before? Was it one of the singers? One of the lullabies for the children? The sky fliers? Didn't I have the high alchemsit make a dream catcher that made this noise? I don't remember. The bed feels so soft. Was it always this soft? Something is different. Where are my silk sheets? I had to slay a thousand ice spiders to have those sheets made. They are my death sheets and they shall be my shroud. A sharp reminder to all those who will see them, I ruled over the greatest expansion the realm has ever known. I will banish the servant who had them replaced in the night. What am I saying? Servants don't replace sheets in the night. What do these sheets feel like? Cotton? Maybe they moved me to Sarula's room? An unfamiliar ceiling? No, wait, I think I recognize it. Nevermind, it's gone. I don't recognize this ceiling at all. The texture, the colors, and the height, are all wrong. Maybe a tavern I stayed at? The height... focus on the height. Why is the ceiling near? What material is that? It isn't stone, of that much I am certain. Every Ceiling in the palace is stone, the most beautiful obsidian. It was harvested in the time of Amonar's ancient ancestors, when human and dragon fought side by side. That SMELL? It creeps into my mind like a vine into stone. I feel a taste rising in my throat, all bitter and burnt, but with accents of vanilla and hazelnut and .... caramel? I haven't had caramel since before I came to this land. All those years ago, I still remember Tasha, making her morning coffee and threatening to pour it on me if i didn't get out of bed. "WAKE UP!!" yelled Tasha. And I awoke, to see Tasha standing over me, holding her coffee in a threatening manner. " I remember you." I said. Tasha just looked at me and said " Stop being weird. Hurry up and get ready, classes start in 30." Then Tasha left the room and closed the door on her way out. As I sat up, my mind started moving in a thousand directions at once. Classes? Coffee? Ice cream? Chocolate? My Family!? My daughter. The realm, Magic? My husband!? It was like an avalanche inside a closet. When I finally exited my stupor, I realize I was already dressed. How did that happen? Snap out of it, take stock. You can figure this out. Where am I? I know this room. It is the dorm room I shared at boarding school with Tasha. It is the room that contains the nexus. Who are you? I am the ruler of the 12 realms, the keeper of the final key, I am the herald of the 12th age, and I am the Breaker of Time. I am Alyssa, daughter of neglectful parents, sent off to boarding school, because I no longer fit into either of their lives. When is it? If Tasha's calendar is correct it is the day after my 16th birthday. It is the day after I transcended realms. What am I? I am human, always have been, always will be. What do I have? Everything around me is the same as when I left, as far as I can tell. Right down to my perfectly pressed uniform. As I glance in the mirror though, something about my reflection feels off. It's something I didn't have before. there is a ring on my ring finger. A simple ring, with a weaved pattern alternating between onyx and ivory. The Final key. I have to go back.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well this was unexpected. Maya Church blinked her eyes open to find that she was a sixteen year old girl lying in her bed. Now, for a great many people, this would not be an unusual occurrence. After all, there are many sixteen year old girls in the world and as I am sure even the most open minded among you will agree, they should generally be waking in their own beds. However, this was different. Because Maya could have sworn that when she fell asleep last night, she was 106 years old and frankly, really quite dead. She sat up and looked around. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, when she left all those years ago. A small pile of clothes on the floor that she meant to put in the drawers, but never seemed to find the energy to sort. The vintage hollywood posters on her walls that in hindsight, were more of a statement of teenage intent than any genuine interest. Even the ugly faux flower pot gifted by Aunt Rose seemed exactly the same. Sitting up straight, Maya took a moment to consider the options in front of her. The most logical - and Maya had always prided herself on being a creature of logic - explanation was that she had been engaged in a long and vivid dream. Yes. A dream. In fact, sitting there in her room of Hollywood posters and faux flowers, she cold feel the fantasy land of dragon slaying and throne sitting slipping through the memory traps of her brain, as even the most convincing dreams often do. Bringing her hands together, she decided she would take a breath before getting on with her real day. As she touched her hands together though, she felt a cold, spherical snag in her plan make itself known. Opening her eyes, the wedding ring she had dreamt so vividly about had made its way on the fourth finger of her real life, not a dream hand. The one her absolutely a dream and absolutely not real husband, Hans, had placed on her dream hand over half a dream century ago. Sitting on the school bus 45 minutes later, Maya was still preoccupied with the ring on her hand. She was certain she hadn't owned it before last night, where she had dreamt of the land of Erune and of heroics, adoration and Hans. Tucked away in the back corner where no one would pay attention to her, she twisted the ring on her finger and contemplated whether or not the psychotic break she was clearly having could at least translate in to a half decent college essay one day. Pulling up to the school, Maya snapped out of her daydream to make her way off of the bus and on to the campus of her high school. Before she could safely make the transition from bus to pavement however, a solid figure at least a full foot taller than her attempted to occupy the very same paving slab Maya herself was aiming for. The result was a sudden collision that knocked the considerably smaller Maya on to the floor in a manner that most certainly did not become an imaginary queen. Looking up from her new spot on the floor, Maya readied herself to give a short but brutal tongue lashing that would inevitably put this tall slab stealer in his place. Just before she could begin her assault, however, the sight that greeted her knocked all witty or acerbic comments clean out of her head. There he was. Stood in front of her. Hans. Her Hans. Exactly as he looked when she met him all those years ago. Bending down to help her, he came in close so no one else would hear. "Hello Maya", he whispered.	As I let my eyes fall shut for the final time I reminisce over what a great life I had. I slew the Infernal Terror wreaking havoc over the city of Darkham; I married a dashing prince and eventually became Queen of the human empire; and I gave birth to three adventurous children who have each grown up to have their own amazing lives. What a life I lived. I can shut my eyes and die a happy woman. &#x200B; ... &#x200B; I open my eyes and to my surprise I find myself staring at a blackboard, in front of which is a rather rotund man addressing the room. I appear to be wearing a school uniform. Grey shirt with a yellow blazer, definitely the uniform I wore before I was whisked away to the magical world some eighty-odd years ago. I throw my eyes shut, take a few breaths and open them again. Now the man at the front of the room, who I recognise as my Year Eleven maths teacher Mr Baker, has sat down at his desk whilst everyone else leaves the room. In disbelief at what is happening I glance down to look at my hands, oddly my Diamond encrusted wedding ring the Prince Jeremiah placed upon the index finger of my left hand on the day of our wedding is still there. How could this be? How is it possible that I have reappeared in my old body, the body of a sixteen-year old, but I still possess the wedding ring from my body in the magical land I was thrown into. "Emily is everything alright?" the balding Mr Baker enquires, as I realise I'm the only person left in poorly decorated public school classroom with him. I struggle to find a response, trying to get to grips with the situation that I have found myself in, uttering a brief, "I don't feel too well... I've got to go.", before hurrying out of the room into the almost familiar hallway of Peterstown High School for girls. &#x200B; \_\_\_ &#x200B; Not really sure how to end my response, this was my first response to a Writing Prompt so it'd be nice to hear some feedback. Hope you enjoyed!
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	“And that's where we get the sine function from this cir...” BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! Cut off Ms. Dalton, and sounded the end of the school day. The class rustled around Mckayla, as Ms. Dalton said “Okay, odd problems on page one-oh-five for Monday, no, make it Tuesday. You can procrastinate till Monday." She grinned. "Have a great weekend!” None of it seemed real after a month back. Having a young body felt beyond great, after being a bedridden hundred-and-six year old crone. Not just any crone, having succeeded the childless [Samantha the Second](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/duy8hz/wp_you_are_a_mighty_dragon_the_kind_who_kidnaps/f7a8twb/) first as regent, then as full-fledged Queen and founder of a new house. Not everyone knew their history, though. Okay, Boomer... a voice from my old life echoed into my new, then I remembered that the old was new again... "Hey." A hand waved in front of my face, my trig teacher smiling behind it. The room was empty but for us. I was off in space again. Not space, my life of the past ninety years... "Oh. Sorry, Nan... Mizz Dalton." I closed my notebook, then my textbook, gathering them up. I had the homework assignment committed to memory. She grinned impishly. "You see anyone else here? It's fuckin' Nancy, silly lady." With a mane of silver hair, slim figure and good looks all around, the boys still ogled Ms. Dalton at all fifty-eight of her years. "Are you really okay?" She dragged a desk next to me and sat down. "For the past month you've been taciturn, withdrawn, you've said things that, well, I don't know..." Would sound wise beyond my years, if I'd learned them on Earth, I finished Nancy's sentence in my mind with the information she lacked. "I guess I had an epiphany last month, it's hard to describe," I replied with a forced sigh. A ninety year epiphany. Woke up in Elbadorn, slew a dragon the next day, raised a family, became Queen... And brought back one artifact that might prove it, something I can never let anyone find. "You just started driving again on Monday, in that car of yours." Nancy grinned devilishly again. "It's twenty-nineteen, and there are adults my age who can't drive stick. That's a badass Mustang you've got, and you stopped driving it for over three weeks. You asked Mister Cliffton for a copy of the rules of the road booklet again, right?" "Yeah," I said with another forced sigh. "I never expected a new Mustang GT convertible for my sixteenth birthday, but well, my dad does pretty well for himself." He's a hedge fund manager, and drives a twelve cylinder BMW 7 Series for himself, and just leased an X7 for my mom. Just leased... That's 1092 months ago to me. "I want to show him that I appreciate it." "You had to learn to drive again, didn't you?" Nancy looked me in the eyes. "I, well..." Two men in suits were walking into the classroom. "Mckayla." One of them, a tall black man with a thin mustache said as they approached, grabbing their own desks and screeching them closer to Nancy and I. His partner was older, a white man with gray hair, but appeared to be the junior of the two. Wait, that's former Sheriff Patterson, he went to work for Homeland Security... Ninety year old memories resurfaced. Agent Patterson smiled. "You remember me, Mckayla, but it took a minute." "You guys are with Homeland Security." I was breathing heavier, and my muscles tensed. "What's going on?" Nancy was visibly uncomfortable, looking downward, avoiding my gaze, like she'd... Sold me out. The thirty-something agent took over again. "Na... Mizz Dalton here found the ring you have." Oh no. Nonono... I thought of the last time I'd looked at it in the box in my locker; a week. I'd been talking to Nancy at my locker around that time, oh nonono... "That ring's dangerous," I blurted. "Illegal, to be honest. I mean, it's like brass knuckles, only a lot worse." The agent in charge smiled gently. "We know. We know because we had a physicist look at it, and the stone..." He turned serious, skeptical. "He said that the stone in the ring has negative mass." I stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. That... Actually makes perfect sense. Nancy beamed noticeably; I reached over and gave her triceps a mild squeeze between my thumb and forefinger. She was my first grade teacher, then my neighbor, then my algebra and trig teacher in high school, and had been nothing but a friend along the way. Yes, that includes the detention she gave me freshman year, and the fifty real push-ups she'd given me while subbing as PE teacher, for swearing at my miss in volleyball (Christ, my arms felt like they were going to fall off, but I'd managed them all). Even if she'd wronged in this case, you can bet your ass I'd forgive her. "That explains a lot, actually," I said. "If you were to punch someone with it, hard enough, their face would be brought forward into your hand." I cringed at the memory of doing just that, to an evil knight who on Earth would get a noose at the Hague. Nancy beamed, briefly, at my understanding of advanced physics. "And where did you get it?" The agent in charge asked, while the older agent wrote in a spiral notebook. I became, to an observer, emotionless and deadpan. "It was my wedding ring, also the dowry from the groom's father." He had been the one marrying up, but I had loved him dearly for sixty years. Nancy was visibly confused, as you'd expect. The Homeland Security agents kept poker faces, my former county sheriff continuing to write while his younger senior went on with the questions. "Your wedding ring... What happened Mckayla?" Nancy was now looking at me wide-eyed. She knew what negative mass was, and I should have too. But Nancy was more than just a high school math and physics teacher; she wrote a best-selling book on popular science. If you know the name Nancy Dalton that's why. She has friends who do important work in those fields, and, well, I'm almost positive she's hooked up with Neil Degrasse Tyson a few times after her divorce, but obviously that's none of my business. Again, ninety year old memories flooding back. In my mind, I should still be in Elbadorn, the hundred-and-six year old former girl paladin queen. "A month ago, by your reckoning," I said devoid of any expression. "i went to sleep on a Sunday night, and woke up somewhere else. A planet like ours, that I later learned to be of the exact same size, with the same sun and moon, but a different map. A different world. Dragons. Magic... As crazy as that sounds, you now have a piece of that magic." The ring of my fidelity to Bravahan. "How long were you there?" The younger agent asked. "Ninety years, almost exactly. I died a month ago, at a hundred and six. I woke up on a Sunday morning back here." Back here, on a bizarre world of technology, where an argument about what year Drake's first album came out can be settled by taking out a supercomputer in your pocket. "Well, you remember Steve," he nodded at the older agent. "And so you know that we're Homeland Security. We're what you might call the Dubyau-Tee-Eff agents, if you'll pardon the abbreviation." He grinned weakly. "We need to fully debrief you. We're almost certain you were on a world, well, parallel to our own." "Many worlds interpretation." I blurted automatically, from more than a lifetime ago. Nancy beamed again, and returned the pinch to my arm. "Exactly." The older man, my county's former sheriff, said in his gravelly voice. "We actually know of Elbadorn; well, we were just cleared for it yesterday, and were up most of the night reading about it." He gave his own weak grin. "Your kingdom has found itself in trouble since your death there, rather quickly I'm afraid." I tensed. The blackguard Androlin? Oh no, I thought he was exiled. "You'll learn all the details, but for now we can tell you that this has a direct bearing on United States national security." The younger agent spoke again. "We know you're no sixteen year old girl. You're not a centenarian of our world either, but you have all the wisdom we need and then some. We can get you back to the land you've called home for almost all of your life, with the means to come back here. Will you help both of your nations, the USA and Elbadorn?" I straightened in my desk. "Fuckin' A." The two agents and my teacher went wide-eyed. "I mean, yessir." I smiled and blushed. "Where do we start?"	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well I'm in hell. Yeah turns out a lifetime of whoring, fighting and drinking had caught up with me like that priest said it would. I still feel bad about that priest his knees caps still make a funny popping noise when he stands Sure I calmed down a bit when I got older, popped out a couple of screaming little shits with the blue eyed bloke I'd saved from the tower. But end of the day you give a girl from deepest darkest London a stonking great broadsword and a crown you know what you are going to end up with. A rolled up ball of paper bounced off my head and a whole lot of memories came rushing back. So much time spent trying to be good and nice that I might as well had a boot rest installed on the back of head. I spent the first couple months in that world doing the same frilly dresses, balls and dances, the perfect pretty princess. Trying to be the proper toff my mum always wanted. But deep down in my chest was my dad, lower class and damn proud of it. The kinda guy that would work all day, drink all night and still find time to spend with his daughter and teach her how to build a sink or throw a punch. Poor bastard tried to do what was right by his blood not his fault he was mum's stupid university mistake. So I spent most of my time with mum and her richie rich friends always feeling like the odd one out but dad fought hard enough that every other weekend he got to see his princess, and teach her to be proud of being the odd one out. So after almost two years in this new world being the princess my mum wanted I became the kind of princess my dad always wanted. Sure there was whole generation of princes that was suddenly sporting broken noses, a traumatized general a minor peasant revolt, and the whole Pantry Incident. But in the end I took the crown and me and my lads ended up conquering most of the known world. A second ball of paper bounced off my head and I was reminded that I wasn't in the kingdom anymore, I would have to fight my way back up. And if that didn't sound like a grand old time. The gaggle of girls standing in the corner throwing paper at me suddenly went still when they met my eyes. Dirty brown eyes that had stared down gods and kings alike with the same mixture of open hearted glee and bloodlust. I approached their table I didn't even bother saying a word and bounced the obvious queen's head off the desk like a football, her nose making a delightful crack as blood splattered on the desk. Every eye was on me now and I just kept smiling as I stood up on the recently vacated chair and cleared my throat. "Right then, as you neerdowells might know I am Sally. You probably think of me as a prissy little prig you can push around. That ends now! I am the new boss, what I say goes or I break your fucking skull. But there are perks to this arrangement you do what I say and I will lead to not just glory and honor, I will lead to all the booze, class As and loose women your pubescent hearts could want. And if anyone ever fucks with you, I will bring down such vengeance upon them that they will regret the 30 seconds of grunting and humping that lead to their birth. Now all you need to spread the news to the rest of the school that they work for me now." I plopped down on my new plastic throne and began planning, a bunch of peasant kids wasn't the finest army I'd ever had but it wasn't the worst either. Now I had the first part of a kingdom an army, now I just needed cash flow. I knew there was a little drug den a block away from school, they probably wouldn't be inclined to give it up to a school girl. I idly played with the ring still sitting on my hand and the power thrumming through it. Of course I've never got anything good by asking. A/N:I had a lot of fun writing this and I might write more if anyone shows an interest.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	\[Poem\] English is not my first language and I don't know the rules for English poetry, but here's a try. \--- When I awake, I remember dying When I awake, I remember the queen When I awake, I remember slaying And then I remembered whence I came from. Here, I am nothing of their champion Only a young girl striving for attention. While there, I was their queen. Here, I have to go to school Once more wear their uniform and obey their rules. While there, I was their law. Here, I am only sixteen And a daughter, youngest of the family. While there, I was their mother. Here, we have no magic We have no dragon to kill nor mages to love. While there, I slew their monsters. I may still have my ring, I may still remember, But here, is the real world.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Maggie stared out the classroom window idly twirling the ring on her finger as she thought back to the dream she had last night. It wasn’t quite the same dream she’d been having for the past two weeks, but she knew, deep down, she was dreaming of the same place. Last night she walked in a forest thick with red and gold leaves, the smell of fall crisp on the wind. In her hands she held the leather reins of a horse as she led it along the path. She remembered the horse was black as midnight, and the silver reins stood out against its sleek hide. It was a mare, her mare, gifted to her by her husband for their tenth anniversary. She never dreamt of a man, but the girl who sat in the saddle had his thick black hair and wild freckles. The circlet around her head was the only indication of her status. Could you smell in a dream, because even hours later she could still catch the distinct smell of horse and leather, as if the animal stood right beside her. In the mornings when she woke up she could only feel a horrible longing, a deep pull from deep within that left her heart bruised and melancholic. There were tears on her pillows and every time she thought back to her dreams she struggled to keep them back. She didn’t understand why these dreams felt so real. They’d started when she’d accidentally fallen asleep in her History class. Maggie wasn’t a bad student, but she’d been so tired and the classroom so warm she couldn’t help but doze off. In her dream, she’d slain a dragon, became a queen, lived a whole, beautiful life until she was an old woman. She remembered closing her eyes to go to sleep, and waking up with her teacher still on the same slide about the French Revolution. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the intense grief that followed, she would have never thought she’d fallen asleep to begin with. There was a tap on her shoulder and Maggie was broken from her trance. Standing above her was her friend Camille, a sweet, soft smile on her lips. “That dream again?” she asked, kneeling next to the desk. Maggie shrugged, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Has this ever happened to you? Like, it’s not the same dream, but I know it’s in the same, I don’t know, universe? Storyline?” “Can’t say that I have,” Camille replied softly, placing a sympathetic hand on her friend’s. She traced a finger along the design of the ring. “Maybe it has something to do with this ring? Didn’t it just, like, suddenly appear?” “Hm? No, remember? My mom bought it for me.” Right? It’d been a sixteenth birthday gift. Camille scrunched her nose but didn’t argue. They’d been friends since kindergarten and Maggie wasn’t prone to melodrama and her new lethargy scared her. But she was certain Maggie would open up to her in her own time. “Did that book on dreaming help you at all?” Maggie chuckled. “I can tell you that falling is about anxiety and something about teeth falling out.” She’d kill to have a teeth falling out dream, just anything to break the cycle. Camille let out an exasperated sigh, got up, and draped herself over her friend. “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m just scared you’re not alright.” Maggie clutched her friends arms and buried her face in the crook of it. “I’m okay, I promise.” The man appeared in her dream that night, tall and strapping, with scars along his arms and his chest covered in thick black hair. He was kissing down her neck and her fingers were buried in his hair and her skin burned under his touch. He looked at her, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his hazel eyes, as he slowly undid her tunic. This was her husband, she thought possessively, the man who’d won her over with his wit and charm. She loved him with every deepest fiber of her being, and would love him until her final breath. She awoke just as his fingers slipped beneath her trousers, annoyed and frustrated. But when her body stopped tingling with unfulfilled lust, all she could feel was the deepest yearning, like a piece had been ripped from her. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, hating these dreams but ardently desiring them. Something from her had been torn away after that day in History, a joke in her heart that grew with each passing day. Her mother was in the kitchen when Maggie finally emerged from her room. Her mother, her rock, had noticed the change in her daughter but didn’t intrude. She remembered sixteen and its ever changing moods. But the dark cloud that hovered over her hadn’t moved, and she needed to know, whether or not Maggie was interested in talking. She placed a cup of tea at Maggie’s place at the table, and sat in the adjacent seat. “Want to talk about it?” she asked. “About what?” Maggie deflected. “Let’s start with the scars on your shoulder,” her mother said, looking pointedly at the jagged lines that peaked out of the collar of her shirt. Maggie wanted to tell her a dragon did it, the dragon she slew to become queen, because she knew in her heart that’s what did it. She remembered slaying the dragon. Or had she dreamt it as well? “Or how about the ring, if you can’t talk to me about the scars.” A ring given to her by her husband. He’d proposed with the ring, crafted by the most skilled jewelers in her Queendom. She remembered him proposing next to the river they’d gone swimming in, his naked body lazily stretched out beside her. He’d never taken anything seriously, and she’d laughed until he produced the ring and she knew he was hers forever. “Maggie, please talk to me. I know sixteen is rough and I just want to help you.” How could she explain the dreams? Memories? Both? How could she tell her mother that when she stood in the wind she could hear the clanging of metal from the blacksmiths and smell the meat roasting on their spits. How a mans laugh tugged at her heart and how every black haired girl made her think to the daughter she both had and didn’t have. Maggie smiled at her mother. “I swear I’m fine,” she lied. “I...I was rejected by a boy I like and it hurts.” She hated lying to her mother but it provided the necessary relief. Her mother stood and began busying herself around the kitchen. “Any plans for the day?” she asked. Maggie stared out the window. She had the whole weekend to figure things out. It was fall, and a wild wind called to her. Maggie walked in the slowly changing woods, her hands instinctively reaching for reigns that weren’t there. She heard her daughter’s laugh as she reached up to touch the leaves that dangled above her. “Don’t let go, Adelaidela,” Maggie said to her phantom daughter. There was no one there. She was alone. But the wind whispered to her. She let it push her, until she eventually reached a still pool surrounded by blooming flowers. It was warm here, untouched by the changing seasons, and the air smelled of the static charge that followed a lighting storm. Maggie was unsure of what to call the feeling that washed over her. Tears began spilling down her cheeks. There was an intense familiarity about the place and Maggie had the overwhelming sense of being home and safe as she stood over the pool. Kneeling, she leaned over and stared at her reflection, her tears creating ripples in the water. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered. “I’m so scared I’m going insane and I can’t figure it out.” Her reflection couldn’t answer. She lay down next to the pool and closed her eyes, allowing the stillness to ease her into a light slumber. “Are you ever going to wake up?” a deep male voice crooned. “Never,” she whispered, but she still opened her eyes to see her husband, Tristan, leaning over her. He kissed her deeply, a prelude to their passion, but he pulled back. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Stay with me.” He shook his head. “I am gone, my dearest heart. Our daughter sits on her throne, as will her daughter after. The land is at peace and we’re no longer needed.” “I need to know you’re real.” She choked back tears as she felt him pulling away. “I was real, Magdalena, as was your time as our great Queen. And now it’s time to go.” “I don’t want to lose you!” she cried. “Never, my dearest heart. In one life or another, I’ll always find you.” The dream was fading, she was pleading with him to stay but she knew he couldn’t. She was waking up and her beautiful life was over. She had been a Queen, a great ruler with a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter. She had slain a dragon, tamed the wilds, cultivated lands. She had loved and lost and returned and now it was time to wake up. She wiped away the tears and opened her eyes. Time was meaningless in this little space, and she couldn’t tell how long she’d been asleep, but she was pleased to find the hurt had been cleared from her heart. The longing remained, and she suspected it always would. The crisp, clean air of the clearing refreshed her and helped wash away the melancholy. As Maggie walked back through the forest, the memories of her previous life returned. Feasts celebrating visiting dignitaries, her daughter training with the squires, Tristan holding her at night in their bed. And when she emerged, she was both Maggie and Queen Magdalena, a magnificent blend of the girl she was and the woman she would eventually become. The wild wind whipped at her, reminding her of the rides on her mare over the moors of her Queendom. There was no Queendom, no mares, no moors, but as she stood just outside the forest she was content. She accepted that her other life was over, and she would be comforted by the memories. But that’s all they were now, beautiful memories, and as Maggie twisted the ring on her finger and breathed in the fresh, clean air, she was ready to begin again.	A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago. She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her. Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own. Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again. And then she noticed her magic ring. Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.	A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago. She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her. Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own. Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again. And then she noticed her magic ring. Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Another dawn has come. This one is oddly silent. I haven't had a silent dawn since I learned to harness time. I don't hear the roosters crowing, the kitchens churning, the dogs barking, the waterfall should be clear as day from my room. The sound of the waterfall was one of the reasons I made it my final room. Where has that glorious thunder disappeared to? Now all I hear is a low hum. A hum that seems so familiar, like the sound of Amonar, the great dragon, asleep in his lair, but different. Where have I heard it before? Was it one of the singers? One of the lullabies for the children? The sky fliers? Didn't I have the high alchemsit make a dream catcher that made this noise? I don't remember. The bed feels so soft. Was it always this soft? Something is different. Where are my silk sheets? I had to slay a thousand ice spiders to have those sheets made. They are my death sheets and they shall be my shroud. A sharp reminder to all those who will see them, I ruled over the greatest expansion the realm has ever known. I will banish the servant who had them replaced in the night. What am I saying? Servants don't replace sheets in the night. What do these sheets feel like? Cotton? Maybe they moved me to Sarula's room? An unfamiliar ceiling? No, wait, I think I recognize it. Nevermind, it's gone. I don't recognize this ceiling at all. The texture, the colors, and the height, are all wrong. Maybe a tavern I stayed at? The height... focus on the height. Why is the ceiling near? What material is that? It isn't stone, of that much I am certain. Every Ceiling in the palace is stone, the most beautiful obsidian. It was harvested in the time of Amonar's ancient ancestors, when human and dragon fought side by side. That SMELL? It creeps into my mind like a vine into stone. I feel a taste rising in my throat, all bitter and burnt, but with accents of vanilla and hazelnut and .... caramel? I haven't had caramel since before I came to this land. All those years ago, I still remember Tasha, making her morning coffee and threatening to pour it on me if i didn't get out of bed. "WAKE UP!!" yelled Tasha. And I awoke, to see Tasha standing over me, holding her coffee in a threatening manner. " I remember you." I said. Tasha just looked at me and said " Stop being weird. Hurry up and get ready, classes start in 30." Then Tasha left the room and closed the door on her way out. As I sat up, my mind started moving in a thousand directions at once. Classes? Coffee? Ice cream? Chocolate? My Family!? My daughter. The realm, Magic? My husband!? It was like an avalanche inside a closet. When I finally exited my stupor, I realize I was already dressed. How did that happen? Snap out of it, take stock. You can figure this out. Where am I? I know this room. It is the dorm room I shared at boarding school with Tasha. It is the room that contains the nexus. Who are you? I am the ruler of the 12 realms, the keeper of the final key, I am the herald of the 12th age, and I am the Breaker of Time. I am Alyssa, daughter of neglectful parents, sent off to boarding school, because I no longer fit into either of their lives. When is it? If Tasha's calendar is correct it is the day after my 16th birthday. It is the day after I transcended realms. What am I? I am human, always have been, always will be. What do I have? Everything around me is the same as when I left, as far as I can tell. Right down to my perfectly pressed uniform. As I glance in the mirror though, something about my reflection feels off. It's something I didn't have before. there is a ring on my ring finger. A simple ring, with a weaved pattern alternating between onyx and ivory. The Final key. I have to go back.	A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago. She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her. Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own. Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again. And then she noticed her magic ring. Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago. She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her. Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own. Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again. And then she noticed her magic ring. Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well this was unexpected. Maya Church blinked her eyes open to find that she was a sixteen year old girl lying in her bed. Now, for a great many people, this would not be an unusual occurrence. After all, there are many sixteen year old girls in the world and as I am sure even the most open minded among you will agree, they should generally be waking in their own beds. However, this was different. Because Maya could have sworn that when she fell asleep last night, she was 106 years old and frankly, really quite dead. She sat up and looked around. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, when she left all those years ago. A small pile of clothes on the floor that she meant to put in the drawers, but never seemed to find the energy to sort. The vintage hollywood posters on her walls that in hindsight, were more of a statement of teenage intent than any genuine interest. Even the ugly faux flower pot gifted by Aunt Rose seemed exactly the same. Sitting up straight, Maya took a moment to consider the options in front of her. The most logical - and Maya had always prided herself on being a creature of logic - explanation was that she had been engaged in a long and vivid dream. Yes. A dream. In fact, sitting there in her room of Hollywood posters and faux flowers, she cold feel the fantasy land of dragon slaying and throne sitting slipping through the memory traps of her brain, as even the most convincing dreams often do. Bringing her hands together, she decided she would take a breath before getting on with her real day. As she touched her hands together though, she felt a cold, spherical snag in her plan make itself known. Opening her eyes, the wedding ring she had dreamt so vividly about had made its way on the fourth finger of her real life, not a dream hand. The one her absolutely a dream and absolutely not real husband, Hans, had placed on her dream hand over half a dream century ago. Sitting on the school bus 45 minutes later, Maya was still preoccupied with the ring on her hand. She was certain she hadn't owned it before last night, where she had dreamt of the land of Erune and of heroics, adoration and Hans. Tucked away in the back corner where no one would pay attention to her, she twisted the ring on her finger and contemplated whether or not the psychotic break she was clearly having could at least translate in to a half decent college essay one day. Pulling up to the school, Maya snapped out of her daydream to make her way off of the bus and on to the campus of her high school. Before she could safely make the transition from bus to pavement however, a solid figure at least a full foot taller than her attempted to occupy the very same paving slab Maya herself was aiming for. The result was a sudden collision that knocked the considerably smaller Maya on to the floor in a manner that most certainly did not become an imaginary queen. Looking up from her new spot on the floor, Maya readied herself to give a short but brutal tongue lashing that would inevitably put this tall slab stealer in his place. Just before she could begin her assault, however, the sight that greeted her knocked all witty or acerbic comments clean out of her head. There he was. Stood in front of her. Hans. Her Hans. Exactly as he looked when she met him all those years ago. Bending down to help her, he came in close so no one else would hear. "Hello Maya", he whispered.	A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. It had started as a day dream in biology class that somehow inexplicably became real. Carol had become a real hero and later a queen of Narnia. She had passed peacefully during the night in her own castle and rudely woke up again in the biology class she had been in so many years ago. She came to her senses while the lecture about respiration continued. Carol could not remember the teacher’s name, or the names of most of the students. Her first thought was to just get up and leave the classroom and the school, but maybe the teacher or someone else would stop her. She thought that the young man, perhaps 30 years old, could not stop her. He was soft, obviously untrained. Even though Carol had not swung a sword or participated in hand-to-hand combat in 20 years, she was certain that this young, soft teacher would not be able to stop her. Then she came to her senses. She could fight off several of them if she needed to, she could almost definitely escape the school which felt like a bit of a prison, but what then? She could run away, establish some sort of a business, and live on her own. Then she remembered her parents and her younger brother Tor. They would still be alive! Oh, how she had wept those first few weeks in Narnia separated from them and her friends. That did it. She would pretend to be her former self, just to get by for the next few hours so that she could see them again. And then she noticed her magic ring. Edits: Corrected spelling and grammar.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	Like a bolt she stands up. The class turns as the teacher trails off. “Miss Derringer do you mind...” he begins. “Silence!” She snaps as the realisation of her surroundings sinks in. With purpose Ann moves towards the door. The teacher still reeling from the authority in the command. Marie scrambles after her “Annie! Where are you going?” Ann continues out into the hallway breezing past the coat hooks and heavy jackets and snow boots that they hold. Marie has to break into a jog just to catch up with her “Annie! Are you ok? Where are you going?” Marie had never seen Annie like this before the way she moved was so different. She even seemed taller somehow. Ann threw open the old doors towards the back fields and strode through them barely flinching at the cold wind and snow filled air that assailed her. “You can’t go out there like that! You’ll freeze!” She screamed. Marie shivered at the wind and looked to the coat hooks nearest her. A small crowd of students had spilled from the classroom to watch and Mr Jenkins was trying to restore some semblance of order. Marie slipped on someone’s snow boots and seized up two coats and another set of boots. Ann was nearly halfway across the field and heading towards the wood. Marie ran after her pulling on the strange jacket and wishing she had taken the time to get her own boots instead of these ones, which were too small and were pinching her feet. Even running Marie struggled to catch her bulked down with the extra boots and coat she was not even halfway across the field when Ann turned towards the wood. It was easy to follow her in the fresh powder undisturbed due to the Greenskeepers orders. “Annie! Where are you going?!” She cried. She must be freezing with only her sweater for warmth. Had she lost her mind? Mr Jenkins was a pompous old fool but no one spoke like that in his class. No one spoke like that in the entire school. “You’re going to get both of us in a world of trouble Annie!” She lamented. Marie struggled after her passing by the frozen stream and up towards the old hill. Ann was driving on single minded in her purpose striding through the snow without hesitation or care. She abruptly stopped at the base of the old hill and began moving the snow with her bare hands. By the time Marie got to her she was quietly weeping. “Oh Annie! Whatever is the matter with you?” Marie exclaimed wrapping the coat she had brought around her. “It’s gone” Ann stated “the portal to the empire... it’s all gone” she began shivering as the cold permeates her. “Whatever are you talking about?” Marie asks trying to button the coat around an unhelpful Annie. Ann stares down at her hands. Turning blue from the cold. Much younger than they were a few moments ago. No pain like they had given her for all those years. They didn’t bear the scars of her labors nor the winkles of time. But there as it had been for nearly a century was her ring. The symbol of her position and allegiance to the Dark Lord. “I’ll find my way back” Ann said. “Back to where Annie?” Marie asked as she jostled her back to her feet. “Back to my empire” Ann said. Something made Marie stop in her tracks. This wasn’t the person she thought she knew. Suddenly she felt like a mouse confronted by a hungry cat. “Annie...” Marie staggered backwards “All I need is a sacrifice...” Ann’s hands balled into fists as she advanced on Marie.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	She blinked. Light. Light and a sent of sanitizer. The ticking of a clock. That was not was she expected. Darkness ? Sure. A golden gate on a cloud ? Why not. But this, definitely not. She took a look around. She was laying on a simple, metal bed, with barely a bed sheet, much less a pillow. The light blue wall lacked any golden decoration. Aside from the bed, the little room contained a single metallic shelf. But strangest of all, she could breathe easily. Wasn't she ding ? \- Oh good, you're awake. How are you feeling ? A feminine voice. She glanced in the sound's direction. A lady wearing a familiar white coat was watching over her. \- How are you feeling ? She gently asked. Don't rush it, take your time. Iris stared at her blankly. Even on her deathbed, nobody would talk to her that way. She was the fierce queen of Lastria. The feared warrior who slayed Yldir, the Dark Dragon at the bare age of sixteen. But this wasn't Lastria. It wasn't even the same world anymore. She took a moment to think. Her lungs, previously damaged by cancer, an sickness unknown to her kingdom and therefore incurable, were not longer hurting. The modern furniture and her old uniform were proof that she was back on Earth. "Odd." she thought. - Everything alright ? The nurse asked, still waiting for Iris's answer - Oh yes, thank you. The sound of her younger voice, long forgotten surprised her. How long have I been here ? - About two hours. Do you remember the accident ? Iris shook her head. A car almost hit you. You hit your head when falling. We'll have to run some tests, you could have a concussion. - ...Sure. Iris replied. May I go to the bathroom ? The nurse smiled at her. "Of course". She lead the way then left. Iris quickly scanned the room. A bathroom. Her medieval country didn't have those. But she wasn't actually interested in the toilet. Rather, she faced the mirror. Her hair as were back to their original pitch black color. Not a single grey strand was left. Her blue eyes still had the queen's severe expression though. She took a look at her hands. They had that peach colored nail polish she used to love as a teen. No scars, no wrinkles. They were perfect. A sparkle caught her attention. Perhaps not so perfect after all. A silver ring shone brightly at her finger, carved with letters of the lastrian alphabet only she could read. It had beautiful red gemstones at its center. A detail out of place, not from this world. Iris knew this ring. She saw it everyday for 80 years. Her wedding ring. A token of love from her late husband and by far her most prized possession. - Interesting... She whispered. \--- --- --- Suddenly, a scream. Iris rushed out of the bathroom, only to face the nurse. Huge commotion could be heard from the other side of the infirmary door. - Stay inside ! - What ? What is going on ? - There is... She didn't have the time to finish that sentence. A roar, as powerful as thunder, blasted through the building. Iris's eyes widened. She knew that roar. She was famous because of that roar. A dragon. Ignoring the nurse, she rushed outside the school building. In front of her was her own legend, brought back to life. She glanced at her ring. The gift from her beloved husband was imbued with powerful magic. It was more than jewelry. It was a tool, meant to always protect her. Would it still work in this world ? She touched the biggest ruby and murmured words in a mysterious language. Obeying the magical spell, the ring turned itself into a sword, and the now armed schoolgirl faced the dragon. - Nice seeing you again, Yldir. she smirked.	Another dawn has come. This one is oddly silent. I haven't had a silent dawn since I learned to harness time. I don't hear the roosters crowing, the kitchens churning, the dogs barking, the waterfall should be clear as day from my room. The sound of the waterfall was one of the reasons I made it my final room. Where has that glorious thunder disappeared to? Now all I hear is a low hum. A hum that seems so familiar, like the sound of Amonar, the great dragon, asleep in his lair, but different. Where have I heard it before? Was it one of the singers? One of the lullabies for the children? The sky fliers? Didn't I have the high alchemsit make a dream catcher that made this noise? I don't remember. The bed feels so soft. Was it always this soft? Something is different. Where are my silk sheets? I had to slay a thousand ice spiders to have those sheets made. They are my death sheets and they shall be my shroud. A sharp reminder to all those who will see them, I ruled over the greatest expansion the realm has ever known. I will banish the servant who had them replaced in the night. What am I saying? Servants don't replace sheets in the night. What do these sheets feel like? Cotton? Maybe they moved me to Sarula's room? An unfamiliar ceiling? No, wait, I think I recognize it. Nevermind, it's gone. I don't recognize this ceiling at all. The texture, the colors, and the height, are all wrong. Maybe a tavern I stayed at? The height... focus on the height. Why is the ceiling near? What material is that? It isn't stone, of that much I am certain. Every Ceiling in the palace is stone, the most beautiful obsidian. It was harvested in the time of Amonar's ancient ancestors, when human and dragon fought side by side. That SMELL? It creeps into my mind like a vine into stone. I feel a taste rising in my throat, all bitter and burnt, but with accents of vanilla and hazelnut and .... caramel? I haven't had caramel since before I came to this land. All those years ago, I still remember Tasha, making her morning coffee and threatening to pour it on me if i didn't get out of bed. "WAKE UP!!" yelled Tasha. And I awoke, to see Tasha standing over me, holding her coffee in a threatening manner. " I remember you." I said. Tasha just looked at me and said " Stop being weird. Hurry up and get ready, classes start in 30." Then Tasha left the room and closed the door on her way out. As I sat up, my mind started moving in a thousand directions at once. Classes? Coffee? Ice cream? Chocolate? My Family!? My daughter. The realm, Magic? My husband!? It was like an avalanche inside a closet. When I finally exited my stupor, I realize I was already dressed. How did that happen? Snap out of it, take stock. You can figure this out. Where am I? I know this room. It is the dorm room I shared at boarding school with Tasha. It is the room that contains the nexus. Who are you? I am the ruler of the 12 realms, the keeper of the final key, I am the herald of the 12th age, and I am the Breaker of Time. I am Alyssa, daughter of neglectful parents, sent off to boarding school, because I no longer fit into either of their lives. When is it? If Tasha's calendar is correct it is the day after my 16th birthday. It is the day after I transcended realms. What am I? I am human, always have been, always will be. What do I have? Everything around me is the same as when I left, as far as I can tell. Right down to my perfectly pressed uniform. As I glance in the mirror though, something about my reflection feels off. It's something I didn't have before. there is a ring on my ring finger. A simple ring, with a weaved pattern alternating between onyx and ivory. The Final key. I have to go back.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well this was unexpected. Maya Church blinked her eyes open to find that she was a sixteen year old girl lying in her bed. Now, for a great many people, this would not be an unusual occurrence. After all, there are many sixteen year old girls in the world and as I am sure even the most open minded among you will agree, they should generally be waking in their own beds. However, this was different. Because Maya could have sworn that when she fell asleep last night, she was 106 years old and frankly, really quite dead. She sat up and looked around. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, when she left all those years ago. A small pile of clothes on the floor that she meant to put in the drawers, but never seemed to find the energy to sort. The vintage hollywood posters on her walls that in hindsight, were more of a statement of teenage intent than any genuine interest. Even the ugly faux flower pot gifted by Aunt Rose seemed exactly the same. Sitting up straight, Maya took a moment to consider the options in front of her. The most logical - and Maya had always prided herself on being a creature of logic - explanation was that she had been engaged in a long and vivid dream. Yes. A dream. In fact, sitting there in her room of Hollywood posters and faux flowers, she cold feel the fantasy land of dragon slaying and throne sitting slipping through the memory traps of her brain, as even the most convincing dreams often do. Bringing her hands together, she decided she would take a breath before getting on with her real day. As she touched her hands together though, she felt a cold, spherical snag in her plan make itself known. Opening her eyes, the wedding ring she had dreamt so vividly about had made its way on the fourth finger of her real life, not a dream hand. The one her absolutely a dream and absolutely not real husband, Hans, had placed on her dream hand over half a dream century ago. Sitting on the school bus 45 minutes later, Maya was still preoccupied with the ring on her hand. She was certain she hadn't owned it before last night, where she had dreamt of the land of Erune and of heroics, adoration and Hans. Tucked away in the back corner where no one would pay attention to her, she twisted the ring on her finger and contemplated whether or not the psychotic break she was clearly having could at least translate in to a half decent college essay one day. Pulling up to the school, Maya snapped out of her daydream to make her way off of the bus and on to the campus of her high school. Before she could safely make the transition from bus to pavement however, a solid figure at least a full foot taller than her attempted to occupy the very same paving slab Maya herself was aiming for. The result was a sudden collision that knocked the considerably smaller Maya on to the floor in a manner that most certainly did not become an imaginary queen. Looking up from her new spot on the floor, Maya readied herself to give a short but brutal tongue lashing that would inevitably put this tall slab stealer in his place. Just before she could begin her assault, however, the sight that greeted her knocked all witty or acerbic comments clean out of her head. There he was. Stood in front of her. Hans. Her Hans. Exactly as he looked when she met him all those years ago. Bending down to help her, he came in close so no one else would hear. "Hello Maya", he whispered.	Another dawn has come. This one is oddly silent. I haven't had a silent dawn since I learned to harness time. I don't hear the roosters crowing, the kitchens churning, the dogs barking, the waterfall should be clear as day from my room. The sound of the waterfall was one of the reasons I made it my final room. Where has that glorious thunder disappeared to? Now all I hear is a low hum. A hum that seems so familiar, like the sound of Amonar, the great dragon, asleep in his lair, but different. Where have I heard it before? Was it one of the singers? One of the lullabies for the children? The sky fliers? Didn't I have the high alchemsit make a dream catcher that made this noise? I don't remember. The bed feels so soft. Was it always this soft? Something is different. Where are my silk sheets? I had to slay a thousand ice spiders to have those sheets made. They are my death sheets and they shall be my shroud. A sharp reminder to all those who will see them, I ruled over the greatest expansion the realm has ever known. I will banish the servant who had them replaced in the night. What am I saying? Servants don't replace sheets in the night. What do these sheets feel like? Cotton? Maybe they moved me to Sarula's room? An unfamiliar ceiling? No, wait, I think I recognize it. Nevermind, it's gone. I don't recognize this ceiling at all. The texture, the colors, and the height, are all wrong. Maybe a tavern I stayed at? The height... focus on the height. Why is the ceiling near? What material is that? It isn't stone, of that much I am certain. Every Ceiling in the palace is stone, the most beautiful obsidian. It was harvested in the time of Amonar's ancient ancestors, when human and dragon fought side by side. That SMELL? It creeps into my mind like a vine into stone. I feel a taste rising in my throat, all bitter and burnt, but with accents of vanilla and hazelnut and .... caramel? I haven't had caramel since before I came to this land. All those years ago, I still remember Tasha, making her morning coffee and threatening to pour it on me if i didn't get out of bed. "WAKE UP!!" yelled Tasha. And I awoke, to see Tasha standing over me, holding her coffee in a threatening manner. " I remember you." I said. Tasha just looked at me and said " Stop being weird. Hurry up and get ready, classes start in 30." Then Tasha left the room and closed the door on her way out. As I sat up, my mind started moving in a thousand directions at once. Classes? Coffee? Ice cream? Chocolate? My Family!? My daughter. The realm, Magic? My husband!? It was like an avalanche inside a closet. When I finally exited my stupor, I realize I was already dressed. How did that happen? Snap out of it, take stock. You can figure this out. Where am I? I know this room. It is the dorm room I shared at boarding school with Tasha. It is the room that contains the nexus. Who are you? I am the ruler of the 12 realms, the keeper of the final key, I am the herald of the 12th age, and I am the Breaker of Time. I am Alyssa, daughter of neglectful parents, sent off to boarding school, because I no longer fit into either of their lives. When is it? If Tasha's calendar is correct it is the day after my 16th birthday. It is the day after I transcended realms. What am I? I am human, always have been, always will be. What do I have? Everything around me is the same as when I left, as far as I can tell. Right down to my perfectly pressed uniform. As I glance in the mirror though, something about my reflection feels off. It's something I didn't have before. there is a ring on my ring finger. A simple ring, with a weaved pattern alternating between onyx and ivory. The Final key. I have to go back.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well this was unexpected. Maya Church blinked her eyes open to find that she was a sixteen year old girl lying in her bed. Now, for a great many people, this would not be an unusual occurrence. After all, there are many sixteen year old girls in the world and as I am sure even the most open minded among you will agree, they should generally be waking in their own beds. However, this was different. Because Maya could have sworn that when she fell asleep last night, she was 106 years old and frankly, really quite dead. She sat up and looked around. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, when she left all those years ago. A small pile of clothes on the floor that she meant to put in the drawers, but never seemed to find the energy to sort. The vintage hollywood posters on her walls that in hindsight, were more of a statement of teenage intent than any genuine interest. Even the ugly faux flower pot gifted by Aunt Rose seemed exactly the same. Sitting up straight, Maya took a moment to consider the options in front of her. The most logical - and Maya had always prided herself on being a creature of logic - explanation was that she had been engaged in a long and vivid dream. Yes. A dream. In fact, sitting there in her room of Hollywood posters and faux flowers, she cold feel the fantasy land of dragon slaying and throne sitting slipping through the memory traps of her brain, as even the most convincing dreams often do. Bringing her hands together, she decided she would take a breath before getting on with her real day. As she touched her hands together though, she felt a cold, spherical snag in her plan make itself known. Opening her eyes, the wedding ring she had dreamt so vividly about had made its way on the fourth finger of her real life, not a dream hand. The one her absolutely a dream and absolutely not real husband, Hans, had placed on her dream hand over half a dream century ago. Sitting on the school bus 45 minutes later, Maya was still preoccupied with the ring on her hand. She was certain she hadn't owned it before last night, where she had dreamt of the land of Erune and of heroics, adoration and Hans. Tucked away in the back corner where no one would pay attention to her, she twisted the ring on her finger and contemplated whether or not the psychotic break she was clearly having could at least translate in to a half decent college essay one day. Pulling up to the school, Maya snapped out of her daydream to make her way off of the bus and on to the campus of her high school. Before she could safely make the transition from bus to pavement however, a solid figure at least a full foot taller than her attempted to occupy the very same paving slab Maya herself was aiming for. The result was a sudden collision that knocked the considerably smaller Maya on to the floor in a manner that most certainly did not become an imaginary queen. Looking up from her new spot on the floor, Maya readied herself to give a short but brutal tongue lashing that would inevitably put this tall slab stealer in his place. Just before she could begin her assault, however, the sight that greeted her knocked all witty or acerbic comments clean out of her head. There he was. Stood in front of her. Hans. Her Hans. Exactly as he looked when she met him all those years ago. Bending down to help her, he came in close so no one else would hear. "Hello Maya", he whispered.	She wakes up from a life as she would from a dream. The memories that were crisp and sharp until a moment ago are covered in lense flares and blooms, leaving impressions and nostalgia without details. Basking in the glow, she tunes out the teacher introducing the new student in front of class, at least until he walks into the aisles and sits down next to her. "Hi," he greets. He's nothing remarkable. An ordinary boy. Just as she's an ordinary girl. "Hello," she replies. He glances at her hand. "I like your ring. It's really cool." She simply smiles.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Roaming through the vaguely familiar hallways, Juna tried to think. It didn't seem likely that 90 years of her life just poofed out of existence, yet here she was, back in Varen Academy as her 16-year-old self. She guessed she should be thankful whatever it was that got her here didn't take her even further back, to the "real world". Because as treacherous as Varen was, and despite the many years of pain and darkness, Varen was her home. Back to her musings, Juna tried figuring out if this was a case of hallucination magic, or a far deeper thing. She quickly dismissed the fact that she hallucinated/dreamed 90 years of her life. Not even with the most powerful hallucination spell would you remember things to such clarity. And Juna remembered everything. Not only that, but she could also feel the power thrumming in her veins, power she shouldn't have had back when she was 16, in what seems like her early weeks in Veran Academy. Time travel was also out of the table. Such rare magic it was, hardly ever wielded and hardly ever used, but even if it somehow sent her back to the past, it would not be in this young version of herself, but her 90-year-old self. And there would be two of her, which does not appear to be the case at all. Whispers in her head, Juna frowned, trying to concentrate. 90 years worth of memories were no easy task to navigate. The whispers intensified and Juna closed her eyes in concentration, leaning against a nearby pillar. She knew she had to follow the whispers, long ago learning how to be one with them. Danger. Dark magic. Soulbound. Mistake. Reset. More often than not, the whispers and images in her mind hardly made any sense, though she knew they were important if she could decipher even a bit of them. In her mind, she saw a boy with golden eyes, a girl with flowing red hair, a cult with the symbol of the sun etched into their robes. All of these images came one after the other, dizzying her in their intensity, their urgency. The whispers grew louder, trying to get her to see. see. see. see. SEE. Taking a deep breath, Juna shut it all down. It took her a very long time to find the balance between giving in to the whispers and pulling out before they drove her mad. She used to be so afraid of them, ignoring them at every turn. But when people starting dying, and wars started to form, she knew she could help if she only listened. Right now, however, she had to stop and make sense of everything that was shown to her. Something has obviously gone horribly wrong. So wrong that someone thought it best to send her back in time, for lack of better words. That someone must be truly desperate, maybe even actually believing her to be the hero and queen of Veran, when it fact it was all nothing more than a fraud, just like she was nothing more than a caged girl, woman, elder, in a palace so beautiful on the outside until you step inside and hear the screams. But she would not dwell on it, would not give in to the fury that sang in her blood, for she was meant for peace, not destruction. She was better than- "Juna?" Her head snapping up, eyes locked to those of forest green. So tempting in their innocence. Everything inside of her froze and screamed at the same time. Prince Varik. Future king. Jailer. Husband. In that instant, Juna decided there was no more peace left in her. She was going to get her revenge even if she had to burn the world to do it.	She wakes up from a life as she would from a dream. The memories that were crisp and sharp until a moment ago are covered in lense flares and blooms, leaving impressions and nostalgia without details. Basking in the glow, she tunes out the teacher introducing the new student in front of class, at least until he walks into the aisles and sits down next to her. "Hi," he greets. He's nothing remarkable. An ordinary boy. Just as she's an ordinary girl. "Hello," she replies. He glances at her hand. "I like your ring. It's really cool." She simply smiles.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Well this was unexpected. Maya Church blinked her eyes open to find that she was a sixteen year old girl lying in her bed. Now, for a great many people, this would not be an unusual occurrence. After all, there are many sixteen year old girls in the world and as I am sure even the most open minded among you will agree, they should generally be waking in their own beds. However, this was different. Because Maya could have sworn that when she fell asleep last night, she was 106 years old and frankly, really quite dead. She sat up and looked around. Everything was exactly as she remembered it, when she left all those years ago. A small pile of clothes on the floor that she meant to put in the drawers, but never seemed to find the energy to sort. The vintage hollywood posters on her walls that in hindsight, were more of a statement of teenage intent than any genuine interest. Even the ugly faux flower pot gifted by Aunt Rose seemed exactly the same. Sitting up straight, Maya took a moment to consider the options in front of her. The most logical - and Maya had always prided herself on being a creature of logic - explanation was that she had been engaged in a long and vivid dream. Yes. A dream. In fact, sitting there in her room of Hollywood posters and faux flowers, she cold feel the fantasy land of dragon slaying and throne sitting slipping through the memory traps of her brain, as even the most convincing dreams often do. Bringing her hands together, she decided she would take a breath before getting on with her real day. As she touched her hands together though, she felt a cold, spherical snag in her plan make itself known. Opening her eyes, the wedding ring she had dreamt so vividly about had made its way on the fourth finger of her real life, not a dream hand. The one her absolutely a dream and absolutely not real husband, Hans, had placed on her dream hand over half a dream century ago. Sitting on the school bus 45 minutes later, Maya was still preoccupied with the ring on her hand. She was certain she hadn't owned it before last night, where she had dreamt of the land of Erune and of heroics, adoration and Hans. Tucked away in the back corner where no one would pay attention to her, she twisted the ring on her finger and contemplated whether or not the psychotic break she was clearly having could at least translate in to a half decent college essay one day. Pulling up to the school, Maya snapped out of her daydream to make her way off of the bus and on to the campus of her high school. Before she could safely make the transition from bus to pavement however, a solid figure at least a full foot taller than her attempted to occupy the very same paving slab Maya herself was aiming for. The result was a sudden collision that knocked the considerably smaller Maya on to the floor in a manner that most certainly did not become an imaginary queen. Looking up from her new spot on the floor, Maya readied herself to give a short but brutal tongue lashing that would inevitably put this tall slab stealer in his place. Just before she could begin her assault, however, the sight that greeted her knocked all witty or acerbic comments clean out of her head. There he was. Stood in front of her. Hans. Her Hans. Exactly as he looked when she met him all those years ago. Bending down to help her, he came in close so no one else would hear. "Hello Maya", he whispered.	School begins. Samantha walks into class, sits down and stares at her finger. The ring that wasn’t there yesterday. She takes it off. Studies it. It feels as if she had it all her life. Her shoulder feels stiff. Stiff as a board. As if a board was nailed to her back. She rubs her hand over her shoulder and she screams. The teacher, fully engorged in her monologue together with 24 pairs of eyes look intently and Samantha. “Can I go to the toilet? I think I just got...” “Yes, please, go”. She leans on the sink. She is lost for breath. She feels her lungs searching for air. She looks into her eyes and doesn’t see the same eyes staring back at her. She sees herself, but next to her she sees and older woman. Slightly translucent. She looks around her. Nobody. Is this some elaborate prank with a two way mirror? She looks again. The woman smiles a toothless grin. She points at her ring finger while she holds it up. The very same ring. She mouths “I was you. You were me” the words appear on the mirror beneath her as some ghostly subtitles. “How? Why?” She rubs her shoulder. 3 marks next to eachother. The subtitles spell “dragon” “you fought a fucking dragon?” The girl couldn’t hold her voice down. The door opened and the schoolnurse looked at her. “I think it might be best if you went home for the day”. She looked at the mirror. She was alone now.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Roaming through the vaguely familiar hallways, Juna tried to think. It didn't seem likely that 90 years of her life just poofed out of existence, yet here she was, back in Varen Academy as her 16-year-old self. She guessed she should be thankful whatever it was that got her here didn't take her even further back, to the "real world". Because as treacherous as Varen was, and despite the many years of pain and darkness, Varen was her home. Back to her musings, Juna tried figuring out if this was a case of hallucination magic, or a far deeper thing. She quickly dismissed the fact that she hallucinated/dreamed 90 years of her life. Not even with the most powerful hallucination spell would you remember things to such clarity. And Juna remembered everything. Not only that, but she could also feel the power thrumming in her veins, power she shouldn't have had back when she was 16, in what seems like her early weeks in Veran Academy. Time travel was also out of the table. Such rare magic it was, hardly ever wielded and hardly ever used, but even if it somehow sent her back to the past, it would not be in this young version of herself, but her 90-year-old self. And there would be two of her, which does not appear to be the case at all. Whispers in her head, Juna frowned, trying to concentrate. 90 years worth of memories were no easy task to navigate. The whispers intensified and Juna closed her eyes in concentration, leaning against a nearby pillar. She knew she had to follow the whispers, long ago learning how to be one with them. Danger. Dark magic. Soulbound. Mistake. Reset. More often than not, the whispers and images in her mind hardly made any sense, though she knew they were important if she could decipher even a bit of them. In her mind, she saw a boy with golden eyes, a girl with flowing red hair, a cult with the symbol of the sun etched into their robes. All of these images came one after the other, dizzying her in their intensity, their urgency. The whispers grew louder, trying to get her to see. see. see. see. SEE. Taking a deep breath, Juna shut it all down. It took her a very long time to find the balance between giving in to the whispers and pulling out before they drove her mad. She used to be so afraid of them, ignoring them at every turn. But when people starting dying, and wars started to form, she knew she could help if she only listened. Right now, however, she had to stop and make sense of everything that was shown to her. Something has obviously gone horribly wrong. So wrong that someone thought it best to send her back in time, for lack of better words. That someone must be truly desperate, maybe even actually believing her to be the hero and queen of Veran, when it fact it was all nothing more than a fraud, just like she was nothing more than a caged girl, woman, elder, in a palace so beautiful on the outside until you step inside and hear the screams. But she would not dwell on it, would not give in to the fury that sang in her blood, for she was meant for peace, not destruction. She was better than- "Juna?" Her head snapping up, eyes locked to those of forest green. So tempting in their innocence. Everything inside of her froze and screamed at the same time. Prince Varik. Future king. Jailer. Husband. In that instant, Juna decided there was no more peace left in her. She was going to get her revenge even if she had to burn the world to do it.	School begins. Samantha walks into class, sits down and stares at her finger. The ring that wasn’t there yesterday. She takes it off. Studies it. It feels as if she had it all her life. Her shoulder feels stiff. Stiff as a board. As if a board was nailed to her back. She rubs her hand over her shoulder and she screams. The teacher, fully engorged in her monologue together with 24 pairs of eyes look intently and Samantha. “Can I go to the toilet? I think I just got...” “Yes, please, go”. She leans on the sink. She is lost for breath. She feels her lungs searching for air. She looks into her eyes and doesn’t see the same eyes staring back at her. She sees herself, but next to her she sees and older woman. Slightly translucent. She looks around her. Nobody. Is this some elaborate prank with a two way mirror? She looks again. The woman smiles a toothless grin. She points at her ring finger while she holds it up. The very same ring. She mouths “I was you. You were me” the words appear on the mirror beneath her as some ghostly subtitles. “How? Why?” She rubs her shoulder. 3 marks next to eachother. The subtitles spell “dragon” “you fought a fucking dragon?” The girl couldn’t hold her voice down. The door opened and the schoolnurse looked at her. “I think it might be best if you went home for the day”. She looked at the mirror. She was alone now.
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Reyna awoke feeling dazed and confused, her vision blurry as she sat upright in her chair, hastily trying to rearrange her features into a calm, politely interested expression -- but she needn't have bothered. Her History teacher, Mr. Duncan, was still perched on his desk, his pale eyes, hidden beneath crimson spectacles, fixed on the book in his wizened hands as he reeled off fact after fact in his boring, drone-like voice, oblivious to the mischief ensuing in his classroom. Abandoning her attempt to look innocent in the chaos all around her, she took to probing her brain, trying to remember the dream she had been having before she woke up. It had been the longest, strangest, and most vivid dream she had ever experienced. She had been running through a beautiful forest of red, gold, green, and blue trees, her hair flying behind her as she breathed in the sweet-smelling fumes of the magnificent flowers blooming around her. It was a wondrous sight, and yet she had barely noticed; she had been running for her life, after all. A terrible dragon had been chasing her, spitting plumes of dark red flame, burning the enchanted forest to cinders. She had run on and on, screaming out for help, until finally she reached the edge of a bank overlooking a river of what seemed to be blue fire, snaking its way through the earth beneath her feet. The dragon had advanced on her, savage triumph gleaming in its tiny, evil eyes. And then it had lunged -- the fear that had frozen her legs in place had vanished at that precise moment; her brain oddly cool now, she had leapt out of the way. The dragon had realized what was happening too late. Incensed, it wheeled around to face her, but its weight had been too much for the little bank. It crumbled beneath its feet and rock, grass, and dragon alike all plunged into the fiery depths of the river below. Before it could even think to unfurl its great wings, it had dissolved. And that was when she met them: the party of bravemen, including the prince of the land himself, a handsome, fair-haired youth known as Xavier. He had been so impressed, so grateful that she had slewn the terrible beast that had tormented their kingdom for so long, he had brought her to his castle and wed her that very evening. For 74 years she reigned as Queen, but then, the worst enemy of all, he who could not be avoided, had caught up with her -- Age. Her loving husband and children had remained at her side as her eyesight fogged, as the gentle beat of her heart slowed, as the breath was taken from her body ... and then all was black.... But then light pierced her eyes, the dull buzz of Duncan's voice reached her ears, and she sat up, exactly where she had fallen asleep, in a classroom of hooligans and prissy young girls. For a moment, despair threatened to consume her. Her life, her reign, had it really all been happening inside her head? And then she noticed it -- the only remnant of her time in Utopia, the magnificent golden wedding ring perched upon her finger, placed there by her King, gleaming in the sunlight. To her astonishment, an inscription was carved upon it. Squinting down at it, she read, "Of course it happened inside your head, but why should that mean that it was not real?" r/MysticScribbles	"Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!" I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side. "Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail. "Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly." "Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..." With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore. "Mam, I would hate to think that you're making me your heir to the throne–" "Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count. "Well then, mam, why have you called for me?" "Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!" "Are you... okay, mam?" "I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom." "... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!" As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly. It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body. A breeze. *** I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care. Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest. "Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name. "Huh?" "Psst, did you daydream again?" "Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief. "Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again this time around?" "This time? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–" "Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?" "Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks. Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random. As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know. I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death. "What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me. "Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour. "Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!" Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?" Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up. "I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest." "Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?" With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash. "Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!" "What? Seriously?" "Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?" Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen! "Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way. "Ugh, what?" "Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?" "Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!" "Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?" "Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!"
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	Caroline looked around her. Her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were all gathered around the foot of her bed. They knew she was entering her last days, but she had not officially chosen her heir. “Mum, who do you want to take your place?” Alice, her oldest child, asked. Caroline had been thinking about this problem long and hard. She had been the first queen this land had seen in centuries. She also knew that a new adventurer could come to this world, and that it would be easy for them to usurp her family. The people of this world held great devotion to the beast-slayers, and that would trounce any royal bloodlines. “For the immediate preservation of the kingdom, as eldest, you will manage the day-to-day activities,” Caroline said. “You and your siblings will form a council, and rule until my heir makes themselves apparent.” Then she spoke up to address the room. “But all of you are of the royal blood. Sirocco will need a new leader who can command the respect of the people and maintain the peace for generations to come. As such, my heir will be the one who slays the Troll of the Windpeak.” Her family gasped. The Troll of the Windpeak had eluded beast-slayers for generations. But none of them had time to protest, because as she made this proclamation, Caroline breathed the last breath she would breathe in Sirocco. Rather than moving on to the afterlife like she had expected to do, Caroline woke up in a plaid skirt and blue blazer. “Lynne, are you paying attention?” a sharp voice asked. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep last night,” she mumbled, annoyed that she had been woken up from the beautiful daydream. It had felt so real, and so long. How could a whole lifetime fit into one biology class? “Stand up if you need to,” the teacher said. “But please try to stay awake.” Caroline didn’t stand up. The sharp return to school was enough to temporarily confuse her and wake her up. Satisfied that Caroline was awake, the teacher continued lecturing. Lynne, Caroline mused. I was called that, once upon a time. Now, I suppose. Before I became Queen of Sirocco. How a lifetime fit into a fifteen minute nap, Caroline never quite figured out. But somehow it did. As she was packing up her notebook after class, something on her finger snagged the zipper on her bag. My Siroccan wedding ring? Caroline wondered. Worried about people seeing it and asking questions, but unable to just slide it into her bag, she quickly slipped it from her ring finger to her middle finger. It didn’t fit as well, but at least she’d be able to lie about it. “Hey Lynne, where’d you get that ring?” one of her friends asked. “Um. My grandmother sent it to me,” Caroline lied, twirling the ring back and forth on her finger, adjusting to keeping it on her middle finger instead of the ring finger. edited to change country name because my brain was not 100% awake when I wrote this read more of my writing on /r/TheLastComment Edit again to add: [Next part!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheLastComment/comments/g5w8pf/queen_of_the_desert_winds_prompt_responses/) Thanks to everyone who asked for more, and especially those who critiqued my country naming choices. If I hadn't renamed Caroline's country to Sirocco, I may never have had the ideas I needed to keep this going.	"Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!" I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side. "Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail. "Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly." "Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..." With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore. "Mam, I would hate to think that you're making me your heir to the throne–" "Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count. "Well then, mam, why have you called for me?" "Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!" "Are you... okay, mam?" "I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom." "... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!" As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly. It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body. A breeze. *** I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care. Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest. "Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name. "Huh?" "Psst, did you daydream again?" "Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief. "Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again this time around?" "This time? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–" "Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?" "Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks. Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random. As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know. I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death. "What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me. "Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour. "Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!" Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?" Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up. "I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest." "Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?" With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash. "Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!" "What? Seriously?" "Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?" Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen! "Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way. "Ugh, what?" "Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?" "Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!" "Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?" "Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!"
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	"Don't go, g'g'gramma!" The seven-year-old flung himself onto the bedclothes, hugging Bellajoan tightly. "Want you to read stories!" She smiled tiredly as she patted him on the head. Everything tired her now. She couldn't get out of bed without help, and even raising her voice left her out of breath. "There, there, Alexei," she murmured. "It's all right. Great-great-grandma is just going to a better place, that's all." "Still wish you weren't, though." That was Arabella, her older great-grandchild, sixteen and going through a sullen phase. She'd showed up though, along with the rest of them. "You're the best great-great-grandmother we could've had. Everyone else wants us to be quiet and marry some merchant and have babies, but you told us we could do anything." "And so you can." Bellajoan's eyesight was dimming, but she could still make out the dragon skull that had been made over into a low table in the middle of the room. That had been a hard fight, in her long-ago youth, terrified and with no idea what was happening to her. "You are what you want to be, not what someone else tells you to be." "But when you go, they'll start telling us that again," said Kendrick, fourteen and gangling, with a lute hanging down his back. "I don't want to be a man at arms. I want to be a minstrel." "It's not my job to stand over you forever," Bellajoan reminded them. "Your parents know my wishes concerning you. Ask them if they really want to anger my shade enough to make me come back. After all, I sprang from a world of wonders. Who's to say I won't return once more, if I'm needed?" She was only half-joking. Ninety years on from her emergence into the world of Aarde, which she now called home, the theoretical thaumaturgists were still trying to determine the exact confluence of events that had dumped her into Aarde, possessed of supernatural strength and the will to slay a rampaging dragon. She had parlayed that into the title of King's Champion and a seat on the Council of Nobles, and from there had found herself the chosen heir when the king died childless. When the almost inevitable civil war had erupted, she had personally faced down and defeated the champions of each of the rebellious nobles. It had been a long and tumultuous life, finding love and raising her own family while ruling the kingdom, but she would not have missed a moment of it. And now at the end of it, she could look back and say she was content. Alexei was still sobbing, so she drew him up into her arms. "How about one last story?" she asked. "And then you'll let me sleep?" Tearfully, he nodded. She ran her hand fondly through his already dishevelled hair, and drew a deep breath to begin. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl, about Arabella's age, who lived in a wondrous and far-off land called Earth." Despite his sadness, Alexei giggled. "That's a silly name for a land." "Yes, it is," Bellajoan said with a smile, "but the people who lived there did not know that. This girl, whose name was Bella too, tried to be nice to everyone, but there were others in her school who would push and shove her, and take her books away." "Wait, this is school, like you've been having us do?" asked Kendrick. Arabella shushed him. "Yes, yes it is." Bellajoan felt herself fading, growing lighter. She pushed herself to continue the story. "One day, when she was in class, she felt a strange pull. When she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was in Aarde, and there was a dragon in front of her. A knight lay dead at her feet, and his sword was at his hand. The dragon roared at her, and she was very frightened, so she picked up the sword. Then she--" "I know! I know!" interrupted Alexei. "She killed the dragon, didn't she? Just like you did!" "Yes, she did, dear one," whispered Bellajoan. "She did. And in time she became queen and lived happily ever after." The last few words came out in one breath. She did not have the strength to draw another. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and did not open again. Everything slowed to a stop. Gently, she felt her soul lifting from her body. So this is what death is like. \\\\ Something bounced off the back of her head, and her eyes jerked open. "Wake up, Jones! Hey, Mr Smith! Bella's asleep in class again!" Puzzled and disoriented, she stared around herself. Children wearing clothes that triggered long-faded memories, laughing faces, neatly arranged wooden desks of an oddly familiar pattern ... An adult stood up from behind a larger desk at the front of the room, with a huge green board behind him. Green ... she thought. Shouldn't it be black? A black ... board? "Miss Jones," the adult said in tones of sarcasm. "Am I boring you?" Jones? Joan? Is that me? It had been so long, nine decades past, that she honestly couldn't remember. But everyone was looking at her. I died. I am dead. Is this Heaven? Or one of the Hells? It was certainly starting to seem like the latter. Staring at her hands in front of her, she realised two things: one, they were the hands of a girl once more. The skin was smooth, and free of wrinkles and liver spots. But on her left hand ... the ring her true love Garan had slid onto her finger over eighty years ago when they were wed. The ring she had never removed since, even when he finally passed at the venerable age of ninety, two decades previously. Wonderingly, she slid it from her finger. (continued)	"Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!" I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side. "Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail. "Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly." "Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..." With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore. "Mam, I would hate to think that you're making me your heir to the throne–" "Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count. "Well then, mam, why have you called for me?" "Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!" "Are you... okay, mam?" "I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom." "... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!" As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly. It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body. A breeze. *** I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care. Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest. "Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name. "Huh?" "Psst, did you daydream again?" "Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief. "Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again this time around?" "This time? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–" "Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?" "Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks. Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random. As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know. I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death. "What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me. "Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour. "Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!" Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?" Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up. "I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest." "Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?" With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash. "Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!" "What? Seriously?" "Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?" Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen! "Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way. "Ugh, what?" "Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?" "Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!" "Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?" "Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!"
	[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.	"Don't go, g'g'gramma!" The seven-year-old flung himself onto the bedclothes, hugging Bellajoan tightly. "Want you to read stories!" She smiled tiredly as she patted him on the head. Everything tired her now. She couldn't get out of bed without help, and even raising her voice left her out of breath. "There, there, Alexei," she murmured. "It's all right. Great-great-grandma is just going to a better place, that's all." "Still wish you weren't, though." That was Arabella, her older great-grandchild, sixteen and going through a sullen phase. She'd showed up though, along with the rest of them. "You're the best great-great-grandmother we could've had. Everyone else wants us to be quiet and marry some merchant and have babies, but you told us we could do anything." "And so you can." Bellajoan's eyesight was dimming, but she could still make out the dragon skull that had been made over into a low table in the middle of the room. That had been a hard fight, in her long-ago youth, terrified and with no idea what was happening to her. "You are what you want to be, not what someone else tells you to be." "But when you go, they'll start telling us that again," said Kendrick, fourteen and gangling, with a lute hanging down his back. "I don't want to be a man at arms. I want to be a minstrel." "It's not my job to stand over you forever," Bellajoan reminded them. "Your parents know my wishes concerning you. Ask them if they really want to anger my shade enough to make me come back. After all, I sprang from a world of wonders. Who's to say I won't return once more, if I'm needed?" She was only half-joking. Ninety years on from her emergence into the world of Aarde, which she now called home, the theoretical thaumaturgists were still trying to determine the exact confluence of events that had dumped her into Aarde, possessed of supernatural strength and the will to slay a rampaging dragon. She had parlayed that into the title of King's Champion and a seat on the Council of Nobles, and from there had found herself the chosen heir when the king died childless. When the almost inevitable civil war had erupted, she had personally faced down and defeated the champions of each of the rebellious nobles. It had been a long and tumultuous life, finding love and raising her own family while ruling the kingdom, but she would not have missed a moment of it. And now at the end of it, she could look back and say she was content. Alexei was still sobbing, so she drew him up into her arms. "How about one last story?" she asked. "And then you'll let me sleep?" Tearfully, he nodded. She ran her hand fondly through his already dishevelled hair, and drew a deep breath to begin. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl, about Arabella's age, who lived in a wondrous and far-off land called Earth." Despite his sadness, Alexei giggled. "That's a silly name for a land." "Yes, it is," Bellajoan said with a smile, "but the people who lived there did not know that. This girl, whose name was Bella too, tried to be nice to everyone, but there were others in her school who would push and shove her, and take her books away." "Wait, this is school, like you've been having us do?" asked Kendrick. Arabella shushed him. "Yes, yes it is." Bellajoan felt herself fading, growing lighter. She pushed herself to continue the story. "One day, when she was in class, she felt a strange pull. When she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was in Aarde, and there was a dragon in front of her. A knight lay dead at her feet, and his sword was at his hand. The dragon roared at her, and she was very frightened, so she picked up the sword. Then she--" "I know! I know!" interrupted Alexei. "She killed the dragon, didn't she? Just like you did!" "Yes, she did, dear one," whispered Bellajoan. "She did. And in time she became queen and lived happily ever after." The last few words came out in one breath. She did not have the strength to draw another. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and did not open again. Everything slowed to a stop. Gently, she felt her soul lifting from her body. So this is what death is like. \\\\ Something bounced off the back of her head, and her eyes jerked open. "Wake up, Jones! Hey, Mr Smith! Bella's asleep in class again!" Puzzled and disoriented, she stared around herself. Children wearing clothes that triggered long-faded memories, laughing faces, neatly arranged wooden desks of an oddly familiar pattern ... An adult stood up from behind a larger desk at the front of the room, with a huge green board behind him. Green ... she thought. Shouldn't it be black? A black ... board? "Miss Jones," the adult said in tones of sarcasm. "Am I boring you?" Jones? Joan? Is that me? It had been so long, nine decades past, that she honestly couldn't remember. But everyone was looking at her. I died. I am dead. Is this Heaven? Or one of the Hells? It was certainly starting to seem like the latter. Staring at her hands in front of her, she realised two things: one, they were the hands of a girl once more. The skin was smooth, and free of wrinkles and liver spots. But on her left hand ... the ring her true love Garan had slid onto her finger over eighty years ago when they were wed. The ring she had never removed since, even when he finally passed at the venerable age of ninety, two decades previously. Wonderingly, she slid it from her finger. (continued)	Caroline looked around her. Her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were all gathered around the foot of her bed. They knew she was entering her last days, but she had not officially chosen her heir. “Mum, who do you want to take your place?” Alice, her oldest child, asked. Caroline had been thinking about this problem long and hard. She had been the first queen this land had seen in centuries. She also knew that a new adventurer could come to this world, and that it would be easy for them to usurp her family. The people of this world held great devotion to the beast-slayers, and that would trounce any royal bloodlines. “For the immediate preservation of the kingdom, as eldest, you will manage the day-to-day activities,” Caroline said. “You and your siblings will form a council, and rule until my heir makes themselves apparent.” Then she spoke up to address the room. “But all of you are of the royal blood. Sirocco will need a new leader who can command the respect of the people and maintain the peace for generations to come. As such, my heir will be the one who slays the Troll of the Windpeak.” Her family gasped. The Troll of the Windpeak had eluded beast-slayers for generations. But none of them had time to protest, because as she made this proclamation, Caroline breathed the last breath she would breathe in Sirocco. Rather than moving on to the afterlife like she had expected to do, Caroline woke up in a plaid skirt and blue blazer. “Lynne, are you paying attention?” a sharp voice asked. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep last night,” she mumbled, annoyed that she had been woken up from the beautiful daydream. It had felt so real, and so long. How could a whole lifetime fit into one biology class? “Stand up if you need to,” the teacher said. “But please try to stay awake.” Caroline didn’t stand up. The sharp return to school was enough to temporarily confuse her and wake her up. Satisfied that Caroline was awake, the teacher continued lecturing. Lynne, Caroline mused. I was called that, once upon a time. Now, I suppose. Before I became Queen of Sirocco. How a lifetime fit into a fifteen minute nap, Caroline never quite figured out. But somehow it did. As she was packing up her notebook after class, something on her finger snagged the zipper on her bag. My Siroccan wedding ring? Caroline wondered. Worried about people seeing it and asking questions, but unable to just slide it into her bag, she quickly slipped it from her ring finger to her middle finger. It didn’t fit as well, but at least she’d be able to lie about it. “Hey Lynne, where’d you get that ring?” one of her friends asked. “Um. My grandmother sent it to me,” Caroline lied, twirling the ring back and forth on her finger, adjusting to keeping it on her middle finger instead of the ring finger. edited to change country name because my brain was not 100% awake when I wrote this read more of my writing on /r/TheLastComment Edit again to add: [Next part!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheLastComment/comments/g5w8pf/queen_of_the_desert_winds_prompt_responses/) Thanks to everyone who asked for more, and especially those who critiqued my country naming choices. If I hadn't renamed Caroline's country to Sirocco, I may never have had the ideas I needed to keep this going.
	[WP] When you die you see a light in the darkness. Large blue hands reach in and pull you out. You look around yourself and see a woman with her legs up screaming and a doctor holding you in his arms. The trauma of living life again is why everyone cries & loses their past life's memory. You don't	I grew up as a normal person in my first remembered life. My name was Adrian. I had a stable job, a wife, and a little girl, who I treated like my little princess. Then it all fell apart one night. I was murdered by a younger friend of mine. I don't know what he wanted. All I knew is that I was dead. Where would I go? I wasn't sure, but once I saw the gloves and felt new feelings of life I realized it was reincarnation. I simply took it as a sign that I could keep going. My name was once Mark, but now my name is Natalie. I tried to fit in as best as I could, while still realizing that I could learn some new things, like singing or playing an instrument. I grew up, and I finally started to get some friends. David, Anna, and Grace. They were all very nice people, and I started to really begin living life a little more normally. One day however, I was walking down the street in Ashfield when I saw someone familiar. I practically did a double-take when I saw him. My murderer, walking down the street like he owned the place. What happened after I died? I went to the library to do some digging. I read my case files, and it turns out that my murder was ruled out as being committed by him. Instead, it was put on some random kid who I didn't even know. He's already been terminated. My killer went away scot-free, and is still among us. Something primal began to rage inside me. I decided that very night to find him and claim revenge. I confronted him in his house, but he was already prepared. We had a quick fight, and I died again. This time, I was a guy by the name of Thomas. I was born to rich parents, and considered a prodigy. I grew up learning every type of fighting style I could know, and I went back to him. Somehow, he escaped getting convicted of my second murder by placing a knife nearby with some other kid's DNA on it. This man had to be stopped at all costs. We fought and fought, but eventually his old age got to him. I shot him in the head twice, for each of his murders of me. I heard the sirens blaring in the distance. I'm toast. With a pull of the trigger, this body's gone too. I can't keep all stoic like this. This cannot define who I am. If I lose myself to this anger, I can't come back. My next life I was born by the name of Ella. I decided I needed a fresh start. Other than some remastering, I didn't want to do too much. I just wanted to live a normal life this time. I got some new friends, the first proper friends I've had in 20 years. Mike, Ashley, and Elyza. I'd known them for years. They needed to know what I am. One night I told them, and they understood. I broke down crying. This was the first time I had told anyone my secret in my nearly 100 years on this planet. We swore right then and there that from that point on, we would meet each other each lifetime, no matter what. My next life, I was named Jessica. We set a place we would all meet each lifetime: Times Square, New York, on the top steps of the staircase, every 20 years, give or take. Somehow, it worked. Their names were Erica, Justin, and Lily, but they were still the same people I knew from ages past. We set new places and get-togethers every so often. Usually one of us survives long enough for us to get in contact with them by simpler means, which makes it a lot easier. The lives flew by. Weston. Arie. Robert. Percy. Maya. Each time through the centuries we found each other somehow. Some of us gained enormous knowledge, and were using it on new scientific endeavors. I decided a few lives ago that I need to help the average person. Somehow through the ages, companies never changed. The status quo stayed the same. I had the power to change all of that. Over my next lifetimes, I became politicians, revolutionaries, scientists, anything to change this world. Even through the eons, my friends remained as a constant that nothing can change. One can only know how many lives were touched by one of our selves over these tens of lifetimes. Eventually, one lifetime, we decided we had enough of keeping to ourselves about reincarnation, and created a sprawling scientific paper showing how it all works. Everyone knew our secret. Everyone knew the truth about how we worked. There were even memory suppression techniques that were found to be possible to accomplish without breaking the memories. Eventually, after 135 lifetimes, I needed a clean slate. I remembered all my lives as they disappeared before my memory. The politicians. The singers. The scientists. The normal people who didn't want to live a life of luxury. The celebrities who were forced to. I saw my earliest lives flash too. Natalie, Thomas, and eventually Adrian. This all started because of a chase for someone who will never know what they once were. I kept one life secure: Ella. My friends will never leave my mind. I will never leave them. My next life, I was born Rachel. They were named Harris, Jenny, and Hailey. We were proud of what we had done, and we can't wait to see where we go from here, on this never-ending trek through our lives.	\[WP\] When you die you see a light in the darkness. Large blue hands reach in and pull you out. You look around yourself and see a woman with her legs up screaming and a doctor holding you in his arms. The trauma of living life again is why everyone cries & loses their past life's memory. You don't &#x200B; "Mom, I did it again!" "..." "Mom, I know you can hear me because I can hear you panting. You sound like our old Chevy with the busted window." "..." "Mom, are you going to speak to me now?" "..." "Mom, there is a dark tunnel and I'm bit cold. Can you talk to me like you used to do?" "..." "Mom, I see the light!" The doc holds out his hands while emphasizing to breath again. Even the bald guy on the side was emulating breathing techniques. However, I was the only one who didn't want to breathe out and push at the same time. What the hell was wrong with these guys? Can't they hear what I am hearing? Can't they understand that somethings shouldn't see the light of day? Push? Fuck this! I'm not doing it! "Mom, God is calling to me!" "I'm not pushing!" "Mom, I can see blue hands calling me!" "No, no, no!" "Mom, I can see Dad again!" "For fuck sakes, lord why me! Why bloody me?" "Mom, this bastard hit me! Mom, tell this guy to be gentle. I have baby soft skin! Mom, tell dad to put on deodorant! Mom, why is this lady staring at me like this? Mom, he flick me. Mom, tell him I'm boy so he can stop playing with me! Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom!" "FOR FUCK SAKES, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The Doctor and Nurse take a step back. "Maybe we gave her a bit too much anesthetics?" The nurse look at the chart before shaking her head. "It is recorded that she got the standard. Maybe she was always crazy. It might be better just to put her in the ward for few days to calm down. Having back to back kids can be stressful after all." The doctor nodded while the husband rubbed his bald head. Silently thinking that his wife finally lost it. He totally forgot to warn her to put in the ear plugs. He touched his to pushed them deeper before giving his wife encouraging smile.
	[WP] You wake up, it's a normal day. Except it's not. There seems to be no one around but you. Everyone has disappeared and you are the only one left on Earth. You wander endlessly for years hoping to find someone. Collecting supplies one day, you hear a soft "Hello?"	I slept in my bedroom – the mahogany dresser, the hardwood floors, the brown lamp. It was only place in the world, where I could pretend that everything was still normal. You see, about a year ago, everybody disappeared. And I do mean everybody. I supposed looting isn’t looting when nothing belongs to anyone, and the only person is you. Every day, I would wake up, hoping to find someone. Anyone. At this point, I’d be willing to see my ex-fiance who cheated on me with her best friend. I missed talking to people. I missed seeing people. People are meant for some sort of interaction. So I searched, store by store, building by building. The places I frequented most were the grocery stores, because if there was someone, they’d need food above all else just like I do. This Tuesday morning, I made my trek to Weiss, and I passed an alley. “Hello,” A low voice murmured. I froze where I stood, turning into the alley. The voice was like a jolt to my situation. I searched around, but I didn’t see anyone. “Hello?” I called out, searching for the source of the voice. “Had I finally lost it?” A woman’s voice laughed. “Who is there?” I asked. And in front of me, she appeared. A woman about a head shorter than me with long, flowing black hair and deep brown eyes and skin the color of cream, wearing a fashion forward jumpsuit. The Z-Nator. I had forgotten that we used to have superheroes. What did she do again? I stepped back in fear. “Are there any others of you left?” “I don’t know, but don’t run,” She whispered, moving toward me. “I do miss company. Is there anyone else with you? I do like that there’s nobody in danger, but I do miss helping people. Do you think they all died?” I blinked and remained silent. “Sir?” She said in a quiet voice, waving her hand in front of my face. “Huh?” I asked, staring at her in awe. “Do you think they all died?” She repeated. I nodded my head slowly. “I think so or the Revelation thing happened, but I don’t buy that. There wouldn’t only be two people left not with all the murders and crimes that used to be reported on the news. What do you think?” “I think one day we’re going to wake up and see that they all came back. It’s going to be like a dream or something,” She whispered with a voice tinged with expectation. “You and me and whoever else is out here—we’re going to be okay. We just got to stick it out. This isn’t the end.” “I do hope you’re right,” I breathed, closing my eyes tight. “A day like that is just what I need.”	\Hello?\ My heart skipped a beat. I shot my head in a full 360 degree spin, making out every little detail of the landscape painted around me. It was barren, devoid of even the slightest notion of life. I croaked, under my breath, fighting to muster some sort of words. It’d been 20 years since I had done so much as uttered a simple “Ouch”. I felt my vocal cords wouldn’t let me produce the smallest “hello”. Nonetheless, I knew what I heard, and 20 years of lonesomeness can make one quite stubborn. The drive home was a rather harrowing one. I didn’t want to leave, but after hours of searching and sobbing in hopes of finding the smallest semblance of life, I gave up. It didn’t feel right, but letting it plague my thoughts would do me no good. That was, of course, until I stepped out of my large beat-up honda, and into my home. It was then that I heard a rustling. A rustling that could not be written off as anything other than that of a \human\. I didn’t even think to turn the lights off before I chased after the sound. It was stupid, but then again, what wasn’t. I barreled through the halls, sweet whispers flying through my ears. Whispers of safety, whispers of another living thing. As I ran, and ran, and ran, my house stretched and stretched and stretched. It kept it’s pace with me, never letting me go. But I didn’t care, because I could hear the rustling becoming louder and louder, until I was positive my ears were bleeding. But I had no time for my ears, I only had time for my goal. I ran for weeks, and those weeks turned into years, and those years turned into millenia. But I would never stop running. I \could\ never stop running. Lives flashed through my mind. Billions of lives. All the lives lost. Every life lost, because of me. Because of what I did. I could never outrun that, but I could try. And, as I still run to this day, I know this is my punishment. This is what I deserve. I know that at the end of this hall, there will be nothing. But I must try. I deserve this, because at the end of the day, no matter what I do… \I’ll still be alone.\
	[WP] You wake up, it's a normal day. Except it's not. There seems to be no one around but you. Everyone has disappeared and you are the only one left on Earth. You wander endlessly for years hoping to find someone. Collecting supplies one day, you hear a soft "Hello?"	Roan leaned over and wiped the dust off another tin can as he peered down to read its inscription. It's not that he expected it would say anything different than the last handful but a little part of him kept that hope alive. Rust had ruined any semblance of words which also meant it likely wouldn't be useful. Damn. Finding anything nowadays, let alone food, was like hitting the lottery. Ha, the lottery, what an abstract thought compared to what his day to day life consisted of now. Endlessly wandering deserted city after deserted city searching high and low for a sign that he wasn't alone. That was the harsh reality he had learned to not dwell on years ago. He was utterly alone. Aside, from inanimate objects and the occasional voices he heard in his head. His mother used to say that the voices in your head are just a reflection of your heart's true intent. Unfortunately, it didn't resonate with him until it was too late to make a difference. He tossed the once-promising tin can back into the pile of warehouse rubble where it came from. A plume of dust burst into the air and danced with the sun for a brief moment as gravity did it's best to bring everything back to how it was. The dark arching walls around him looked like they had been abandoned even before the falling out. He oddly felt bad for the building. That it had been given up on even before there was ever a real reason to. Roan rocked on his heels and gave an exasperated sigh as he headed for the door. His hand reached for the doorknob and a soft murmur snuck into his ears from across the room. He didn't move a muscle as his mind raced to convince himself it was just another animal. His younger self might have hoped otherwise but his now hardened interior was the result of years of countless fantastical expectations and demoralizing outcomes. The sound came again but this time barely recognizable. Hello. The word teased him from the darkness of the warehouse. Each passing second helped reinvigorate Roan's conviction that this time was different. This time he wasn't alone, he was sure of. His dry lips parted and he stood for a moment with his mouth open unsure what to even say. All his mind and body could come up with was a low grunt that poised a threat and question at the same time. Nothing came back in return. His eyes jetted around the corners of the room trying to make out what, if anything, was responsible for the word he hadn't heard in years. His curiosity was starting to mask his fear as he timidly inched across to the dark depths. Eyes adjusting, he slowly started to see a face appearing up against the far wall. A blur of a man that clearly had seen better days. His face covered in dirt and beard long forgotten. It was the first face he had seen in close to a decade and all Roan could feel was a pity for the man. The man's eyes seemed to yearn for something he knew he could never have. It wasn't until he got closer that he realized the man was not a man at all. It was something far worse.	\Hello?\ My heart skipped a beat. I shot my head in a full 360 degree spin, making out every little detail of the landscape painted around me. It was barren, devoid of even the slightest notion of life. I croaked, under my breath, fighting to muster some sort of words. It’d been 20 years since I had done so much as uttered a simple “Ouch”. I felt my vocal cords wouldn’t let me produce the smallest “hello”. Nonetheless, I knew what I heard, and 20 years of lonesomeness can make one quite stubborn. The drive home was a rather harrowing one. I didn’t want to leave, but after hours of searching and sobbing in hopes of finding the smallest semblance of life, I gave up. It didn’t feel right, but letting it plague my thoughts would do me no good. That was, of course, until I stepped out of my large beat-up honda, and into my home. It was then that I heard a rustling. A rustling that could not be written off as anything other than that of a \human\. I didn’t even think to turn the lights off before I chased after the sound. It was stupid, but then again, what wasn’t. I barreled through the halls, sweet whispers flying through my ears. Whispers of safety, whispers of another living thing. As I ran, and ran, and ran, my house stretched and stretched and stretched. It kept it’s pace with me, never letting me go. But I didn’t care, because I could hear the rustling becoming louder and louder, until I was positive my ears were bleeding. But I had no time for my ears, I only had time for my goal. I ran for weeks, and those weeks turned into years, and those years turned into millenia. But I would never stop running. I \could\ never stop running. Lives flashed through my mind. Billions of lives. All the lives lost. Every life lost, because of me. Because of what I did. I could never outrun that, but I could try. And, as I still run to this day, I know this is my punishment. This is what I deserve. I know that at the end of this hall, there will be nothing. But I must try. I deserve this, because at the end of the day, no matter what I do… \I’ll still be alone.\
	[WP] You wake up, it's a normal day. Except it's not. There seems to be no one around but you. Everyone has disappeared and you are the only one left on Earth. You wander endlessly for years hoping to find someone. Collecting supplies one day, you hear a soft "Hello?"	"Hello?" I jumped out of my skin, dropping all of my firewood, and stood up quickly looking around. Four feet in front of me is a girl. A real girl. She is a beautiful, tall blond in casual clothes looking at me shyly. "Hey what's your name?" she asks. "Do you know where everybody went? I haven't been able to find anyone for the last few hours." I just stared at her dumbfounded. She is the first person I have seen in years. I have been walking around the world for 3 years without finding anyone, but then there she is. "Can you hear me?" She asks kindly. "Oh! do you not speak english? Tu parles francais?" She asked hopefully. "No. I... I can speak english." "Oh good." She smiles the most beautiful smile. "So do you know what is going on? I just woke up and everyone was gone. My name is Bella by the way." "I'm... I'm James" I said taking a second to remember my name. "I don't know where anybody is. They all disappeared 3 years ago. You are the first person i have seen since then. How are you here? Are you a dream?" I ask still confused at seeing another human being. "I ... I don't know" she said now frowning. "I'm not a dream, i don't think. I just woke up this morning and everyone was gone." We stared at each other for a few minutes searching each other's eyes for the truth. She looked scared, but confident. I could see intelligence behind her blue eyes. I wonder what she saw in mine. Confusions and admiration maybe, along with some excitement and a bit of relief at no longer being alone. "I guess you can come back to my camp is you want, and we can try to figure it out together." "Ok" she said calmly "Let's go." I gathered my firewood and we headed to the house I had claimed as my home for the week. We didn't speak, still confused, but I felt true happiness for the first time in years. The thought crossed my mind that i might be dead, but i didn't really care. All that matters is that I am not alone anymore. I know their is a lot to figure out but joy flooded through my body. I held the door open for Bella as we reached the house, and I began to make a fire in the chimney. "Nice place you got here" Bella said awkwardly looking around the dusty room. "Thanks. I just found it the other day and thought it was a nice place to stay for the week." I said equally as awkward. "So... what was the last thing you remember before everyone was gone?" I asked to get down to business. "Well.." Bella responded sitting down on the couch, "I was up late at the library researching for my term paper when i began packing up to head home. I was one of the last to leave and I remember their was some professor leaving at the same time. I got in my car, drove home, and went to bed." "That all seems pretty normal." I said thinking. "Wait! No, that's not what happened. Is it? No i left the library but i don't actually remember driving home. No of course I drove home, I woke up in my bed this morning. But i didn't drive." she said starting to get upset. "Ok breath." I said "You're ok. Maybe ... maybe that is when whatever happened, happened" She looked up at me confused and in despair "But what actually happened? Where are we actually if we are not with everyone else?" "I... I don't know" "Well what were your last memories before everything happened?" I thought back for the first time in years. "I was a college student, I think, and I was studying for an exam late... at the library." Bella's eyes widened "And i drov... wait. No. I didn't drive home either. I... why can't i remember?!" "That's the connection" she whispered almost to herself. "Something happened..." she said getting louder "after we both left the library, but what?" We looked at each other. Her eyes were full of fear and confusion and so were mine. "What did they do to us?" I said. "Wait. who are they?" Bella countered I was confused. I didn't know why I has just said that. Who was this mysterious 'they' my mind just invented. Oh. Oh no! They. Them. I remember now. They were experimenting, but I am not supposed to know that. They will be very angry. If they know I remember I will be .... \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Subject 78392 has remembered. Experiment failed. Introduction of a companion after day 1155 proved unsuccessful Brain reset in progress for trial #56728	\Hello?\ My heart skipped a beat. I shot my head in a full 360 degree spin, making out every little detail of the landscape painted around me. It was barren, devoid of even the slightest notion of life. I croaked, under my breath, fighting to muster some sort of words. It’d been 20 years since I had done so much as uttered a simple “Ouch”. I felt my vocal cords wouldn’t let me produce the smallest “hello”. Nonetheless, I knew what I heard, and 20 years of lonesomeness can make one quite stubborn. The drive home was a rather harrowing one. I didn’t want to leave, but after hours of searching and sobbing in hopes of finding the smallest semblance of life, I gave up. It didn’t feel right, but letting it plague my thoughts would do me no good. That was, of course, until I stepped out of my large beat-up honda, and into my home. It was then that I heard a rustling. A rustling that could not be written off as anything other than that of a \human\. I didn’t even think to turn the lights off before I chased after the sound. It was stupid, but then again, what wasn’t. I barreled through the halls, sweet whispers flying through my ears. Whispers of safety, whispers of another living thing. As I ran, and ran, and ran, my house stretched and stretched and stretched. It kept it’s pace with me, never letting me go. But I didn’t care, because I could hear the rustling becoming louder and louder, until I was positive my ears were bleeding. But I had no time for my ears, I only had time for my goal. I ran for weeks, and those weeks turned into years, and those years turned into millenia. But I would never stop running. I \could\ never stop running. Lives flashed through my mind. Billions of lives. All the lives lost. Every life lost, because of me. Because of what I did. I could never outrun that, but I could try. And, as I still run to this day, I know this is my punishment. This is what I deserve. I know that at the end of this hall, there will be nothing. But I must try. I deserve this, because at the end of the day, no matter what I do… \I’ll still be alone.\
	[WP] You wake up, it's a normal day. Except it's not. There seems to be no one around but you. Everyone has disappeared and you are the only one left on Earth. You wander endlessly for years hoping to find someone. Collecting supplies one day, you hear a soft "Hello?"	Day 1, you scrawled at the top of a blank page in your black, leather-bound notepad. The sun drew long shadows across the whitewashed wall of your rental apartment as it drooped behind the horizon. You were never the sentimental type, and couldn’t bring yourself to write a long, drawn-out passage about the day’s occurrences, so instead you followed up with a simple statement: People Encountered - 0. For an introvert like yourself, spending a whole day seeing no one other than your overweight cat, Mittens, was not unusual. In fact, it was surprisingly easy for hours to slip away from you as you spent your days off slouched in front of your stupidly large TV screen, gaming and watching movies. Today, however, was not one of those days. You’d risen early to the torturous sound of your alarm blaring from your phone. It was bound to be another expectedly mundane day in the office, so you’d dragged yourself into, and quickly out of, the pathetic dribble that your landlord marketed as a shower, then shoved on your work uniform and were out the door. As you trudged down the bland hallway towards the building’s lift, you’d barely even noticed that old Ms. Pinder wasn’t on her way out to collect the daily newspaper. It didn’t strike you as odd that the obnoxiously peppy guy who lived on the floor above wasn’t waiting in the lift on his way to the gym, nor did you question when the car park below your building was completely still. It was only as you pulled your hatchback, which was in desperate need of a wash, onto the main road, that you realised everything was eerily calm. There were no other vehicles, cyclists or even pedestrians on the streets surrounding your block of flats. You can still recall the way your breath caught in your throat in a moment of sheer panic and confusion. The rest of your day had been spent desperately searching for signs of life: knocking on doors, visiting shops, even a little breaking and entering towards the end, when you were feeling most frantic. Everyone was gone. Not dead. Gone. You’d completed your diary entry with a quick summary of your findings. All human life seems to have vanished. Can’t seem to find many animals either – no pets around, not even Mittens. The entries to days 2 through 642 were all echoes of the first, but with varying summaries. Some days were exciting, like when you broke into the grocery store for the first time and had free run of the place. You’d left with a trolley full of goods, ranging from your favourite crisps – the red Doritos – to a set of collapsible garden furniture for the garden you didn’t actually have. You hadn’t paid a penny and that had only added to your glee. Other days, you’d realised how lonely you were. The gravity of your situation had debilitated you, and you’d been unable to leave your bed. Today was day 643 and you were ready to face yet another day of isolation, occupying yourself and avoiding the gentle caress of impending insanity. You rolled out of bed, the sun already beaming from high in the sky. Must be at least 11, you’d thought to yourself, but who cares about time when you’re the only person on the planet. Following the same sound logic and reasoning, you’d decided to skip a shower – again. You thought, uncertainly, that this might be your fifth day without one. It’s fine – a person can’t smell themself! You did, however, decide that you would treat yourself to clean underwear. You’d picked a slightly greying pair from the ever-growing heap in the corner of your bedroom and sniffed them… well, clean enough. Within a few short minutes, you were making your way along the desolate street that led to the nearby shop. You were almost certain they would still have some instant coffee left. As usual, upon arriving, you pried open the heavy, metal shutter at the back – stupid delivery driver had never shut it properly in the first place – and snuck inside. The frigid air emanating from the empty chilled aisles was a welcome change from the humid air that hung around you outside, dampening your body and making your clothes cling. You strode confidently along the empty central portion of the supermarket, on your way to retrieve the coffee you so desperately wanted. Packets rustled a few metres away. You froze. The air was too still outside to be blowing this far into the supermarket. The air conditioning units had given out a long time ago. There was only one explanation. Something was there. You contemplated turning, running, escaping whatever was lurking in the barren building. In fact, you managed to get at least two steps away before you heard footsteps. Not the thunderous footsteps of an enemy twice your size. Not even the delicate footsteps of a foe with the speed and agility of an assassin. These footsteps were… normal? Oh for god’s sake! Why am I doing this? Your body moved toward the sound readily, as if deliberately disobeying your frenzied mind. With your heart in your throat, you turned the corner. There, completely oblivious, sat a small child surrounded by wrappers and packets. You couldn’t help but gape as the young boy chomped away on the chocolate bar quickly melting in his hand. His huge brown eyes fell upon you and he smiled a wide, brown grin. Your diary entry that day was a little different than usual. Day 643. People Encountered – 1. I found a young boy today, he told me his name is Nate. He’s currently asleep in my bed. I think I’m going to have to keep him.	\Hello?\ My heart skipped a beat. I shot my head in a full 360 degree spin, making out every little detail of the landscape painted around me. It was barren, devoid of even the slightest notion of life. I croaked, under my breath, fighting to muster some sort of words. It’d been 20 years since I had done so much as uttered a simple “Ouch”. I felt my vocal cords wouldn’t let me produce the smallest “hello”. Nonetheless, I knew what I heard, and 20 years of lonesomeness can make one quite stubborn. The drive home was a rather harrowing one. I didn’t want to leave, but after hours of searching and sobbing in hopes of finding the smallest semblance of life, I gave up. It didn’t feel right, but letting it plague my thoughts would do me no good. That was, of course, until I stepped out of my large beat-up honda, and into my home. It was then that I heard a rustling. A rustling that could not be written off as anything other than that of a \human\. I didn’t even think to turn the lights off before I chased after the sound. It was stupid, but then again, what wasn’t. I barreled through the halls, sweet whispers flying through my ears. Whispers of safety, whispers of another living thing. As I ran, and ran, and ran, my house stretched and stretched and stretched. It kept it’s pace with me, never letting me go. But I didn’t care, because I could hear the rustling becoming louder and louder, until I was positive my ears were bleeding. But I had no time for my ears, I only had time for my goal. I ran for weeks, and those weeks turned into years, and those years turned into millenia. But I would never stop running. I \could\ never stop running. Lives flashed through my mind. Billions of lives. All the lives lost. Every life lost, because of me. Because of what I did. I could never outrun that, but I could try. And, as I still run to this day, I know this is my punishment. This is what I deserve. I know that at the end of this hall, there will be nothing. But I must try. I deserve this, because at the end of the day, no matter what I do… \I’ll still be alone.\
	[WP] You wake up, it's a normal day. Except it's not. There seems to be no one around but you. Everyone has disappeared and you are the only one left on Earth. You wander endlessly for years hoping to find someone. Collecting supplies one day, you hear a soft "Hello?"	Day 1, you scrawled at the top of a blank page in your black, leather-bound notepad. The sun drew long shadows across the whitewashed wall of your rental apartment as it drooped behind the horizon. You were never the sentimental type, and couldn’t bring yourself to write a long, drawn-out passage about the day’s occurrences, so instead you followed up with a simple statement: People Encountered - 0. For an introvert like yourself, spending a whole day seeing no one other than your overweight cat, Mittens, was not unusual. In fact, it was surprisingly easy for hours to slip away from you as you spent your days off slouched in front of your stupidly large TV screen, gaming and watching movies. Today, however, was not one of those days. You’d risen early to the torturous sound of your alarm blaring from your phone. It was bound to be another expectedly mundane day in the office, so you’d dragged yourself into, and quickly out of, the pathetic dribble that your landlord marketed as a shower, then shoved on your work uniform and were out the door. As you trudged down the bland hallway towards the building’s lift, you’d barely even noticed that old Ms. Pinder wasn’t on her way out to collect the daily newspaper. It didn’t strike you as odd that the obnoxiously peppy guy who lived on the floor above wasn’t waiting in the lift on his way to the gym, nor did you question when the car park below your building was completely still. It was only as you pulled your hatchback, which was in desperate need of a wash, onto the main road, that you realised everything was eerily calm. There were no other vehicles, cyclists or even pedestrians on the streets surrounding your block of flats. You can still recall the way your breath caught in your throat in a moment of sheer panic and confusion. The rest of your day had been spent desperately searching for signs of life: knocking on doors, visiting shops, even a little breaking and entering towards the end, when you were feeling most frantic. Everyone was gone. Not dead. Gone. You’d completed your diary entry with a quick summary of your findings. All human life seems to have vanished. Can’t seem to find many animals either – no pets around, not even Mittens. The entries to days 2 through 642 were all echoes of the first, but with varying summaries. Some days were exciting, like when you broke into the grocery store for the first time and had free run of the place. You’d left with a trolley full of goods, ranging from your favourite crisps – the red Doritos – to a set of collapsible garden furniture for the garden you didn’t actually have. You hadn’t paid a penny and that had only added to your glee. Other days, you’d realised how lonely you were. The gravity of your situation had debilitated you, and you’d been unable to leave your bed. Today was day 643 and you were ready to face yet another day of isolation, occupying yourself and avoiding the gentle caress of impending insanity. You rolled out of bed, the sun already beaming from high in the sky. Must be at least 11, you’d thought to yourself, but who cares about time when you’re the only person on the planet. Following the same sound logic and reasoning, you’d decided to skip a shower – again. You thought, uncertainly, that this might be your fifth day without one. It’s fine – a person can’t smell themself! You did, however, decide that you would treat yourself to clean underwear. You’d picked a slightly greying pair from the ever-growing heap in the corner of your bedroom and sniffed them… well, clean enough. Within a few short minutes, you were making your way along the desolate street that led to the nearby shop. You were almost certain they would still have some instant coffee left. As usual, upon arriving, you pried open the heavy, metal shutter at the back – stupid delivery driver had never shut it properly in the first place – and snuck inside. The frigid air emanating from the empty chilled aisles was a welcome change from the humid air that hung around you outside, dampening your body and making your clothes cling. You strode confidently along the empty central portion of the supermarket, on your way to retrieve the coffee you so desperately wanted. Packets rustled a few metres away. You froze. The air was too still outside to be blowing this far into the supermarket. The air conditioning units had given out a long time ago. There was only one explanation. Something was there. You contemplated turning, running, escaping whatever was lurking in the barren building. In fact, you managed to get at least two steps away before you heard footsteps. Not the thunderous footsteps of an enemy twice your size. Not even the delicate footsteps of a foe with the speed and agility of an assassin. These footsteps were… normal? Oh for god’s sake! Why am I doing this? Your body moved toward the sound readily, as if deliberately disobeying your frenzied mind. With your heart in your throat, you turned the corner. There, completely oblivious, sat a small child surrounded by wrappers and packets. You couldn’t help but gape as the young boy chomped away on the chocolate bar quickly melting in his hand. His huge brown eyes fell upon you and he smiled a wide, brown grin. Your diary entry that day was a little different than usual. Day 643. People Encountered – 1. I found a young boy today, he told me his name is Nate. He’s currently asleep in my bed. I think I’m going to have to keep him.	I slept in my bedroom – the mahogany dresser, the hardwood floors, the brown lamp. It was only place in the world, where I could pretend that everything was still normal. You see, about a year ago, everybody disappeared. And I do mean everybody. I supposed looting isn’t looting when nothing belongs to anyone, and the only person is you. Every day, I would wake up, hoping to find someone. Anyone. At this point, I’d be willing to see my ex-fiance who cheated on me with her best friend. I missed talking to people. I missed seeing people. People are meant for some sort of interaction. So I searched, store by store, building by building. The places I frequented most were the grocery stores, because if there was someone, they’d need food above all else just like I do. This Tuesday morning, I made my trek to Weiss, and I passed an alley. “Hello,” A low voice murmured. I froze where I stood, turning into the alley. The voice was like a jolt to my situation. I searched around, but I didn’t see anyone. “Hello?” I called out, searching for the source of the voice. “Had I finally lost it?” A woman’s voice laughed. “Who is there?” I asked. And in front of me, she appeared. A woman about a head shorter than me with long, flowing black hair and deep brown eyes and skin the color of cream, wearing a fashion forward jumpsuit. The Z-Nator. I had forgotten that we used to have superheroes. What did she do again? I stepped back in fear. “Are there any others of you left?” “I don’t know, but don’t run,” She whispered, moving toward me. “I do miss company. Is there anyone else with you? I do like that there’s nobody in danger, but I do miss helping people. Do you think they all died?” I blinked and remained silent. “Sir?” She said in a quiet voice, waving her hand in front of my face. “Huh?” I asked, staring at her in awe. “Do you think they all died?” She repeated. I nodded my head slowly. “I think so or the Revelation thing happened, but I don’t buy that. There wouldn’t only be two people left not with all the murders and crimes that used to be reported on the news. What do you think?” “I think one day we’re going to wake up and see that they all came back. It’s going to be like a dream or something,” She whispered with a voice tinged with expectation. “You and me and whoever else is out here—we’re going to be okay. We just got to stick it out. This isn’t the end.” “I do hope you’re right,” I breathed, closing my eyes tight. “A day like that is just what I need.”
	[WP] You suddenly realize you're sitting in a dimly lit bar, seated next to someone vaguely familiar. As they notice you turn towards them, they smile and say, "It's nice to finally meet you. Shame you had to die in such a manner."	"Excuse me?" I said. There was a cold Scotch in my hand. I didn't remember having a cold Scotch in my hand. I put it down in front of me. The man rolled his eyes. They kept rolling. His whole face was, actually. Like someone had dunked a watercolor painting of a normal face underwater. I wondered if I was already drunk. Wait, I don't drink. "You. Dead," the man said slowly, enunciating in that patronizing sort of way that suggests that the person being talked to is a few neurons sort of a complete set. "I got that part," I said. "It was more a clarification 'excuse me' than a repeat what you just said 'excuse me'. Also, why are your eyes still rolling?" "Are they?" the man said. "Apologies. Reception here is terrible." He slapped the side of his head, and suddenly his face was normal. Well, it wasn't normal. He had too many eyes and no nose. But at least his face wasn't rolling anymore. The man downed his drink in a single gulp, smacked his lips, then said, "Well, to answer the second question first, it typically takes the recently departed a few seconds to acclimate their vision to things back here. And as for clarification... well..." He gestured at the bartender, who was cleaning a glass with an old dishrag and had an elephant's trunk instead of a nose. The bartender said, "You're in the Background." I processed this for a few seconds. "The Background," I repeated. "Quite so," said the bartender. He pointed at my glass. "Don't like your drink?" "I've been sober twenty years," I said, trying to infuse enough coldness into the sentence to cover up the sheer bewilderment bursting in my brain. "Technically," said the man next to me, "you've only been sober for about..." He looked at his watch. It was on his third arm. "Two minutes. That's about when you died. Did I get that right Benji?" "Quite so," said Benji. "Excuse me, I have other customers to attend to." He walked away and began talking to the woman with green skin and the man with a ceiling fan for a head. "So I died," I said. "How?" "Lord help me," said the man, and he rolled his eyes again. This time, they stopped on their own. "Thought you'd have pieced it together. You were sober twenty years. Now you've been sober two minutes. Put two and two together and you get..." I swallowed. "I drank myself to death." "Right on the money." I looked around. To my right, behind the man, the bar went on as far as the eye could see. What I had first taken to be a framed M. C. Escher seemed to actually be a series of impossible staircases, upon which frollicked and thumped a menagerie of interesting creatures, few of which I felt could be described in words. One of them I was fairly sure was called a gallumpiate, although I wasn't quite sure how the word had entered my brain. I suspected there was more than just alcohol involved. To my left the bar abruptly turned a corner, and beyond was an open door beyond which sat a reddish neon-lit street, and a path of rain-slickened cobbles. "So this is the Background," I said. "It's Hell, right? I'm in Hell. You're the Devil and I'm in Hell. Fucking Hell." "Not quite," said the man. "And no, it's not Heaven either. Though I could put on a halo if it would make you feel better." "It wouldn't," I said, my stomach folding in on itself with nausea. "How? I was so careful." "Julie left you," the man said. "You were a wreck. Then you were in a wreck. Happens to the best of us." I stared. "She wouldn't." The man picked up a remote beside his drink and pointed it upward, above the place where the bar cornered into the wall. The TV flickered to life. And there I was, on the screen, crumpled up on the bedroom floor, empty bottles and the torn up pieces of paper surrounding my quivering form. The memories came pouring in. The note. I'm tired of it. Tired of the bullshit. It's not what I wanted, it's what you wanted. The booze. The aching pleasantness of the whiskey sliding down my throat with the desperation of a soldier coming home from the war. "No, no, no," said my companion. "This isn't the good part." He clicked a button and fast-forwarded the tape. And there I was, driving 80 miles per hour down the highway and weeping drunkenly, beard crusted with fresh vomit. "This is the good part." CRASH. A scream of rending metal, of jagged pieces twisting into raw flesh, then silence. The tape flipped to static. "Boo!" said a man sitting in the back of the room. He was wearing an upside-down overcoat and his feet were where his hands should have been. "Mine was better." "Fuck off, Dave," said my companion. "You died of an ulcer. No one wants to see that shit." I didn't say anything. It was too much. I didn't have any tears left to cry. I'd lost Julie. I'd lost my sobriety, and I'd lost my life. What did I have left? I eyed the Scotch sitting in front of me. The man beside me sighed. "Alright, friend, here's the deal. This is the behind-the-scenes of reality. The shits and giggles behind the facade of your everyday existence. This is where the magic happens. And this is where you go when you die. Not up, not down, not even fucking sideways, but behind." "Are you kidding?" I choked. "I died for this?" The man gave me a look, which given the number of eyes involved was quite unsettling. "No, you died for nothing. Just like Dave. Just like me. Just like all us sorry souls. There's nothing to die for. There's just death. Bam, pow, you're dead. Everyone does it, so get used to it. Because hey." He elbowed me. "Now you can really live." I stared at him, and my heart was full of menace. "This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. You're telling me nothing mattered?" "And life made sense? Going paycheck to paycheck just to kiss the ass of some bigwig who wiped his ass with the cash you brought in? Spending so much time looking for a meaning of life that you forgot to do anything that mattered. Believe me, this is all practically rational." "Practically," I replied. He shrugged. "Can't give us too much credit." The man sat back a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed me a card. "Look, here's the deal. Nothing makes sense here. But that doesn't mean you can't find the answers you need." "To what?" "Depends on the questions, doesn't it? And boy howdy, with a sob story like yours,"--he gestured at the TV, which was now showing a playback of a man leaping off a bridge, reverse-flying back onto the bridge, and leaping off again, set to a laughtrack. "--You must got a shitload of questions." I took the card. "What's this?" "See? You got the question thing down already." He smiled. "I know a guy. I know a lot of guys, but this guy might send you down the path you need to be sent down right now." "Thanks," I said, getting up to leave. "Who are you anyway?" The man shrugged. "Who knows? You gonna drink that?" He gestured at my Scotch. "Be my guest," I said, and started walking toward the door. "Hey, wait!" I turned. The man was looking at me, a friendly grin spreading beneath his too many eyes. "It's a mad world out there. Try to have some fun." I nodded and stepped out into the universe.	I burst out of my barstool. My hands are sweaty and shaking. I point towards the man sat at the bar “Y-you…” he smiles “you’ll feel okay soon, honey, you should be able to speak soon.” The way he called me honey made me sick to my stomach. I sink to the floor. I feel so sick that I can’t help but clutch my stomach. When I feel stable, I attempt to speak again. “You’ve drugged me, YOU DRUGGED ME! HELP! HES DRUGGED ME” the bartender doesn’t even turn around. A lie down on my side, tears build up in my eyes but I find myself unable to cry. He crouches down next to me and strokes my arm, in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. “You may not understand now. But you will. You’ll understand just fine.” As soon as he walks away I sit, quickly. Too quickly. My head aches. I continue to sit until my head stops throbbing. Finally, I choose to accept that maybe I am dead. It doesn’t make sense, I want answers but I’m going to have to accept it. I join him at the bar. Without looking at me he confidently says “You want to know why you are here.” I nod, and he’s silent for a while. The bartender brings over drinks. A gin and tonic for me, and a small vodka for him. He picks it up, and drinks it in one shot. “Let’s just say, you had some enemies out there” he smiles as he says it. I feel so sick again. He stands up and walks out of the bar. I don’t understand. And I probably never will.
	[WP] You suddenly realize you're sitting in a dimly lit bar, seated next to someone vaguely familiar. As they notice you turn towards them, they smile and say, "It's nice to finally meet you. Shame you had to die in such a manner."	"Excuse me?" I said. There was a cold Scotch in my hand. I didn't remember having a cold Scotch in my hand. I put it down in front of me. The man rolled his eyes. They kept rolling. His whole face was, actually. Like someone had dunked a watercolor painting of a normal face underwater. I wondered if I was already drunk. Wait, I don't drink. "You. Dead," the man said slowly, enunciating in that patronizing sort of way that suggests that the person being talked to is a few neurons sort of a complete set. "I got that part," I said. "It was more a clarification 'excuse me' than a repeat what you just said 'excuse me'. Also, why are your eyes still rolling?" "Are they?" the man said. "Apologies. Reception here is terrible." He slapped the side of his head, and suddenly his face was normal. Well, it wasn't normal. He had too many eyes and no nose. But at least his face wasn't rolling anymore. The man downed his drink in a single gulp, smacked his lips, then said, "Well, to answer the second question first, it typically takes the recently departed a few seconds to acclimate their vision to things back here. And as for clarification... well..." He gestured at the bartender, who was cleaning a glass with an old dishrag and had an elephant's trunk instead of a nose. The bartender said, "You're in the Background." I processed this for a few seconds. "The Background," I repeated. "Quite so," said the bartender. He pointed at my glass. "Don't like your drink?" "I've been sober twenty years," I said, trying to infuse enough coldness into the sentence to cover up the sheer bewilderment bursting in my brain. "Technically," said the man next to me, "you've only been sober for about..." He looked at his watch. It was on his third arm. "Two minutes. That's about when you died. Did I get that right Benji?" "Quite so," said Benji. "Excuse me, I have other customers to attend to." He walked away and began talking to the woman with green skin and the man with a ceiling fan for a head. "So I died," I said. "How?" "Lord help me," said the man, and he rolled his eyes again. This time, they stopped on their own. "Thought you'd have pieced it together. You were sober twenty years. Now you've been sober two minutes. Put two and two together and you get..." I swallowed. "I drank myself to death." "Right on the money." I looked around. To my right, behind the man, the bar went on as far as the eye could see. What I had first taken to be a framed M. C. Escher seemed to actually be a series of impossible staircases, upon which frollicked and thumped a menagerie of interesting creatures, few of which I felt could be described in words. One of them I was fairly sure was called a gallumpiate, although I wasn't quite sure how the word had entered my brain. I suspected there was more than just alcohol involved. To my left the bar abruptly turned a corner, and beyond was an open door beyond which sat a reddish neon-lit street, and a path of rain-slickened cobbles. "So this is the Background," I said. "It's Hell, right? I'm in Hell. You're the Devil and I'm in Hell. Fucking Hell." "Not quite," said the man. "And no, it's not Heaven either. Though I could put on a halo if it would make you feel better." "It wouldn't," I said, my stomach folding in on itself with nausea. "How? I was so careful." "Julie left you," the man said. "You were a wreck. Then you were in a wreck. Happens to the best of us." I stared. "She wouldn't." The man picked up a remote beside his drink and pointed it upward, above the place where the bar cornered into the wall. The TV flickered to life. And there I was, on the screen, crumpled up on the bedroom floor, empty bottles and the torn up pieces of paper surrounding my quivering form. The memories came pouring in. The note. I'm tired of it. Tired of the bullshit. It's not what I wanted, it's what you wanted. The booze. The aching pleasantness of the whiskey sliding down my throat with the desperation of a soldier coming home from the war. "No, no, no," said my companion. "This isn't the good part." He clicked a button and fast-forwarded the tape. And there I was, driving 80 miles per hour down the highway and weeping drunkenly, beard crusted with fresh vomit. "This is the good part." CRASH. A scream of rending metal, of jagged pieces twisting into raw flesh, then silence. The tape flipped to static. "Boo!" said a man sitting in the back of the room. He was wearing an upside-down overcoat and his feet were where his hands should have been. "Mine was better." "Fuck off, Dave," said my companion. "You died of an ulcer. No one wants to see that shit." I didn't say anything. It was too much. I didn't have any tears left to cry. I'd lost Julie. I'd lost my sobriety, and I'd lost my life. What did I have left? I eyed the Scotch sitting in front of me. The man beside me sighed. "Alright, friend, here's the deal. This is the behind-the-scenes of reality. The shits and giggles behind the facade of your everyday existence. This is where the magic happens. And this is where you go when you die. Not up, not down, not even fucking sideways, but behind." "Are you kidding?" I choked. "I died for this?" The man gave me a look, which given the number of eyes involved was quite unsettling. "No, you died for nothing. Just like Dave. Just like me. Just like all us sorry souls. There's nothing to die for. There's just death. Bam, pow, you're dead. Everyone does it, so get used to it. Because hey." He elbowed me. "Now you can really live." I stared at him, and my heart was full of menace. "This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. You're telling me nothing mattered?" "And life made sense? Going paycheck to paycheck just to kiss the ass of some bigwig who wiped his ass with the cash you brought in? Spending so much time looking for a meaning of life that you forgot to do anything that mattered. Believe me, this is all practically rational." "Practically," I replied. He shrugged. "Can't give us too much credit." The man sat back a moment, then reached into his pocket and handed me a card. "Look, here's the deal. Nothing makes sense here. But that doesn't mean you can't find the answers you need." "To what?" "Depends on the questions, doesn't it? And boy howdy, with a sob story like yours,"--he gestured at the TV, which was now showing a playback of a man leaping off a bridge, reverse-flying back onto the bridge, and leaping off again, set to a laughtrack. "--You must got a shitload of questions." I took the card. "What's this?" "See? You got the question thing down already." He smiled. "I know a guy. I know a lot of guys, but this guy might send you down the path you need to be sent down right now." "Thanks," I said, getting up to leave. "Who are you anyway?" The man shrugged. "Who knows? You gonna drink that?" He gestured at my Scotch. "Be my guest," I said, and started walking toward the door. "Hey, wait!" I turned. The man was looking at me, a friendly grin spreading beneath his too many eyes. "It's a mad world out there. Try to have some fun." I nodded and stepped out into the universe.	“Is this a joke she wondered, could he have found her already??” Her mind impulsed quickly while latching her eyes on the ice clanking in her glass. Diverting her fear, she studied the facets of ice submerged in the whiskey. This kept her face steady, a solid poker face, if only for a moment. The dregs of a door, withered by the weather, housed the door knob barely hanging in the latch. She glanced at this exit thinking of running......Sunlight trickling through it, with a crack large enough you could throw a cat under. A dingy bar, in this one horse town was the last place....she thought he would look. “Well played,” she chided herself after such a long battle....After all, she had the key to the pandemonium, she knew he would eventually find her... (How far do I write?). Never did this...
	[WP] A tiny portion of the population are born as sorcerers, able to naturally manipulate magic like as easy as breathing. There is a strict set of laws all sorcerers must follow to protect themselves and others, chief among which is the law that a sorcerer cannot have a child with another sorcerer	A heavy fisted pounding woke Marissa from where she rocked in a rocking chair before the fire. Her first reaction was to look down at the bundle who had been suckling on her for over an hour, relieved to find him finally asleep. “Open up, in the name of the High Council!” a male voice bellowed from outside. Marissa rose to her feet, but instead of carrying her bundle to the door, she opened her hands and had him levitate to his cradle under the window. As she covered herself up, the sheets automatically tucked him in, and a tiny little starlight scene with minstrel music played over his cradle. Marissa opened the door a crack, to see no less than four soldiers in heavily polished armour. The lead one had his helmet lifted up so she could see his face. “Can I help you?” she asked, not fearing these men in the least. “Mage-Mistress Marissa,” he said reverently. “We have been sent by the High Council to escort you and your newborn back to the capital.” Again, Marissa looked the group over, this time more critically. Each of them was pipped, indicating officers, which meant they were all wearing mage armour. Whoever had dispatched them, knew who they were sending them to. “On what grounds?” “That is for Chief-Mage Wensten to explain, Mage-Mistress.” “I am retired, gentlemen. I no longer answer to the summonses of the High Court without due cause. Either bring me that due cause, or leave me to enjoy my retirement in peace.” “You always have to be so stubborn, Marissa,” a voice at the back of the soldiers declared, causing the four to break into two like an honour guard. A man in his mid-fifties with long silver robes walked between them to stand before her. “I know the rules, Wensten. If you believe I have broken any of them, feel free to forge a formal complaint before the High Council.” “Dammit, Marissa. I’m here because of the rules!” He breathed deeply as if to gain control of himself. “Aren’t you going to invite an old friend in for a drink … for old time’s sake?” “Roson is sleeping at the moment, Wensten, and last time I checked we were not friends. What do you want?” “It has come to my attention that the existence of your son breaks our sacred coven. That both of his parents share magic.” “I’m sure you would like to believe that, Wensten, however, Roson’s father was a woodsman who was injured in an accident and now carves things for the local village. I have broken no laws in falling pregnant and retiring from active duty to raise my son, and will not be returning to the High Court to satisfy the whim of a frustrated mage who has spent almost every day of his career trying to prove me unworthy.” “I will know if it is true by looking at him. Stand aside!” he commanded and stepped forward in an effort to sweep past her. A flex of her fingers had him driven back by an invisible hand. “You must be joking.” Marissa chuckled coldly. “You are so biased against me that I have enough on you to report you to the High Court, and you think I’m going to let you anywhere near my son?” “That’s because you should never have been shown the art of magic. You are as common as dirt.” “That’s not how Chief-Mage Prothecrish saw me, was it?” Chief-Mage Wensten curled his lip, exposing his true personality. “If I ordered these men to take your child by force…” “I would be within my rights to dispatch them on the grounds that their search and seizure was illegal, and then their deaths would be laid at your feet for giving them the illegal order. You forget, I do know the rules, and I hear the prisons are especially hard on mages, Wensten.” “You will find out soon enough,” he promised, and in a single wave of his right hand, he and the soldiers disappeared. Marissa breathed out a heavy sigh. Every word Wensten said was true. Her parents were herdsmen who had offered a travelling mage respite on his travels. She had only been five at the time, playing in front of the fire. She had played with her toys until one fell into the fire. Knowing how poor they’d been, and how she wouldn’t get another due to her carelessness, she had instinctively reached in to get it, and by staring at it, it had fixed itself. Chief-Mage Prothecrish had jumped up from the table, placed a hand on her shoulder and turned to her family, declaring her a ward of the High Court. He had done what she knew later was a teleporting spell, moving the two of them back to the High Court, and that was the last time she saw her parents. Ever since then, she had been honing her natural gifts under his personal tutelage. Gifts that people like Wensten didn’t think she deserved. And when Chief-Mage Prothecrish retired five years ago and Wensten was made Chief-Mage, Marissa's life went from worse to Hell. She was given every menial job he could find her, until she was almost ready to break. And then she met Christopher. He’d already had his accident years earlier, and when he saw her in the tavern, he offered her a carving of a small squirrel, saying she reminded him of the way such small creatures had a way of achieving big things. The highlight of her tours north were her time with Christopher, and when she finally fell pregnant with his child, she had to choose career or motherhood. It was no choice. She had moved into Christopher’s small cabin, where the two were raising their son. Just as she went inside, Christopher hobbled in from the rear. “What was that all about?” he asked. “Nothing of importance. An old enemy trying to have one last swipe at me while he still can. How were the markets?” “I did well.” He went and sat in the rocking chair, beckoning her over. She slid easily into his lap and hooked her arm around his neck. He interlocked his fingers around her waist and set them to rocking. “I did overhear some of it,” he admitted. “Something about the law of two mages not being allowed to have a child?” “But that doesn’t concern us,” she argued. “Marissa, that’s not the way the prophecy goes.” Marissa pulled her head away from his shoulder to look at him, and he was smiling warmly. “I love you, my sweet. I have always loved you, from the very first time I saw you. I knew you were the one in the original prophecies. Not the bastardised things that the High Court has turned them into. It doesn’t say that two mages can’t have a child. It says two mage bloodlines can’t have a child, for that child will be twisted and evil. I have always had my suspicions that Wensten was such a child, but I could never prove it.” His hands continued to stroke her arms lovingly. “Our child, yours and mine, is prophesied to save us all, my sweet. To save us all from a tyranny that is only just starting to take flight.” “Christopher, I don’t understand.” “Christopher was the name my parents gave me before I was sent to the High Court for my formal training.” Marissa tried to stand, but he held her close. “It’s alright, my sweet. What lies between us has always been alright.” “Who are you?” He smiled. “Words and letter manipulations are our specialties, Marissa. Look without your eyes, and know me for who I am.” Prothecrish! &#x200B; ((All comments welcome)) For more of my work: [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/)	"Sure, go ahead." The young couple blinked at the straightforwardness of their superior officer, an elderly sage whose white hair reaches down to the floor. "You mean it, sir?" asked Sasha. "Yes, there's no hard and fast law that says you can't have kids when you're a sorcerer. Just make sure you regularly visit a midwife to check on the baby," was the reply. "But we heard from the office that--" began Byron. "There's an unwritten rule that discourages sorcerers from having children. Not to mention the paperwork for getting a childbirth permit is long and expensive that most don't bother with it," said their boss, shaking his head. "I think you know why. A long time ago, it was exceedingly difficult to give birth to the child of two sorcerers. The magic of the two couples would fight inside the baby and become highly unstable. At best the baby dies, at worst the entire hospital explodes." Sasha and Byron winced. "Only soulmates have compatible magic that helps them deliver a child safely," continued the boss. He stroked his beard. "Well, that was back in the day." "What about now?" "Just get a permit from the Health Officer to have a child, they'll tell you more about it." He said. "And make sure you get one, they'll have our heads, literally, if they discover you pregnant without a permit."
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	"What? Are you serious?! You overpopulate your planet and the majority of you live in the most disgusting and perilous slums, your species has tenfold more diseases than any other animal on your land or sea, you chose to artificially sustain your life and health instead of choosing to have a good diet, exercise and a clean environment, you torment your children with useless ideals ..." "Useless ... what do you mean useless ideals?" the human interlocutor tried to intervene. " ... and overburden their minds with inadequate amounts of information at their young age, your teachers are treated like garbage!" "You're mostly right but can we take it a tone down ...?" " ... your oceans life is chocking on your disgusting filth, your land animals don't have any room left, not to mention that you still eat flesh! Has it ever occurred to you that if you stop eating flesh you'd have less fields and more forests!?" "It has, but ..." "... and don't get me started on your leadership system. What brainless idiots would let those selfish manipulative lying ..." the alien looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. " ... how dumb can you be to have thousands of people protesting on the street to finally make a slight modification of an absurd law ... and still think these guys have your best interest at heart?!" "Look, we know ..." "Then why are you letting them!?" "OH come on! It would be anarchy on the streets, civil war and such if we just drop the law or take the government down!" "And that sort of violent and fearful mentality is also why WE, the civilized species of interstellar travel, would NEVER want to even visit! In fact, we hereby confiscate your interstellar travel technology and ban you from exiting your solar system until you evolve to a more civilized way of life." "Hey! Wait! You can't ...!!" "We can and we are!" And with a flash the human team was teleported back on Earth, on the landing pad, having nothing but the clothes on their back. The whole team had a gloomy mood and Anderson finally spoke up. "You know, they're right. We need to fix things down here before we could ever dream of being presentable to other species..."	"Ah, what a great place this is! How come nobody ever comes here? And the spacefleet prices are SO cheap! Here's a local! Hiya there!" "ALIENS? I KNEW THEY EXISTED!" "Uh well, hi, we're here from planet-" "Are you gonna probe me, ALIEN? Probe my ass?" "What? No! What the, are you...are you drinking sanitizing fluid? You're all drinking sanitizing fluid!" "You want to probe my ass too? Well HERE IT IS!" "What? Dude, no, why does everybody think we want to probe them? We just wanted a vacation!" "Here it is alien! PROBE AWAY!" "Stop. Okay E'len, grab the kids, we're leaving. L'ELC WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS?" "It's a 'cigarette,' they said it would make me look cool! Take a picture!" "L'ELC TRON CIBER, if you don't drop that right now you are sitting in time out for the lightjump home. Honey, grab him. Goddamn Earth. We're getting our money back."
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	We came in a close seventh place. "Close" referred to hundreds of thousands of years, instead of the typical gap of millions. Given that our cohort consisted of countless other planets, we did afford ourselves pride. They offered zero congratulations, as this was no race. We celebrated nonetheless. Of course, there were those of us who did not take kindly to playing lab rat. Our hosts had prepared treats to sate us. Their halls stretched all directions. We ascended in a cargo transport while they scampered up the verticals. Amongst ourselves, we likened them to a reptile species, one that, like many others from home, was now extinct. They certainly heard us but chuckled the way we would had our pet dogs told us we looked like trees. When we arrived at the dark room that was their data center, they read aloud what we could not. The less humbled of us interrupted to remind our hosts we need no lessons on what constitutes a control group. "Then you should well understand why we shielded you." Isolating us so the variable they were testing would not influence their results. They were measuring how influence from a more advanced species impacts a lesser's rate of development. In a way, this also measured what it means for a species to be considered advanced. It was a narcissistic experiment, to say the least, but in their positions, we'd have done the same. And by crossing the finish line that was interstellar travel, they'd collected one more data point.	"Ah, what a great place this is! How come nobody ever comes here? And the spacefleet prices are SO cheap! Here's a local! Hiya there!" "ALIENS? I KNEW THEY EXISTED!" "Uh well, hi, we're here from planet-" "Are you gonna probe me, ALIEN? Probe my ass?" "What? No! What the, are you...are you drinking sanitizing fluid? You're all drinking sanitizing fluid!" "You want to probe my ass too? Well HERE IT IS!" "What? Dude, no, why does everybody think we want to probe them? We just wanted a vacation!" "Here it is alien! PROBE AWAY!" "Stop. Okay E'len, grab the kids, we're leaving. L'ELC WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS?" "It's a 'cigarette,' they said it would make me look cool! Take a picture!" "L'ELC TRON CIBER, if you don't drop that right now you are sitting in time out for the lightjump home. Honey, grab him. Goddamn Earth. We're getting our money back."
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	Captain Jason Sterling greeted the intelligent magma-based lifeform from a distance, glad that he was inside a protective suit. The magma-based lifeform, who had identified itself with the name Grokmok, was surrounded by several other magma-based lifeforms oozing about. When Grokmok spoke, its voice sizzled and spit with a deep bass. "So you have finally found us, human. We wondered when the day would come. I hope that you come in peace?" "Yes," said Jason, "we come in peace. We do not wish to interfere in your society or-" "Hah!" barked Grokmok. "Interfere! You pitiful humans interfere! We have prepared for this day, human, for millennia." "You have... prepared?" said Jason. He listened hard as a voice crackled in his headset, the rumblings of command sending him instructions. They wanted him to find out what Grokmok meant. He wanted to tell them off for asking. Of course he was going to find out what Grokmok meant. That was part of his job. Instead, he kept silent and left Grokmok room to speak. Grokmok oozed and spit. "Yes, human, we have prepared." The deep bass of his voice rumbled outward, sending seismic waves through the air. "We have prepared so that we may stave off oblivion." "You don't think...?" said Jason. "We mean you no harm," he insisted. "Really, we come in peace." "Peace!" barked Grokmok. "You talk of peace! We have observed your planet for longer than you can imagine, human. Peace for you humans is nothing but a little pause inbetween wars. You fight and kill each other relentlessly. It is," he punctuated, as he oozed and spit, "perfectly normal, perhaps, for you humans to be so obsessed with such wanton abuse and destruction. But for us, the great people of Pecataria, we do not tolerate war." "Look, our species has had kind of a rough history," said Jason. "I admit that." He ignored the mutterings coming from his headset that were insisting he ask about what weaponry the people of Pecataria have. "But we are also a peace-loving people who cherish kindness. Surely you can see that." Grokmok bubbled and oozed with deep, rumbling laughter. "Peace-loving. You know nothing of peace-loving, little human. But know this, if you take war to the people of Pecataria, you will find yourselves obliterated in short order. We will not respect these pithy wishy-washy conventions of yours. We will wipe you out, so that you are never a threat to the galaxy again." "The galaxy?" said Jason. The voices in the headset were getting more insistent. He shut them off, cringing at the tongue-lashing and possible dismissal he was going to be facing later for shutting off communication. "You say the galaxy, we're barely space-faring, Grokmok. How could we pose a threat to the galaxy?" "We have seen," rumbled Grokmok, "how cleverly destructive and deceitful you humans are. You pose a threat to all life in the galaxy. We have learned to keep our distance." "But... wait, you've... how many alien species are there, out in the galaxy?" "That we know of," said Grokmok, "millions." Jason's training was the only thing that kept him from falling over. "Millions..." "Yes," said Grokmok, with rumbling satisfaction, "millions. Millions of different species of intelligent life across the galaxy and they know," it spit with extra fervor, "to stay far away from the humans!" Jason gulped. He'd shut out the voices from the headset, but he knew they would still be watching and listening in. This was deeply troubling. Surely humanity could not be so bad that millions of alien species would avoid them? What if Grokmok was lying? He was, after all, threatening them with obliteration. Maybe this was some kind of mind game, to lull humans into a false sense of security. He flipped the headset back on and muttered under his breath. "Code seventeen." Check for any attempts at the enemy sneaking in an attack force while we aren't paying attention. A voice came back through, "Negative on code seventeen. Hold on, there's something on radar." Grokmok oozed slowly toward Jason, the air heating up as he came closer. "Are you courting war, little human? Even after we have warned you?" Jason stepped backward, trying to make sure he had somewhere to go. It was difficult to move fast in the suit and atmosphere. "You won't destroy us," said Jason. He was embarrassed to find himself sweating. So much for training. "I thought you said you come in peace," rumbled Grokmok. "What are you so afraid of, human? Why do you so fear death that it obliterates all rational thought? Sends you spiraling into destruction?" The headset voice came alive. "We've got enemies on the perimeter. Should we fire? Is there a credible threat?" Jason froze as Grokmok oozed toward him until he was feet away. The heat boiled at the edges of the suit, threatening to break through its protective barrier. Grokmok had no visible eyes, but somehow Jason still felt he could see a pair of eyes staring at him through the magma. The expression he felt was a cold and calculating one. An expression of a being that was not going to back down. "Don't fire," said Jason. "No credible threat." Grokmok oozed up until it was at eye level. "Good choice, little human. Perhaps there is hope for your species yet." It oozed away, back toward its people. As Jason headed back to the fleet for pickup, he wondered if Grokmok was right. Was there hope or had he only staved off a problem that would never be solved?	"Ah, what a great place this is! How come nobody ever comes here? And the spacefleet prices are SO cheap! Here's a local! Hiya there!" "ALIENS? I KNEW THEY EXISTED!" "Uh well, hi, we're here from planet-" "Are you gonna probe me, ALIEN? Probe my ass?" "What? No! What the, are you...are you drinking sanitizing fluid? You're all drinking sanitizing fluid!" "You want to probe my ass too? Well HERE IT IS!" "What? Dude, no, why does everybody think we want to probe them? We just wanted a vacation!" "Here it is alien! PROBE AWAY!" "Stop. Okay E'len, grab the kids, we're leaving. L'ELC WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS?" "It's a 'cigarette,' they said it would make me look cool! Take a picture!" "L'ELC TRON CIBER, if you don't drop that right now you are sitting in time out for the lightjump home. Honey, grab him. Goddamn Earth. We're getting our money back."
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	Captain Jason Sterling greeted the intelligent magma-based lifeform from a distance, glad that he was inside a protective suit. The magma-based lifeform, who had identified itself with the name Grokmok, was surrounded by several other magma-based lifeforms oozing about. When Grokmok spoke, its voice sizzled and spit with a deep bass. "So you have finally found us, human. We wondered when the day would come. I hope that you come in peace?" "Yes," said Jason, "we come in peace. We do not wish to interfere in your society or-" "Hah!" barked Grokmok. "Interfere! You pitiful humans interfere! We have prepared for this day, human, for millennia." "You have... prepared?" said Jason. He listened hard as a voice crackled in his headset, the rumblings of command sending him instructions. They wanted him to find out what Grokmok meant. He wanted to tell them off for asking. Of course he was going to find out what Grokmok meant. That was part of his job. Instead, he kept silent and left Grokmok room to speak. Grokmok oozed and spit. "Yes, human, we have prepared." The deep bass of his voice rumbled outward, sending seismic waves through the air. "We have prepared so that we may stave off oblivion." "You don't think...?" said Jason. "We mean you no harm," he insisted. "Really, we come in peace." "Peace!" barked Grokmok. "You talk of peace! We have observed your planet for longer than you can imagine, human. Peace for you humans is nothing but a little pause inbetween wars. You fight and kill each other relentlessly. It is," he punctuated, as he oozed and spit, "perfectly normal, perhaps, for you humans to be so obsessed with such wanton abuse and destruction. But for us, the great people of Pecataria, we do not tolerate war." "Look, our species has had kind of a rough history," said Jason. "I admit that." He ignored the mutterings coming from his headset that were insisting he ask about what weaponry the people of Pecataria have. "But we are also a peace-loving people who cherish kindness. Surely you can see that." Grokmok bubbled and oozed with deep, rumbling laughter. "Peace-loving. You know nothing of peace-loving, little human. But know this, if you take war to the people of Pecataria, you will find yourselves obliterated in short order. We will not respect these pithy wishy-washy conventions of yours. We will wipe you out, so that you are never a threat to the galaxy again." "The galaxy?" said Jason. The voices in the headset were getting more insistent. He shut them off, cringing at the tongue-lashing and possible dismissal he was going to be facing later for shutting off communication. "You say the galaxy, we're barely space-faring, Grokmok. How could we pose a threat to the galaxy?" "We have seen," rumbled Grokmok, "how cleverly destructive and deceitful you humans are. You pose a threat to all life in the galaxy. We have learned to keep our distance." "But... wait, you've... how many alien species are there, out in the galaxy?" "That we know of," said Grokmok, "millions." Jason's training was the only thing that kept him from falling over. "Millions..." "Yes," said Grokmok, with rumbling satisfaction, "millions. Millions of different species of intelligent life across the galaxy and they know," it spit with extra fervor, "to stay far away from the humans!" Jason gulped. He'd shut out the voices from the headset, but he knew they would still be watching and listening in. This was deeply troubling. Surely humanity could not be so bad that millions of alien species would avoid them? What if Grokmok was lying? He was, after all, threatening them with obliteration. Maybe this was some kind of mind game, to lull humans into a false sense of security. He flipped the headset back on and muttered under his breath. "Code seventeen." Check for any attempts at the enemy sneaking in an attack force while we aren't paying attention. A voice came back through, "Negative on code seventeen. Hold on, there's something on radar." Grokmok oozed slowly toward Jason, the air heating up as he came closer. "Are you courting war, little human? Even after we have warned you?" Jason stepped backward, trying to make sure he had somewhere to go. It was difficult to move fast in the suit and atmosphere. "You won't destroy us," said Jason. He was embarrassed to find himself sweating. So much for training. "I thought you said you come in peace," rumbled Grokmok. "What are you so afraid of, human? Why do you so fear death that it obliterates all rational thought? Sends you spiraling into destruction?" The headset voice came alive. "We've got enemies on the perimeter. Should we fire? Is there a credible threat?" Jason froze as Grokmok oozed toward him until he was feet away. The heat boiled at the edges of the suit, threatening to break through its protective barrier. Grokmok had no visible eyes, but somehow Jason still felt he could see a pair of eyes staring at him through the magma. The expression he felt was a cold and calculating one. An expression of a being that was not going to back down. "Don't fire," said Jason. "No credible threat." Grokmok oozed up until it was at eye level. "Good choice, little human. Perhaps there is hope for your species yet." It oozed away, back toward its people. As Jason headed back to the fleet for pickup, he wondered if Grokmok was right. Was there hope or had he only staved off a problem that would never be solved?	"What? Are you serious?! You overpopulate your planet and the majority of you live in the most disgusting and perilous slums, your species has tenfold more diseases than any other animal on your land or sea, you chose to artificially sustain your life and health instead of choosing to have a good diet, exercise and a clean environment, you torment your children with useless ideals ..." "Useless ... what do you mean useless ideals?" the human interlocutor tried to intervene. " ... and overburden their minds with inadequate amounts of information at their young age, your teachers are treated like garbage!" "You're mostly right but can we take it a tone down ...?" " ... your oceans life is chocking on your disgusting filth, your land animals don't have any room left, not to mention that you still eat flesh! Has it ever occurred to you that if you stop eating flesh you'd have less fields and more forests!?" "It has, but ..." "... and don't get me started on your leadership system. What brainless idiots would let those selfish manipulative lying ..." the alien looked like he was going to have an aneurysm. " ... how dumb can you be to have thousands of people protesting on the street to finally make a slight modification of an absurd law ... and still think these guys have your best interest at heart?!" "Look, we know ..." "Then why are you letting them!?" "OH come on! It would be anarchy on the streets, civil war and such if we just drop the law or take the government down!" "And that sort of violent and fearful mentality is also why WE, the civilized species of interstellar travel, would NEVER want to even visit! In fact, we hereby confiscate your interstellar travel technology and ban you from exiting your solar system until you evolve to a more civilized way of life." "Hey! Wait! You can't ...!!" "We can and we are!" And with a flash the human team was teleported back on Earth, on the landing pad, having nothing but the clothes on their back. The whole team had a gloomy mood and Anderson finally spoke up. "You know, they're right. We need to fix things down here before we could ever dream of being presentable to other species..."
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	Captain Jason Sterling greeted the intelligent magma-based lifeform from a distance, glad that he was inside a protective suit. The magma-based lifeform, who had identified itself with the name Grokmok, was surrounded by several other magma-based lifeforms oozing about. When Grokmok spoke, its voice sizzled and spit with a deep bass. "So you have finally found us, human. We wondered when the day would come. I hope that you come in peace?" "Yes," said Jason, "we come in peace. We do not wish to interfere in your society or-" "Hah!" barked Grokmok. "Interfere! You pitiful humans interfere! We have prepared for this day, human, for millennia." "You have... prepared?" said Jason. He listened hard as a voice crackled in his headset, the rumblings of command sending him instructions. They wanted him to find out what Grokmok meant. He wanted to tell them off for asking. Of course he was going to find out what Grokmok meant. That was part of his job. Instead, he kept silent and left Grokmok room to speak. Grokmok oozed and spit. "Yes, human, we have prepared." The deep bass of his voice rumbled outward, sending seismic waves through the air. "We have prepared so that we may stave off oblivion." "You don't think...?" said Jason. "We mean you no harm," he insisted. "Really, we come in peace." "Peace!" barked Grokmok. "You talk of peace! We have observed your planet for longer than you can imagine, human. Peace for you humans is nothing but a little pause inbetween wars. You fight and kill each other relentlessly. It is," he punctuated, as he oozed and spit, "perfectly normal, perhaps, for you humans to be so obsessed with such wanton abuse and destruction. But for us, the great people of Pecataria, we do not tolerate war." "Look, our species has had kind of a rough history," said Jason. "I admit that." He ignored the mutterings coming from his headset that were insisting he ask about what weaponry the people of Pecataria have. "But we are also a peace-loving people who cherish kindness. Surely you can see that." Grokmok bubbled and oozed with deep, rumbling laughter. "Peace-loving. You know nothing of peace-loving, little human. But know this, if you take war to the people of Pecataria, you will find yourselves obliterated in short order. We will not respect these pithy wishy-washy conventions of yours. We will wipe you out, so that you are never a threat to the galaxy again." "The galaxy?" said Jason. The voices in the headset were getting more insistent. He shut them off, cringing at the tongue-lashing and possible dismissal he was going to be facing later for shutting off communication. "You say the galaxy, we're barely space-faring, Grokmok. How could we pose a threat to the galaxy?" "We have seen," rumbled Grokmok, "how cleverly destructive and deceitful you humans are. You pose a threat to all life in the galaxy. We have learned to keep our distance." "But... wait, you've... how many alien species are there, out in the galaxy?" "That we know of," said Grokmok, "millions." Jason's training was the only thing that kept him from falling over. "Millions..." "Yes," said Grokmok, with rumbling satisfaction, "millions. Millions of different species of intelligent life across the galaxy and they know," it spit with extra fervor, "to stay far away from the humans!" Jason gulped. He'd shut out the voices from the headset, but he knew they would still be watching and listening in. This was deeply troubling. Surely humanity could not be so bad that millions of alien species would avoid them? What if Grokmok was lying? He was, after all, threatening them with obliteration. Maybe this was some kind of mind game, to lull humans into a false sense of security. He flipped the headset back on and muttered under his breath. "Code seventeen." Check for any attempts at the enemy sneaking in an attack force while we aren't paying attention. A voice came back through, "Negative on code seventeen. Hold on, there's something on radar." Grokmok oozed slowly toward Jason, the air heating up as he came closer. "Are you courting war, little human? Even after we have warned you?" Jason stepped backward, trying to make sure he had somewhere to go. It was difficult to move fast in the suit and atmosphere. "You won't destroy us," said Jason. He was embarrassed to find himself sweating. So much for training. "I thought you said you come in peace," rumbled Grokmok. "What are you so afraid of, human? Why do you so fear death that it obliterates all rational thought? Sends you spiraling into destruction?" The headset voice came alive. "We've got enemies on the perimeter. Should we fire? Is there a credible threat?" Jason froze as Grokmok oozed toward him until he was feet away. The heat boiled at the edges of the suit, threatening to break through its protective barrier. Grokmok had no visible eyes, but somehow Jason still felt he could see a pair of eyes staring at him through the magma. The expression he felt was a cold and calculating one. An expression of a being that was not going to back down. "Don't fire," said Jason. "No credible threat." Grokmok oozed up until it was at eye level. "Good choice, little human. Perhaps there is hope for your species yet." It oozed away, back toward its people. As Jason headed back to the fleet for pickup, he wondered if Grokmok was right. Was there hope or had he only staved off a problem that would never be solved?	We came in a close seventh place. "Close" referred to hundreds of thousands of years, instead of the typical gap of millions. Given that our cohort consisted of countless other planets, we did afford ourselves pride. They offered zero congratulations, as this was no race. We celebrated nonetheless. Of course, there were those of us who did not take kindly to playing lab rat. Our hosts had prepared treats to sate us. Their halls stretched all directions. We ascended in a cargo transport while they scampered up the verticals. Amongst ourselves, we likened them to a reptile species, one that, like many others from home, was now extinct. They certainly heard us but chuckled the way we would had our pet dogs told us we looked like trees. When we arrived at the dark room that was their data center, they read aloud what we could not. The less humbled of us interrupted to remind our hosts we need no lessons on what constitutes a control group. "Then you should well understand why we shielded you." Isolating us so the variable they were testing would not influence their results. They were measuring how influence from a more advanced species impacts a lesser's rate of development. In a way, this also measured what it means for a species to be considered advanced. It was a narcissistic experiment, to say the least, but in their positions, we'd have done the same. And by crossing the finish line that was interstellar travel, they'd collected one more data point.
	[WP] Humans have developed interstellar travel and have just made first contact with alien lifeforms... and now they're learning why Earth was never visited by anybody.	Captain Ronald H. Miller stepped down from the capsule to be greeted by the tens of thousands that surrounded the landing facility. The moment his foot touched the ground, the crowd roared, a wave of noise exploded with excitement. Captain Miller, a stout, wholehearted American, held out his hand proudly, within its grasp was a foreign looking document. The crowd rumbled louder at the simple gesture. Five days earlier, Captain Miller had concluded a two-year interstellar journey, and reentered our solar system with significant news. When entering our solar system, communications were reestablished with the vessel “The Invigorator”, and Captain Miller’s voice emerged proudly over the communications, “Gentlemen...” he paused. “The mission… was a huge success. You are talking to the first man to make communications with…” he paused again. “Interstellar beings!” The members of the flight control room were awe struck with this news, and talked amongst each other with fervor, drowning out Captain Miller’s voice. “Gentlemen!” Captain Miller screamed. “There is no need to get worked up. I sorted out the communications flawlessly, with tremendous success, I might add.” Captain Miller said with a smile. “Let me fill you in earth dwellers in on what happened…” pausing, Captain Miller took a pull of Victory Whiskey, an illicit, yet well stocked commodity. The flight control grew weary listening to the glugging noise over the intercom. “Gentlemen, it all began while I was slinging the ol ‘vigrator around a robust gas giant of a planet. To be frank, I gave it a little too much mustard with the maneuver, and I knocked the ol girl right off course. But my god, if you could only feel the G’s I was getting up to.” Flight control again grew more nervous. “Suddenly, I found myself frozen in place, which was impossible given the speeds I was going. I frantically looked out the port side windows and discovered a vessel unlike I’d ever seen before! I hopped on my communications and tried every channel. Suddenly, something came through; it was a strange and gurgled voice. I immediately transferred the EARTH INFO 1.6 to the vessel, as you know it created for the sole purpose of this kind of exchange. The gurgled voice ceased as it read my transmission, and several minutes later, a ply robotic arm attached a parcel of sorts to the cockpit windshield. Before I knew it, the vessel and my new friend were no where to be seen!” Captain Miller went on to tell flight control that he refused to tamper with the document until he could share it with the American people, and the world. The scientist of NASA pleaded with him, arguing that this information could be crucial for the existence of humanity. But Captain Miller took no heed from their warnings, and instead sent a personal message from the craft, informing the world of his discovery, and sparking the incredible reception of his arrival. Captain Miller excitedly approached the podium, promptly assembled for the occasion. At the podium, he stripped off his spacesuit, underneath was a well-kept Tuxedo. The crowd continued to grow louder in anticipation of the reveal. With no hesitation, Captain Miller ripped the parcel open, scanned it quickly, and began blindly reading. It read as follows: Citation Warning Originating Galaxy – K100912.132 Originating Planet – H1987111.111 Imperial Vehicle Registration - NONE Interstellar Capable – Y Comments: After reviewing preliminary discovery documentation, known as EARTH INFO 1.6, and translating to your language – I am bound to only give you a warning, given your current infancy of a race, located in what is considered as the “trailer park” of the galaxy. This is your first and only warning - Please slow down in construction zones	“I said simpletons.” The alien identified as Boughie-3 stated, “ Your entire species are under-evolved idiots basically.” I reeled for a few seconds trying to think of a comeback. The human race had definitely had its share of troglodytes but to call the entire race under-evolved seemed heavy handed. “What about Einstein or Newton or Jobs or Mother Theresa?” I responded desperately. “Simple luck. There have to be some exceptions to the rule. Just like the alpha and the runt for every Newton there is a Trump.” The alien shrugged in a very human like manner. “Well we made it to your dimension so we can’t be that stupid.” The alien laughed. I felt my cheeks turn red with fury. I was a celebrated professor of aerodynamics and Astro-physics; I had a number of papers published in popular science journals. I invented and built the damn machine we’d used to find planet Ryas Cendo so how in the world could my intellect be called into question like that? “It was a matter of time really. Although I have to say my own guess as to when you’d finally discover the technology was in another hundred years so actually you are somewhat more impressive than the rest of the human race.” Boogie-3 shrugged. I hurrumphed in reply. So far the now discoverable universe had proven somewhat disappointing. Instead of being excited or impressed at the achievements of Earth, the aliens we had so far contacted seemed amused by our pursuits at discovering the unknown universes beyond our own little Alpha Centauri. If not amused then at the very least bored by it. As the lead scientist and primary inventor in charge of travelling between our universes the discoveries we’d made were groundbreaking and beyond comprehension to the everyday man yet we were greeted with patronising humour at every turn. The ire was not mine alone but everyone in the team and the highest level of government were getting sick of feeling belittled by the aliens we were contacting. My friend and long time colleague Dr Andrew Agustin had warned me from the beginning that not all humans would appreciate it understand the advancements we’d made. Especially if the alien races we contacted were more advanced than us. He told me humans were petty and jealous and would not appreciate feeling belittled or inferior to anyone. He even mentioned war. What he didn’t know or didn’t warn me about was that apart from being severely under evolved, Earth may also be be severely out weaponed. “I heard from planet Centuri Constance that Earth had made threats in reply to their offer of assistance for natural and cheap power. I heard from Al-6 that Earth had shown signs of civil wars and inequity since the dawn of humans,” Boughie looked almost sad as he continued, “Filas 78 said the leader of the U-S-A told them Earth had plenty of planet destroying nuclear weapons they would be more than happy to send their way. My confidence in Earth being a friendly and contributing member of the alliance of universes is so low that we had to take a vote. Unfortunately the decision was unanimous. Earth is to be destroyed. Your war- mongering, greedy planet needs sterilisation. Thank you Dr Goodrich for your insight and commitment to science. I truly hope your next journey is in a place more deserving than Earth.” I turned to look at the room of scientists and politics who had gathered to see first contact with planet Ryas Cendo and saw the fear I felt reflected in their faces. It was the slight turn of Dr Augustin’s head toward the window that made me look. I relied on his opinion even if I didn’t always follow his advice. What I saw was more suited to a Star Wars movie than real life. A blue/red laser the size of New York was pointing at us. I felt the heat and knew it was the end. Earth may have felt like the leader in a slow dance of universal discovery but it turned out we were still sitting down waiting to be asked to even come.
	[WP] Earth was created by an advanced alien civilization. However, while doing a checkup of the planet they’re suprised. Turns out humans weren’t supposed to be the dominant species.	“WHAT!? You’re telling me the tyrant beasts all died out?” “Yes sir. I’m sorry to say, sir, that they did indeed all die out, sir.” “Well what happened after that? If something happened that wiped out all the tyrant beasts, how could the planet not be a barren husk right now?” “I will explain, sir, but you have to promise not to get angry, sir.” “I’m calm. Tell me.” “Well, sir, there were some small furry creatures that survived, sir. And some plants, sir.” “WHAT!? THE THING THAT WIPED OUT THE TYRANT BEASTS MISSED THE PLANTS AND THE SMALL FURRY CREATURES?” “Please stay calm, sir.” “I AM CALM! KEEP GOING!” “Well, after that, sir, some of the small furry creatures lost most of their fur, sir. “And why is that relevant?” “We’re not entirely sure, sir. But they started farming plants soon after, sir. We think they decided to replace their fur with fake fur made of plant fiber, sir.” “Alright, alright, get to the point. I can tell you did your homework. What are these small, plant-furred creatures doing that’s so urgent you had to interrupt me with it? Besides outliving the tyrant beasts.” “Well, that’s the thing, sir. After they started growing the food-plants and the fur-plants, a lot of things led to a lot of other things, and, well… They’re coming here, sir.” The “WHAT!?” that resounded through the halls of the Alpha Prime Planetary Development Agency that day quickly achieved legendary status. Sadly, its legend was lost to time when the Agency was appropriated by the League of Humanity for research purposes. *** Visit /r/Thorefingers for more (and longer) short stories and ongoing writing.	"Tell us!" That's all that everyone is saying. Us humans know that our Creators are perfectly able to watch our broadcasts, so that's all the news is saying, too: "Tell us why it was us! Tell us what it was supposed to be!" Or something like that, probably more formal now. I'm not sure. I can't bear to watch the news anymore. But I saw the first few days, and that's what it was like. Some people are trying to figure out what they are- the Hidden Dominants, as they're called now. Some are brushing it off as some sick joke from the government. Some, like me, are preparing. If the Creators are watching us again, they might be able to minipulate us. We don't know if they can make other animals turn on us at their command. We don't know any of their abilities, for that matter. So, as much as we want to investigate, my people are staying put and stocking up on essentials through amazon while there are still delivery people out. Now that we know about our Creators, the world is crumbling apart. The people of different religions are arguing over who was more correct. Stupid how even in times like these, humans are still divided. What pisses me off is that I know our Creators are just watching. Laughing and waiting as their little game plays out. Maybe we aren't the species that was meant to dominate, but we must have turned out similar to how whichever species was supposed to dominate would've: we have feelings. And we're not their toys to play with. It's kinda funny how us mutant monkeys ended up beating Hidden Dominants to ruling the world. What are the odds? But it doesn't matter right now. What matters is that we stay safe for now and plan. Before the Creators make a move. Before the Hidden Dominants finally arise and do what they were made to do- take over.
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	Life is a joke, and the punchline is shitty and cliche. I heard all my life that the nice guy finished last, and what do you know it turned out to be true. My 'friends', people who I'd helped at their lowest, people I had bled endlessly to defend. Had betrayed me. Had stabbed a oddly fragile looking knife into my godamn chest, chanting some stupid chant in crappy pig latin. My last thought wasn't how on cold knife was as it went through my heart. It wasnt a stream of rage as I wrestled against the rope they'd bound me in. It was how you could possibly mispronounce Lucifer? I mean really? It's a pretty straight forward word after all. Not that I'm complaining, after all otherwise I wouldn't be here right now. Funny isn't it, on how one mispronounced word resulted in the first successful deal in almost three thousand years. Unfortunately for my so called friends, they weren't the ones bargaining. So I made a deal. They would revive me in a new, an terrifying form. I would raize the world above searching and destroying each and every scrap of information that could contact them, I would ensure they could be left unbothered by stupid feeble mortals. I would give them peace an quite, and in return my betrayers would be mine forever more. To taunt, to play with, to make them suffer. An with my new and terrible form I would never be unable to hear there horrified squeals of terror. "Honk!"	PART 1/1 Waking with sudden shock, and a terrible headache, I shielded my eyes against the blinding fluorescent lamps. My clothes felt damp from sweat, while my thoughts felt foggy. When my eyes adjusted, I sat up and took in my surroundings. I was sitting on a luxurious, black leather sofa which stood in a small white room, perhaps only 15 feet across. A single, potted fern stood in the corner while a Tigerskin pelt covered the middle of the room. The only exits were an ornate wooden door to my left, and an elevator cross from it. At the far end of the room a sign hang, decorated with a range of occult symbols looking rather familiar. That was when my memories snapped back into place. Suddenly, I felt as cold as the grave, a painfull nausea agonized my stomach. “They... they've deceived me... killed me...” I exlaimed, softly. I forced back the tears weling in my eyes, cupping my face with both hands. A long sigh escaped me, as I went over my last memories. After losing my job, my house and, finally, my wife in a global pandemic, I had lost all luster for life itself. Despite a major economic crisis, a small group of men took me in. Told me we had to stand together, live together, work together, all in the name of the 'true' God. In hindsight, I was part of a cult”, I declared to myself. But another part of me told I knew all along. But I realized I was lying to myself. Still, I had not suspected to become a sacrifice myself. I remembered how they drugged, restrained and imprisoned me the dirty basement of Cody's mansion. Having woken to their chanting, they carved runes into my body during a ritual which felt like days. I had begged, pleaded, asked any of them for mercy, to no avail. John then, finally, moved to the final part and cut open my belly, the chanting reaching a climax, as my intestines we're pulled out by Nick, Peter and Kyle, who lied them out in some special pattern. Taking hold of my stomach as my body convulsed at the memories, I tried to remember what had happened after and how I ended up in this... office? Before I could think of anything, the elevator “pinged” and the doors opened. A short man stepped out, dressed in a deep black suit that contrasted with his reddish, reptilian skin allthough he still looked oddly human. He looked at me and spoke: “Good evening, Mister Whitaker. My name is Mr. Milton. How are you doing?” I stared, mouth agape, thinking this must be some king of dream. The man, reptile, whatever he was, must've noticed my astonishement and continued: “You must be confused, as to where you are and how you got here. Let's me start with that you are alive. Technically speaking...” “Technically speaking? How do you...” I blurted out. But before I could finish my sentence, he reacted. “The precise details I'm willing to explain, but allow me to invite you to my office first. Please, step inside the elevator.” I hesitated, but having no better plan, decided to accompany mr. Milton into the elevator. The red skinned man pressed button number 111, and I noticed there were up to 666 floors to choose from. The moment the elevator doors closed, the audible “ping” sounded again and, almost immediately, the doors opened to a large, spacious interior. Its walls were white, with black marble floor tiles and one enormous, panelled window through which a fiery, infinite hellscape was visible. While staring at the hellscape, Milton kept on walking, and sat down behind a red mahogany executive desk. “Please, take a seat” Mr. Milton offered, and I was only able to do so after a considerable time. Sitting down in a comfortable wing chair, Milton snapped his fingers and a glass of water appeared in front of me. While I looked at the glass in wonderment, Milton began speaking: “Mr. Whitaker, as you have, by now, probaly realized is that you have arrived in Hell. This has been caused by extraneous circumstances and you are now residing here without legitimate conviction, administered and imposed upon you by a magistrate without an appropriate charter, all without the chance to properly appeal yourself, is causing us a rather inconvenient predicament in the current balance of powers.” “Conviction? Magistrate? Balance of powers? What do you mean?” I muttered, totally confused. “I shall keep it simple. Heaven and Hell are real, and souls, after being judged in Purgatory, are sent to the appropriate afterlife based on how they have lived their life. However, there are unsettled disputes over who has authority, legal boundaries, weights of infraction, yadda yadda yadda...” He retrieved a file and opened it. “Now, in your case, Mr. Whitaker, you have arrived here outside of all existing frameworks. This is causing quite a ruckus. Especially as you were very likely to be send to heaven. But, instead, you ended up in hell. Without prober judgment. This has caused legal disputes, but now think of those on an interdimensional scale. This means....” I interrupted him, so angry I almost shouted: “Speak CLEARLY. What do you MEAN, if I got here you CAN send me BACK... right?” Mr. Milton removed his glasses and laid them out on the desk. “Very well. Let me tell you that would have been the easiest solution, for all parties involved. However, it is not possible, you see. The incantations your... 'judge'... invoked, already bound you to hell. However...” His words sank in like acid eating its way through skin, though he stopped speaking. “However, what?” I prompted. “However... there is a solution.” he replied. “What kind?” “Employment.” “And what would you have me do? Torment the souls of the condemned?” Milton smiled, and put his glasses back on. “No, no. You see, while you are in Hell, your are... legally speaking... not dead. “Not dead? How do you mean.” “You were summoned here, condemned to hell, but not dead. In the legal sense.” He wasn't making any sense to me. “How can someone be condemned, but not dead? How does that even work?” “Mr. Whitaker, I cannot explain that without lengthy, legal explanations. Just take it from me that, while you are in Hell, you are not dead. This is a unique exception to the laws that govern Heaven and Hell, but also provides us with an opportunity. You see, we not only administer punishment to humans. Time is infinite, and so are the number of sentient species we have to judge. As the chance of someone being summoned to hell by a random, occult ritual is astronomically low. But since time if infinite, it does not make it impossible, as your case shows.” Is this what Milton called speaking clearly? I barely get the gist of it, but if I understand correctly he was saying I could not go anywhere, except when they would employ me. I decided to inquire further: “Allright. Lets say, hypothetically speaking, you would employ me. What would you have me do?” A grin formed on Milton's face and he responded: “Simple. This unique situation we are in provides an excellent opportunity to employ an agent to respond to any and all future occult summons and quell these situations before any bothersome legalities can rear its ugly head.” “Sounds like you guys have it all planned out.” A big, wide grin formed on Miltons face. “We did have all eternity, mr. Whitaker.” “Right, right.” I considered the option, but I wasn't sure I liked the implication of quelling any occult summonings. On the other hand, I might be able to save others from a fate the same as mine. Still, I had to ask if there was any other way, so I said: “Anyway, I'm not sure I like the job as presented. What if I refuse?” “Well, for starters, you are condemned to hell. Allthough we cannot torment you, legally speaking, you will stay as our guest. Indefinitely.”
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	Pure golden light plays tricks on walls of jet black stone. A figure sits before me, legs tucked under fine black robes trimmed in gold. They are sitting in a garden of red glistening vines, weaving one around a delicate gold trellis. For a very long time, I can do nothing but stand and watch, unable to do anything but focus on this figure. I am warm. I have never been this warm. The figure turns to look at me and their piercing eyes pore into me with a wave of understanding. I am no longer alive. My hand reached to my chest and feels the clean hole where the blade had pierced me. I do not feel panic. The figure rises, comes closer. I see they are very old. Their voice flows like water through my limbs. “Do not fear child. You have been chosen. Everything will be made clear. Come.” They lead me through the garden to a small round pool, that glistens with a faint golden light. In the middle is an island of jet black rock on which sits a black archway. It is trimmed in gold, red vines trailing up either side. The old figure wraps a cord of delicate gold on one wrist and a vine of red around the other and nods towards the archway. I step into the water and I am filled with flashes of understanding. &#x200B; I am sitting on a lakes edge, among a group of friends. They are gathered around an old red leather-bound book, conversing quietly about the power of the universe. I lay just on the edge of the campfire, staring at the stars. I am standing among a group robed in gold, galaxies spread before us. Different colors shown in equal balance. I am bound, tears stream down my cheeks as I scream at my friends. I am standing in front of the galaxies, raging at the crowd of gold as certain colors overpower others. My friend kneels before me holding a long thin blade. As another pours a ring of black around us. I am clothed in black, standing before the Court, a thin golden cord bound around my wrists. A ring of fire surrounds us and I feel the warmth of the blade as things go bright. I have been condemned. I have been chosen by the condemned. &#x200B; I am the agent of dark. Power courses through me. I remember all now. Not just of my life, but of their life. I have been made more. I do not fear. I do not run. I will restore the balance to the universe. I stand before the archway, the memories of worlds and people I hadn’t known existed pool before me. I focus, honing in on a campfire by a lake. I will return to where I once existed. They sought to use me for their power, but they were dealing with things they did not know. I will make them understand.	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds. Risen, from ashes. Burned by the Druids who I called "Friends," who set fire to me piece by piece. My anguish was their enjoyment. My torment, their delight. I can still remember their laughing voices as my life finally flickered out. My last memory. I floated for a thousand years, a second, I know not what time passed. Until I heard a voice. "We are the ones called The Fates." Somehow, somewhere, my consciousness awoke. "We smile upon you, chosen one." I felt warmth and caring caress me, though I had no body any more. I felt life flow back into my essence. "Those that suffer most are given the chance to redeem themselves. Go and visit hell upon those that have wronged you." I needed no more encouragement. I found myself back in the wood, looking at the fire pit where my bones once laid. But no longer. I was alive again, and strong. I felt a power inside me. As I had arisen from the fire, so too the fire had arisen inside me. I raised my hands. Flames lept from the ground and engulfed me. I felt nothing but pure rage. I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds. Now I am a golden god. I walk to the Druids' village. They are asleep. The largest house, the leader, my best friend stands stark from the rest. A monument to greed and betrayal. The heavy oak door erupts in flames. It is ashes in an instant, and the rest of the structure begins to burn. I enter and make my way up the stairs. They too erupt in flames behind me. A commotion. It is too late. I am at the leader's bedside. He sees me. Horror freezes his face as fire engulfs him, starting at his toes. Too terrified to move, he burns. Slowly. Screaming in fear, he turns into a quivering pile of ash. As the whole house burns to the ground, I turn around to face the rest of the town. The rest of the Druids flee before me, infected by a fear they cannot name. They know I will track them down, one by one, and show them what it is like to burn. Night turns to day in an instant as my rage builds. The town burns like the surface of the Sun. I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds. I am the golden god.	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	Life is a joke, and the punchline is shitty and cliche. I heard all my life that the nice guy finished last, and what do you know it turned out to be true. My 'friends', people who I'd helped at their lowest, people I had bled endlessly to defend. Had betrayed me. Had stabbed a oddly fragile looking knife into my godamn chest, chanting some stupid chant in crappy pig latin. My last thought wasn't how on cold knife was as it went through my heart. It wasnt a stream of rage as I wrestled against the rope they'd bound me in. It was how you could possibly mispronounce Lucifer? I mean really? It's a pretty straight forward word after all. Not that I'm complaining, after all otherwise I wouldn't be here right now. Funny isn't it, on how one mispronounced word resulted in the first successful deal in almost three thousand years. Unfortunately for my so called friends, they weren't the ones bargaining. So I made a deal. They would revive me in a new, an terrifying form. I would raize the world above searching and destroying each and every scrap of information that could contact them, I would ensure they could be left unbothered by stupid feeble mortals. I would give them peace an quite, and in return my betrayers would be mine forever more. To taunt, to play with, to make them suffer. An with my new and terrible form I would never be unable to hear there horrified squeals of terror. "Honk!"	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	"You know I was kinda salty about this whole situation before you explained it but now? Sounds like a fair deal. Now do I have to do that ritual properly or does the whole "you're a abberation now" thing capture their souls automatically?" I asked assigned leader. The maddening miasma of agony that was it's form took the shape of a black goat to speak with me "It's automatic, for these ones you're free to devour them. It should give you enough insight to make you able to understand me without me having to do well this" it gestured to is goat head with undulating tendrils of horror made manifest. "Excellent. See you in a bit" I said to my leader before turning around and through the abyssal gate before me. My form shifting to something more fitting, I saw them standing over my former body, now a corpse as I went through "Ello cunts, miss me?" I taunted with an evil laugh. One of them tried starting an incantation. With a raised arm turned tendrill I hucked a blob of acid straight at her outstretched hand, the only thing that would come out her mouth now would be the sweet, sweet screams of agony I inflicted "So" I uttered in an otherworldly calm voice, bolstered by what sounded like echoes of others versions of myself in higher and lower pitches "You thought you could just backstab me for favours from higher powers huh?" "Marcus?! that's you?!" I couldn't help but laugh at their pathetic attempts at rationalizing it, their minds too fixed, too rooted in causal space to understand "You really thought that the entities played by rules we could understand? I knew you were fucking retarded but this is a whole 'nother level, I mean the only reason I came along is because I felt sorry for you. Though... I'm not really feeling sorry for you any more... what do you think I'm feeling? Here, I'll give you a hint...." &#x200B; With that I sprung the trap, drawing out the unfire of dead stars into a blade that could cut a concept from existance I first severed the leader of our little gang from the concept of positive emotions as a whole, then the border between him and pain. The others without realising it gave up their souls willingly at that point, which of course I extracted and sent screaming into the abyss within me. They were just pawns however, easily manipulated... they would suffer in due time of course but right now I had my target, something onto which I funneled my rage, my hatred every last speck of malice I had at the time. "He's got arachnophobia" one of the claimed souls whispered unwillingly to me, secrets, memories came flooding in of each life I'd claimed "He said he could bring my sister back if we killed you" "He said we could run away together" All these memories, now exposed to the full lense of the situation I grinned, wide, un-naturally wide... staring down at my prey with a unearthly malevolence "You know, you really are the most hate able part of this little scum pile you call a cult" I spat out venomously "You really thought the gods needed sacrifices and shit, all you're doing is pissing them of and now 3 people are dead because of it... not DEAD dead but you know what you've caused..." &#x200B; "You.. you've lead people on wild goose chases lusting after dead sister's... promising fairytale runaway stories like you're some god damn prince charming. You are unworthy as prey!" I readied my blade once again, gripping it with all of my hate and fury as I plunged it deep into his soul. Severing it from existence itself. A sense of peace washed over me. I wandered back through the portal I came from and instead of a dark, maddening void I was in a beautiful garden, sunlight streamed down from above, an immaculate friend in golden robes with a goat's head looked over at me *"thank you"* We both said at the same time before warmly smiling at each other.	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	"Quite a predicament you got yourself in bud." I said, taking a puff from my cigarette. "N-no, y-you can't b-be him, h-he died. WE KILLED YOU!" There he laid, the man responsible for my current situation, well he and two others. Called themselves my friends, did things together for years. I can still feel where the knife he held pierced me. All for power. Funny thing, there was no heaven or hell in the afterlife. There were gods, yes, but not the kind benevolent types. To them we were insignificant pawns in an eternal game of chess. Turns out, I had caught the eye, eyes? Could never really tell, of one these 'Gods', saw that I was special and next thing I knew I was given gifts and a job. Wage war as one of its champions, a war eternal. So, now I stand in front of him. The other two I dealt with. Now him. "I should thank you, my master is very pleased that you delivered a great champion." "P-please", he whispered, "let me live, I'm sorry, in God's name I'm sorry." I leaned close " There is no God. Only uncaring beings, older than time. But you're right. A deed like yours cannot go unrewarded." His eyes widened as a black doorway opened behind me. What he saw beyond caused him to start screaming. I didn't need to look behind to know what he saw. My two other friends were there, and what was being done to them he could see. Black tentacle started to snake towards him. He screamed louder. "Hush," I whispered into his ear, " The Sleeping City awaits."	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	The sharp scent of too much fresh peppermint woke Jared. He sat up in a panic; his last memory was struggling against his friends. He thought Mundo and Eric were his friends up until the moment they stabbed his heart with an obsidian dagger. As he took his last breaths, Jared felt them using the blade on his arm. He hurriedly turned his arm to check and found a number two scarred over. "What the hell?" he asked as he checked his surroundings. Jared sat on a soft mound in an emerald field of peppermint plants under a red sky. "Correct on the first try!" a man said behind him. Jared hopped to his feet and whirled around in one motion to see who was behind him. It was a tall man with perfectly parted white hair and a well-groomed white beard. He wore a green suit that blended in well with the peppermint field, with a white vest and white bow tie. The number 37 was tattooed on his right cheek under a rotating glass eye painted like a globe. "This is Hell?" Jared asked. "Are you the devil? I thought you'd be more...," he gestured with his hands over his head alluding to horns. "...devilish." "Indeed he is. I am not him. My name is Peppermint and I am able to function as his representation. That being said, how exactly did you get here?" "I chose my friends poorly," Jared sighed. "Well, that's hardly enough to get you here," the man smiled. "Let's try to be more specific, what are your last memories?" "My so-called buddies sacrificed me." he turned enough to show the stranger the number two on his arm. "I don't even think I'm the first guy they did it to, and they must have thought it was hilarious to do it on my birthday." "They gave you that as part of the sacrifice?" Peppermint asked with sudden interest. "Yeah," Jared nodded. "Before or after?" "What does it matter? I'm in hell while they're getting their laughs," Jared looked around. It surprised him that Hell was so pleasant. There was actually a cool breeze blowing across his skin. His nose got used to the peppermint smell enough that he was thankful it wasn't brimstone and sulfur. "It's quite important. Did they scar you with the number before or after they killed you? And for that matter, was one of your friends named Eric?" "I wasn't dead yet I guess, but they definitely stabbed me first. And yeah," Jared nodded. "How'd you know about Eric?" Peppermint smiled but shook his head. "I wish that boy would stop abusing his knowledge," he said under his breath. "Anyway, that explains everything. Congratulations, you're on our team." "What do you mean? I still don't know what's going on. I'm working for Hell now? I don't want that!" Jared whined. "Working for is a bit strong. As I said, you're on our team. You'll be going back to Earth to live your life as you see fit. We don't tell you what to do, but all your actions are considered to be performed by a member of Hell. Before you return, I need to explain your powers to you." "I get to go back?!" Jared grinned. "With powers? Yes!" Jared took a moment to pop his knuckles. "I can't wait to teach those ex-friends of mine a lesson. Can I shoot fireballs at them?" Peppermint shook his head. "You are Unique Soul #02, El Diablito. You can infect people with a microbe just by touching their bare skin. Anyone else they touch also becomes infected. The microbe gives you control of their minds. You cannot innately throw fireballs, but El Diablito does have a certain affinity for magic. If you're not in a hurry to get back, I can arrange a magic tutor for you." "Yeah!" Jared growled. "Give me all the magic you can, my revenge is going to hurt." "Revenge? For what?" Peppermint asked. "They KILLED me on my BIRTHDAY!" "It seems to me that they did you a favor. You’re going back to Earth any time you want. You've got powers now, and you're going to learn magic. Don't you think that brief stabbing pain in your chest is worth the powers you've been given?" "Bullcrap, they didn't know what was going to happen. They're just a bunch of crazy Satanists; I'm the one that lucked out. They wanted to send me to burn in Hell forever, I can't forgive that." "Don't let Eric hear you say that, he's surprisingly sentimental. You'll hurt his feelings. Sometimes people do favors for us without us realizing it." "So, what? They did know?" Peppermint nodded. "No matter how long you stay here to master your magic, you'll never be able to...," Peppermint added air quotes. "...teach Eric a lesson. That boy is the literal son of the Devil. He knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. Knowing him, he probably meant it as a birthday gift." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #117. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	"Jenny." She's at some playground watching three screaming, filthy kids. We're sitting on the bench, and she frowns. She looks at me, and pales a little. "I-I'm sorry, do I know you?" I smile. "We played a game on the beach... You and me and your friends. Don't you remember?“ She looks scared. Really scared. I'm starting to enjoy the taste of fear hanging in the air between us. "I don't know what you're talking about!!!" "Fifteen years ago, you killed me, Jenny. You, Clint and Jason.... You killed me. The coroner's report said I was stabbed one hundred and twenty seven times, Jenny. You drained my blood. Poured some of into a little cup, mixed it with some really, really cheap shitty wine and drank it... When they found my body on the beach... Your horror at the sight of my naked body was.... Your performance was... Almost spectacular... " "Angela, please. It was a-..." I put my hand up to stop her. "It was all Jason's idea... Of course I know that! You just wanted to impress Clint, and you went home and cried with joy that it wasn't you...." I smile. "I was a nobody. A run away. I felt liked for the first time in my life. I thought I had friends. And I ended up a victim of a satanic ritual... Fifteen years ago, Jenny. Fifteen years....for you. Several lifetimes ago for me... " The years have not been kind to Jenny. Her once lithe figure is bloated. Her mousy brown hair has a stringy, oily look to it. And I can smell the body odour wafting up from her... She smells like cat shit and old vomit. "Are you here to kill me? I know Jason and Clint are dead. Was that you?" "No, I'm not here to kill you, this time..." It would be so easy to set the marrow in her bones on fire. Just a little spark... Her bones would crack, and her blood would boil. Her skin would blister, and her hair would just turn to ash. I know this, because I did this to her, in one of the seven thousand lifetimes I've killed her. Truth be told, I was my favourite way to watch her die. Jason and Clint, just disappeared one day, I literally unmade them, one cell at a time. That is strangely not as "unmessy" as it sounds. There was mess. Plenty of mess. And lots of unpleasant smells. No one knows for sure where they actually went though, because, when I was done playing, the rain just washed the slush away. Well, no one except me. I guess, I got tired of my little games of revenge. I am immeasurably powerful now. I have quenched my thirst for revenge and pain. I've been alive longer than Jenny can fathom. And I will be around for longer than she will believe. Time means nothing to what I've become. "You have a choice. In one hour, a man will offer you more money than you've ever seen to spend one night with Sydney." "I d-don't understand..." she looks over at the children running around, oblivious to her situation. Sydney is thirteen, she's the spitting image of her mom in her teens: Tall, blonde, and ethereal in her beauty. "I'm sure you do." "I can't do that to her! I won't!!!!" “You are not your mother, Jenny. Protect her, like you should've protected me, when all I did was trust you." I leave her to watch over her offspring. I have nothing more to say. We all think that we have infinite potential... To a degree, we do. But each shitty choice we make or that is made for us, lessens this. Until we have exhausted all possibilities Sydney is a great big ball of potential. Her mother's only chance at redemption. She's not humanity's last hope, because... Well, humanity needs a lot more than a thirteen year old hero to become unfucked... But she is a pure soul. And I will make sure that she, and others like her, stay that way, for as long as I can.	He threw himself against the wall, sucking the frigid air through his mask. Taking a moment to collect himself, the soldier looked to his left. The rest of his battalion squeezing into any nook or cranny they could find, in anticipation of what was to come. He fumbled with the clip on his hip pouch, eventually working it free, and fished out a solid gold coin. \How many years has it been?\ He remembered how he got it. What he had to sacrifice. He had grown out of such superstitions, but any chance of survival was worth a shot... He took his knife, and nicked his finger. The warm, red droplet spread across the coin, as it quickly drank it's fill. His radio crackled to life, the captain relaying orders. Showtime. He waited for the heavier guns to start firing, then rolled out from his hiding spot. He would have until their reload before the enemy could return fire. \Their. Those rocks should give enough cover, I can just about-\ His boot kicked something hard, sending him face-first into the snow. He turned with surprise to see a tall, thin figure standing behind him, seemingly cloaked with a round, porcelain face. "Are you...are you from the coin?" The figure nodded. A sigh of relief came out of him, maybe getting tripped had just saved his life! "What should I do next? should I stay here, or find cover again?" The figure stared. A loud \thwump\ six feet to the soldiers left caught his attention. He whipped around rifle first, to see a small, gun-metal cyclinder sitting in the snow. A hissing sound was echoing from it, as a foggy, white cloud started to float out. \Gas.\ He quickly checked the seals on his mask, now realizing the seal had been broken by the fall. Panic set in, as he quickly adjusted it, put his palm over the filter and blew out, clearing the inside of the mask. Part of him new that it wouldn't be enough ; this wasn't chlorine or mustard, their enemy didn't use those. Based on their briefing, it was most likely a nerve agent. His heart racing, he turned to the figure again, falling to his knees and begging. "Please! please just one more time, save me just one more time! I'll give anything!" The figure slowly shook it's head. This was torture. He \knew\ this being could save him, but it just stood their and watched. Where these the rules? Was the coin a one time use? Or maybe it had never come to protect him at all? "Then why? Why did you come?" Th figure leaned in close, as the soldier began to writhe from pain. "To watch."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	The sharp scent of too much fresh peppermint woke Jared. He sat up in a panic; his last memory was struggling against his friends. He thought Mundo and Eric were his friends up until the moment they stabbed his heart with an obsidian dagger. As he took his last breaths, Jared felt them using the blade on his arm. He hurriedly turned his arm to check and found a number two scarred over. "What the hell?" he asked as he checked his surroundings. Jared sat on a soft mound in an emerald field of peppermint plants under a red sky. "Correct on the first try!" a man said behind him. Jared hopped to his feet and whirled around in one motion to see who was behind him. It was a tall man with perfectly parted white hair and a well-groomed white beard. He wore a green suit that blended in well with the peppermint field, with a white vest and white bow tie. The number 37 was tattooed on his right cheek under a rotating glass eye painted like a globe. "This is Hell?" Jared asked. "Are you the devil? I thought you'd be more...," he gestured with his hands over his head alluding to horns. "...devilish." "Indeed he is. I am not him. My name is Peppermint and I am able to function as his representation. That being said, how exactly did you get here?" "I chose my friends poorly," Jared sighed. "Well, that's hardly enough to get you here," the man smiled. "Let's try to be more specific, what are your last memories?" "My so-called buddies sacrificed me." he turned enough to show the stranger the number two on his arm. "I don't even think I'm the first guy they did it to, and they must have thought it was hilarious to do it on my birthday." "They gave you that as part of the sacrifice?" Peppermint asked with sudden interest. "Yeah," Jared nodded. "Before or after?" "What does it matter? I'm in hell while they're getting their laughs," Jared looked around. It surprised him that Hell was so pleasant. There was actually a cool breeze blowing across his skin. His nose got used to the peppermint smell enough that he was thankful it wasn't brimstone and sulfur. "It's quite important. Did they scar you with the number before or after they killed you? And for that matter, was one of your friends named Eric?" "I wasn't dead yet I guess, but they definitely stabbed me first. And yeah," Jared nodded. "How'd you know about Eric?" Peppermint smiled but shook his head. "I wish that boy would stop abusing his knowledge," he said under his breath. "Anyway, that explains everything. Congratulations, you're on our team." "What do you mean? I still don't know what's going on. I'm working for Hell now? I don't want that!" Jared whined. "Working for is a bit strong. As I said, you're on our team. You'll be going back to Earth to live your life as you see fit. We don't tell you what to do, but all your actions are considered to be performed by a member of Hell. Before you return, I need to explain your powers to you." "I get to go back?!" Jared grinned. "With powers? Yes!" Jared took a moment to pop his knuckles. "I can't wait to teach those ex-friends of mine a lesson. Can I shoot fireballs at them?" Peppermint shook his head. "You are Unique Soul #02, El Diablito. You can infect people with a microbe just by touching their bare skin. Anyone else they touch also becomes infected. The microbe gives you control of their minds. You cannot innately throw fireballs, but El Diablito does have a certain affinity for magic. If you're not in a hurry to get back, I can arrange a magic tutor for you." "Yeah!" Jared growled. "Give me all the magic you can, my revenge is going to hurt." "Revenge? For what?" Peppermint asked. "They KILLED me on my BIRTHDAY!" "It seems to me that they did you a favor. You’re going back to Earth any time you want. You've got powers now, and you're going to learn magic. Don't you think that brief stabbing pain in your chest is worth the powers you've been given?" "Bullcrap, they didn't know what was going to happen. They're just a bunch of crazy Satanists; I'm the one that lucked out. They wanted to send me to burn in Hell forever, I can't forgive that." "Don't let Eric hear you say that, he's surprisingly sentimental. You'll hurt his feelings. Sometimes people do favors for us without us realizing it." "So, what? They did know?" Peppermint nodded. "No matter how long you stay here to master your magic, you'll never be able to...," Peppermint added air quotes. "...teach Eric a lesson. That boy is the literal son of the Devil. He knew exactly what he was doing and what would happen. Knowing him, he probably meant it as a birthday gift." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #117. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.	"Quite a predicament you got yourself in bud." I said, taking a puff from my cigarette. "N-no, y-you can't b-be him, h-he died. WE KILLED YOU!" There he laid, the man responsible for my current situation, well he and two others. Called themselves my friends, did things together for years. I can still feel where the knife he held pierced me. All for power. Funny thing, there was no heaven or hell in the afterlife. There were gods, yes, but not the kind benevolent types. To them we were insignificant pawns in an eternal game of chess. Turns out, I had caught the eye, eyes? Could never really tell, of one these 'Gods', saw that I was special and next thing I knew I was given gifts and a job. Wage war as one of its champions, a war eternal. So, now I stand in front of him. The other two I dealt with. Now him. "I should thank you, my master is very pleased that you delivered a great champion." "P-please", he whispered, "let me live, I'm sorry, in God's name I'm sorry." I leaned close " There is no God. Only uncaring beings, older than time. But you're right. A deed like yours cannot go unrewarded." His eyes widened as a black doorway opened behind me. What he saw beyond caused him to start screaming. I didn't need to look behind to know what he saw. My two other friends were there, and what was being done to them he could see. Black tentacle started to snake towards him. He screamed louder. "Hush," I whispered into his ear, " The Sleeping City awaits."
	[WP] you were betrayed by the ones you called friends. they sacrificed you in a satanic ritual during an outing. however, you were taken by things older than you thought possible. empowered by them, you return as their agent in a war that scales eons and worlds beyond. but first, your revenge.	"Jenny." She's at some playground watching three screaming, filthy kids. We're sitting on the bench, and she frowns. She looks at me, and pales a little. "I-I'm sorry, do I know you?" I smile. "We played a game on the beach... You and me and your friends. Don't you remember?“ She looks scared. Really scared. I'm starting to enjoy the taste of fear hanging in the air between us. "I don't know what you're talking about!!!" "Fifteen years ago, you killed me, Jenny. You, Clint and Jason.... You killed me. The coroner's report said I was stabbed one hundred and twenty seven times, Jenny. You drained my blood. Poured some of into a little cup, mixed it with some really, really cheap shitty wine and drank it... When they found my body on the beach... Your horror at the sight of my naked body was.... Your performance was... Almost spectacular... " "Angela, please. It was a-..." I put my hand up to stop her. "It was all Jason's idea... Of course I know that! You just wanted to impress Clint, and you went home and cried with joy that it wasn't you...." I smile. "I was a nobody. A run away. I felt liked for the first time in my life. I thought I had friends. And I ended up a victim of a satanic ritual... Fifteen years ago, Jenny. Fifteen years....for you. Several lifetimes ago for me... " The years have not been kind to Jenny. Her once lithe figure is bloated. Her mousy brown hair has a stringy, oily look to it. And I can smell the body odour wafting up from her... She smells like cat shit and old vomit. "Are you here to kill me? I know Jason and Clint are dead. Was that you?" "No, I'm not here to kill you, this time..." It would be so easy to set the marrow in her bones on fire. Just a little spark... Her bones would crack, and her blood would boil. Her skin would blister, and her hair would just turn to ash. I know this, because I did this to her, in one of the seven thousand lifetimes I've killed her. Truth be told, I was my favourite way to watch her die. Jason and Clint, just disappeared one day, I literally unmade them, one cell at a time. That is strangely not as "unmessy" as it sounds. There was mess. Plenty of mess. And lots of unpleasant smells. No one knows for sure where they actually went though, because, when I was done playing, the rain just washed the slush away. Well, no one except me. I guess, I got tired of my little games of revenge. I am immeasurably powerful now. I have quenched my thirst for revenge and pain. I've been alive longer than Jenny can fathom. And I will be around for longer than she will believe. Time means nothing to what I've become. "You have a choice. In one hour, a man will offer you more money than you've ever seen to spend one night with Sydney." "I d-don't understand..." she looks over at the children running around, oblivious to her situation. Sydney is thirteen, she's the spitting image of her mom in her teens: Tall, blonde, and ethereal in her beauty. "I'm sure you do." "I can't do that to her! I won't!!!!" “You are not your mother, Jenny. Protect her, like you should've protected me, when all I did was trust you." I leave her to watch over her offspring. I have nothing more to say. We all think that we have infinite potential... To a degree, we do. But each shitty choice we make or that is made for us, lessens this. Until we have exhausted all possibilities Sydney is a great big ball of potential. Her mother's only chance at redemption. She's not humanity's last hope, because... Well, humanity needs a lot more than a thirteen year old hero to become unfucked... But she is a pure soul. And I will make sure that she, and others like her, stay that way, for as long as I can.	"Quite a predicament you got yourself in bud." I said, taking a puff from my cigarette. "N-no, y-you can't b-be him, h-he died. WE KILLED YOU!" There he laid, the man responsible for my current situation, well he and two others. Called themselves my friends, did things together for years. I can still feel where the knife he held pierced me. All for power. Funny thing, there was no heaven or hell in the afterlife. There were gods, yes, but not the kind benevolent types. To them we were insignificant pawns in an eternal game of chess. Turns out, I had caught the eye, eyes? Could never really tell, of one these 'Gods', saw that I was special and next thing I knew I was given gifts and a job. Wage war as one of its champions, a war eternal. So, now I stand in front of him. The other two I dealt with. Now him. "I should thank you, my master is very pleased that you delivered a great champion." "P-please", he whispered, "let me live, I'm sorry, in God's name I'm sorry." I leaned close " There is no God. Only uncaring beings, older than time. But you're right. A deed like yours cannot go unrewarded." His eyes widened as a black doorway opened behind me. What he saw beyond caused him to start screaming. I didn't need to look behind to know what he saw. My two other friends were there, and what was being done to them he could see. Black tentacle started to snake towards him. He screamed louder. "Hush," I whispered into his ear, " The Sleeping City awaits."

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

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